Laura Rowland: The Perfumed Sleeve

Both factions were eager to recruit Sano because he was close to the shogun and could use his influence to further their cause; they also wanted Sano and his detectives, all expert fighters, on their side in the event of war. The victor would rule Japan unopposed, via domination of the shogun. Sano could hardly believe that he, a former martial arts teacher and son of a rōnin-masterless samurai-had risen to a position where such important men courted his allegiance. But that position brought danger; both men would hasten to ruin any powerful official who opposed them.

“What are you going to tell your friends?” Reiko said.

“The same thing I’ve told everyone else who wants to lure me into one faction or the other,” Sano said. “That I won’t support either. My loyalty is to the shogun.” Despite Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s shortcomings as a dictator, Sano felt bound by the samurai code of honor to stand by his lord. “I’ll not join anyone who would usurp his authority.”

Reiko bound a white cloth pad and bandage around Sano’s wound. “Be careful,” she said, patting his arm.

Sano perceived that her warning concerned more than his immediate injury; she feared for their future. He hated to worry her, especially since she was still suffering from the effects of being kidnapped along with the shogun’s mother.

He didn’t know exactly what had happened to Reiko while imprisoned by the man who’d called himself the Dragon King. But the normally adventurous Reiko had changed. During four years of marriage, she’d helped Sano with his investigations and developed quite a talent for detective work, but now she’d turned into a quiet recluse who hadn’t left the estate since he’d brought her home. Sano wished for a little peace so she could recover, yet there was no prospect of peace anytime soon.

“This city is like a barrel of gunpowder,” Sano said grimly. “The least incident could spark an explosion.”

Footsteps creaked along the passage, and Hirata appeared at the door. “Excuse me, Sōsakan-sama.” Although still free to enter Sano’s private quarters, Hirata displayed the cautious deference with which he’d behaved since their breach. “You have a visitor.”

“At this hour?” Sano glanced at the window. Gray daylight barely penetrated the paper panes. “Who is it?”

“His name is Juro. He’s the valet of Senior Elder Makino. He says Makino sent him here with a message for you.”

Sano raised his eyebrows in surprise. Makino Narisada was the longest-standing, dominant member of the Council of Elders, the shogun’s primary advisers and Japan ’s highest governing body. He was also a crony of Chamberlain Yanagisawa and enemy of Sano. He had an ugly face like a skull, and a disposition to match.

“What is the message?” Sano said.

“I asked, but Juro wouldn’t tell me,” Hirata said. “He says his master ordered him to speak personally to you.”

Sano couldn’t refuse a communication from someone as important, quick to take offense, and dangerous as Makino. Besides, he was curious. “Very well.”

He and Hirata walked to the reception room. Reiko followed. She watched from outside the door while they entered the cold, drafty room, where a man knelt. Thin and stooped, with a fringe of gray hair around his bald head, and clad in modest gray robes, Juro the valet appeared to be past sixty years of age. His bony features wore a sad expression. Two of Sano’s detectives stood guard behind him. Although he looked harmless, they exercised caution toward strangers in the house, especially during these dangerous days.

“Here I am,” Sano said. “Speak your message.”

The valet bowed. “I’m sorry to impose on you, Sōsakan-sama, but I must tell you that the honorable Senior Elder Makino is dead.”

“Dead?” Sano experienced three reactions in quick succession. The first was shock. “As of when?”

“Today,” said Juro.

“How did it happen?” Sano asked.

“My master passed away in his sleep.”

Sano’s second reaction was puzzlement. “You told my chief retainer that Makino-san sent you. How could he, if he’s dead?”

“Some time ago, he told me that if he should die, I must inform you at once. I’m honoring his order.”

Sano looked at Hirata, who shrugged, equally perplexed. “My condolences to you on the loss of your master,” Sano said to the valet. “I’ll go pay my respects to his family today.”

As he spoke, a deep consternation beset him. Makino must have been almost eighty years old-he’d lived longer than he deserved-but his death, at this particular time, had the potential to aggravate the tensions within the Tokugawa regime.

“Why did Makino-san care that I should immediately know of his death?” Sano asked Juro.

“He wanted you to read this letter.” The valet offered a folded paper to Sano.

Still mystified, Sano accepted the letter. Juro bowed with the air of a man who has discharged an important duty, and the detectives escorted him out of the house. Reiko entered the room. She and Hirata waited expectantly while Sano unfolded the letter and scanned the words written in gnarled black calligraphy. He read aloud, in surprise:

“To Sano Ichirō, sōsakan-sama to the shogun:

If you are reading this, I am dead. I am leaving you this letter to beg an important favor of you.

As you know, I have many enemies who want me gone. Assassination is a constant threat for a man in my position. Please investigate my death and determine whether it was murder. If it was, I ask that you identify the culprit, deliver him to justice, and avenge my death.

I regret to impose on you, but there is no one else I trust enough to ask this favor. I apologize for any inconvenience that my request causes you.

Senior Elder Makino Narisada.”

Reiko burst out, “The gall of that man, asking you for anything! After he accused you of treason last year and tried to get you executed!”

“Even in death he plagues me,” Sano said, disturbed by the request that posed a serious dilemma for himself.

“But the valet said Makino died in his sleep,” Hirata pointed out.

“Could his death have really been murder?” Reiko wondered. “The letter would have come to you even if Makino died of old age, as he seems to have done.”

“Perhaps his death isn’t what it seems.” Sano narrowed his eyes in recollection. “There have been attempts on his life. His fear that he would die by foul play was justified. And he was extremely vindictive. If he was assassinated, he would want the culprit punished even though he wouldn’t be around to see it.”

“And lately, with the bakufu in turmoil, there’s been all the more reason for his enemies to want him gone,” Reiko said.

“But you don’t have to grant his request to investigate his death,” Hirata told Sano.

“You owe him nothing,” Reiko agreed.

Yet Sano couldn’t ignore the letter. “Since there’s a chance that Makino was murdered, his death should be investigated. How I felt about him doesn’t matter. A victim of a crime deserves justice.”

“An inquiry into his death could create serious trouble for you that I think you should avoid.” Hirata spoke with the authority of a chief retainer duty bound to divert his master from a risky path, yet a slight hesitation in his voice bespoke his awareness that Sano might doubt the value of his counsel.

“Hirata-san is right,” Reiko told Sano. “If Makino was murdered, there’s a killer at large who won’t welcome you prying into his death.”

“Makino’s enemies include powerful, unscrupulous men,” Hirata said. “Any one of them would rather kill you than be exposed and executed as a murderer.”

“Investigating crimes against high-ranking citizens is my job,” Sano said. “Danger comes with the responsibility. And in this case, the possible victim-who was my superior-asked me to look into his death.”