Laura Rowland - The Perfumed Sleeve

“How fortunate for us that he died at this particular time,” Kato said.

“Indeed,” Mori said. “After he decided to join Lord Matsudaira’s faction, he was a mortal danger to us.”

“You’ve never told me how you found out he planned to defect,” Kato said to Yanagisawa.

“Makino started hinting that he wanted me to give him more money and authority in exchange for his support,” Yanagisawa said. “I ignored his hints because he already had as much as he should, but I knew he would try to satisfy his greed elsewhere.”

“So we had him watched,” Mori said. “Our spies saw him talking with Lord Matsudaira’s nephew Daiemon several times.”

“Lately Makino had seemed afraid that our side would lose,” Yanagisawa said. “When we added up his greed, his fear, and his relations with the enemy, we concluded that he would soon turn traitor.”

Admiration for Yanagisawa’s perspicacity glinted in Kato’s eyes. “Makino could have done us much harm by spying for Lord Matsudaira while pretending he was still loyal to us. It’s a good thing you caught on to him.”

“We can be thankful that someone eliminated him and saved us the trouble,” Mori said.

Yanagisawa watched his companions avoid his gaze. The atmosphere seethed with their suspicion that he was responsible for their stroke of luck. That he’d known about Makino’s betrayal had given him ample cause to want his former crony dead. That he’d had a spy planted in Makino’s estate implied opportunity to commit the murder. But Yanagisawa didn’t answer their unspoken question of whether he was guilty or innocent. He wouldn’t admit to the crime, not even to his most trusted comrades, for he knew they could betray his trust as Makino had done. Nor would he claim innocence, for he wanted them to believe him capable of assassinating whoever crossed him. Intimidation was his strongest hold over his subordinates.

Fear for his own future was his primary concern.

“Makino’s death isn’t an unmitigated blessing,” Yanagisawa said. “The murder investigation is as serious a threat to us as he ever was.”

Above Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s office, a hole the diameter of a coin pierced the elaborate woodwork of the ceiling and overlooked the desk. In the attic above, Lady Yanagisawa lay on a tatami mat on the floor, an eye to the hole, peering through it at the chamberlain, Kato, and Mori. Their voices drifted up to her. Beside her lay her daughter Kikuko. A quilt shielded them from the damp winter cold. Daylight from grilles set in the peaked gables dimly illuminated their faces. Nearby, rodents scrabbled, their pungent odor fouling the musty air. But Lady Yanagisawa didn’t notice the discomforts of this place from which she habitually spied on the chamberlain. All her attention focused on him, the beautiful, clever, and powerful husband she adored.

Throughout their ten-year marriage, she’d hoped for him to love her in return, despite overwhelming odds. Theirs had been a union of political and economic convenience. She came from an affluent clan related to the Tokugawa, and the chamberlain had wed her for her dowry and connections. Why else would he choose a woman so ugly, so devoid of charm? He’d engaged in sexual relations with her during the few months after their wedding, then stopped when she’d become pregnant with Kikuko. After he discovered that their child was feebleminded, he’d never touched Lady Yanagisawa again. For years he had ignored her and Kikuko. But although his indifference tormented Lady Yanagisawa, she still dreamed of winning his love.

To her joy, recent events had given her fresh hope.

Her abduction by the Dragon King, and her brush with death, had taught Lady Yanagisawa that life was short, and those who waited for what they wanted might die before ever getting it. The revelations had overcome her innate shyness. Instead of just spying on her husband from a distance, she’d dared approach so close within his view that he couldn’t help noticing her. At first she’d lacked the nerve to speak, but one day, upon encountering him in the garden, she murmured, “Good morning, my lord.” And miracle of miracles, he answered!

More emboldened than ever, Lady Yanagisawa insinuated herself into his life. On the rare evenings when he didn’t go out, she served him his dinner. He talked of politics, vented ire at his enemies, celebrated triumphs over them. Lady Yanagisawa cherished those evenings and the privilege of his company. Yet he never said anything personal to her; he treated her as he would a faithful servant. His gaze never lingered on her, never reflected the need that burned within her.

Then one night she told her husband how she’d almost killed Reiko on the Dragon King’s island. For once he looked at her with genuine interest. That drove her to even greater audacity. She began to frequent his bedchamber, where he’d slept alone since Police Commissioner Hoshina left him. In the mornings she brought him tea and helped him dress. At night, during his bath, she scrubbed and rinsed him before he soaked in the tub. The sight of his naked body filled her with such desire! But he never showed the least sign of wanting her. Why he allowed her this intimacy with him, she didn’t understand. Perhaps he enjoyed her frustration; perhaps he was lonely now that Hoshina was gone.

Now, as Lady Yanagisawa listened to her husband talking with Kato and Mori, she realized that the chamberlain was in trouble. His problems created a fresh opportunity for her. In her mind coalesced vague plans for endearing herself to her husband and reaching her heart’s desire.

“Surely Sano doesn’t suspect that Senior Elder Makino was killed by someone in your faction,” Kato said to Chamberlain Yanagisawa. “When he announced that Makino had been murdered, you did a superb job of pretending you were upset. You almost fooled me. Surely you fooled Sano as well as the shogun.”

Yanagisawa prided himself on his performance, but he said, “I accomplished no more than to gain us time to protect ourselves. Should Sano learn about Makino’s defection, he’ll realize that Makino was worth more to me dead than alive.”

“He won’t learn it from us,” Mori said.

“But Daiemon and Lord Matsudaira will tell him, if they haven’t already,” Yanagisawa said. “They’ll jump to save their own necks by incriminating me. I’ll become his primary suspect.” Yanagisawa felt a grudging admiration for Sano. “He’s like a dog who won’t let go of a bone even if it bites him back.”

“What shall we do?” Apprehension creased Kato’s leathery face.

“The obvious course of action is to get Sano on our side,” Yanagisawa said. “But in case we can’t recruit him, we need an alternate plan to divert his suspicion and, at the same time, weaken the Matsudaira.”

Just then, Yanagisawa heard footsteps in the corridor, approaching along the nightingale floor, which was specially designed to emit loud chirps when trod upon. Few persons were allowed in his private domain, and Yanagisawa recognized this one from his step. He dismissed Kato and Mori. After they’d departed, he called through the open door: “Enter.”

In walked his son Yoritomo, seventeen years old, a youthful image of Yanagisawa. He had the same slender build and striking beauty. But his gait was hesitant, his expression perpetually shadowed by self-doubt. He had a sweet, vulnerable air of innocence, inherited from his mother, who was a Tokugawa relative and former palace lady-in-waiting, with whom Yanagisawa had enjoyed a brief love affair.

As he knelt cautiously before Yanagisawa and bowed, Yanagisawa felt a possessive affection toward him. The boy touched a tender, hidden spot in his heart. The blood they shared bound them together. And Yoritomo was not just the fruit of his loins, but his means to supremacy.