Laura Rowland - The Perfumed Sleeve

Tears of angry hatred glittered in Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes. “That’s not true. You’re just jealous because my husband is superior to yours. You hate for anyone to have more than you do.”

“Speak for yourself,” Reiko said. “Your husband won’t even miss you when you’re gone. And what will become of Kikuko after you’re dead? Who will take care of her? Her father will neglect her just as always. She’ll die of grief and loneliness for you.”

Lady Yanagisawa stared, clearly appalled by this grim depiction of Kikuko’s future.

“But maybe you don’t mind sacrificing yourself for love of your husband,” Reiko said. “Maybe you don’t mind that he’ll climb to power over the corpse of your beloved child.”

Horror welled in Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes. Her lips moved in silent, inarticulate protests as her illusions shattered. Reiko watched her absorb the dreadful fact that she’d been duped and the chamberlain couldn’t care less if she and Kikuko paid the price for his triumph. She uttered a brokenhearted moan.

“Don’t let him get away with it,” Reiko said. “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty or love. Come with us.” Standing amid the detectives, Reiko beckoned Lady Yanagisawa. “Tell the world how you were tricked into assassinating Daiemon. Let the chamberlain take his rightful punishment. Then maybe you’ll be allowed to live, and Kikuko won’t lose her mother.”

Lady Yanagisawa breathed in painful, accelerating wheezes, then began to shake her head and stamp her feet. She wailed and tore at her hair. Her eyes rolled, wildly seeking some remedy for her anguish or target for her wrath. They lit on Reiko.

“This is all your fault.” Her voice emerged in a growl from between gnashing teeth. “You always have to get your own way, and you don’t care whom you hurt.” She glared at Reiko through the tangle of her hair. Hatred ignited in her eyes. “You always win. But not this time.”

With an ear-spitting screech, she flew at Reiko, her hands outstretched and curled into claws. Reiko leaped away, and the detectives moved to stop Lady Yanagisawa, but she was too fast. She grabbed Reiko’s neck. Her momentum knocked them both to the floor. As they crashed together, Reiko screamed. Lady Yanagisawa squeezed her throat. Reiko tried to pry away Lady Yanagisawa’s hands, but they seemed made of iron. Reiko coughed, gasping for breath. Lady Yanagisawa’s face, twisted with rage and madness, loomed above hers. Continuous shrieks and yowls burst from Lady Yanagisawa. Hot, acrid breath flamed Reiko’s face. She heard the detectives shouting as they fought to pull the woman off her. They raised Lady Yanagisawa, but she held tight. Reiko felt herself lifted up from the floor by Lady Yanagisawa. She kicked Lady Yanagisawa and clawed her wrists, all the while choking and gagging. Panic surged through Reiko. Dark blotches spread across her vision. The thunderous pounding of her heartbeat drowned out all other sounds.

Suddenly Lady Yanagisawa’s hold broke. Reiko collapsed onto the floor, gulping air, moaning with relief; she clutched her sore, bruised throat. As her vision cleared, she saw the detectives holding Lady Yanagisawa, who screamed curses as she thrashed in their grip. But the pounding in Reiko’s ears continued, and she realized that her heart wasn’t the cause.

“What’s that sound?” she said.

The detectives listened. Lady Yanagisawa fell silent; she ceased to struggle. The pounding stopped. Running footsteps outside signaled a horde entering the estate. Men’s voices arose in furious shouts amid the clash of steel blades. The noise resounded through the mansion. Into the reception room marched a brigade of samurai troops clad in armor, brandishing swords. Reiko staggered to her feet. She saw the Matsudaira clan crest on the troops’ armor, and astonished comprehension filled her.

The Matsudaira faction had invaded Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s domain. The pounding she’d heard was a battering ram, breaking down the gates.

The invaders faced off against the detectives. Their hostile stares took in Reiko and Lady Yanagisawa. The leader of the Matsudaira troops demanded, “Who are you?”

A detective explained that he and his comrades were the sōsakan-sama’s retainers. He identified the women, then said, “What’s going on?”

“Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s army has retreated from the battle,” the leader said. “Most of his allies have defected to our side. And Lord Matsudaira has convinced the shogun to throw the chamberlain out of the court. We’re here to capture him.”

A wail of horror arose from Lady Yanagisawa. Reiko could hardly believe that the corrupt, wily chamberlain had finally fallen from power. But now she heard blades ringing, loud crashes, and screams of agony as his guards tried in vain to defend him and his territory against the invaders. Down the corridor, past the reception room’s doorway, filed Matsudaira troops, leading Yanagisawa’s officials. Then came the chamberlain himself. Two of his rival’s soldiers held his arms. His posture was proud, his expression fierce; he gazed straight ahead. Behind him stumbled Kikuko, escorted by another soldier. She saw Lady Yanagisawa and cried, “Mama, Mama!”

“No!” shrieked Lady Yanagisawa.

She broke away from Sano’s detectives. Weeping, she flung herself toward her child and husband as they disappeared from view. The leader of the Matsudaira troops seized her. He said, “We have orders to take the chamberlain’s whole family. Come along quietly now.”

Dazed by too many emotions to comprehend, Reiko watched her enemy borne away from her.

The detectives led a meek Koheiji offstage beyond the backdrop. The curtain fell. Outside it, the audience booed louder while exiting the theater. Hirata, walking alongside Sano as they followed the captive actor, experienced a tremendous letdown.

The investigation was over. The man he’d dismissed as a trivial nobody had killed Senior Elder Makino. And Hirata had done nothing to win back Sano’s trust, prove himself a worthy samurai, or salvage his reputation. Playing by the rules hadn’t helped. The best clue he’d discovered-Daiemon’s secret quarters-wasn’t enough. Nothing that had happened had required heroics from Hirata. He must wait for an opportunity to redeem himself that might never come. If only he could have one more chance, now, at restoring his honor!

Suddenly, loud yells and scuffling erupted nearby on the other side of the curtain. The gang of rōnin burst through the curtain, waving their swords, chased by Ibe, Otani, and their troops. Hirata had barely time to realize that the rōnin meant to have their fight, the consequences be damned, when the leader with the red kerchief came charging toward Sano. Bellowing with maniacal abandon, the rōnin raised his sword in both fists.

“Look out!” Hirata yelled.

At the same moment, Sano turned and his eyes perceived the attack impending. His hand flew to his sword. But Hirata drew his own sword first. He leaped in front of Sano. In the instant that the rōnin arrived within striking distance of them, Hirata slashed him across the belly.

The rōnin roared. He faltered to a stop. Pain and madness blazed in his eyes. He began to crumble, the sword still raised in his hands. With his last strength he swung the blade violently downward as he died.

It happened in a flash. Hirata had no time to dodge. The blade sliced down his left hipbone, then deep into his thigh. He cried out as agony shot through muscles, veins, and sinew. Letting go his sword, he toppled hard onto the stage. Throbbing spasms of pain wrenched his features into a grimace.

He heard Sano exclaim in horror and alarm, “Hirata-san!” He glimpsed the rōnin lying dead nearby and the detectives and the watchdogs’ troops fighting the gang. They all dissolved into a blur as he saw the blood spurting from his thigh, out of the tear in his clothes, and spreading around him. Hirata’s pulse raced; gasps heaved his lungs as dizziness weakened him. Terror pierced the depths of his spirit. Many times he’d fought and been injured; always, he’d survived. But he recognized that this wound was different.