Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

“She could have run in here after he was stabbed,” Sano pointed out.

“To wash off his blood?” Caught between his inclination to believe Tomoe was innocent and the need for objectivity, Marume examined the floor. “I don’t see any.”

Sano glanced at the sponge, a bag of rice bran soap, and a bucket on the wet floor by the drain hole in the wooden slats. He tried to picture Tomoe scrubbing and rinsing herself and bloody water trickling down the drain and failed. He couldn’t imagine her capable of stabbing anyone, but he was sworn to conduct an honest investigation; he’d dedicated his life to the pursuit of truth and justice. That was his personal code of honor, as important to him as Bushido.

“She’s a suspect,” Sano said. “We have to treat her like one.” Masahiro and Marume reluctantly nodded. Sano called to Captain Hosono, who’d joined Manabe at the door. “Put her under guard, away from everybody else. Marume- san , continue searching for bloodstained socks and clothes.”

Captain Hosono led the meek Tomoe away. As Sano and Masahiro headed down the corridor together, Masahiro said, “Aren’t we done questioning everybody?”

“No.” Sano opened a door, and they looked through it across the snowy night to a little house attached to the Large Interior by a covered corridor and surrounded by an earthen wall and a narrow garden of bamboo thickets.

Masahiro frowned. “Lady Nobuko. The shogun’s wife.”

There was bad blood between Sano’s family and Lady Nobuko. She’d lured Sano into investigating the death of the shogun’s daughter, and their troubles had begun then. Furthermore, her actions had almost gotten Masahiro killed. Masahiro clearly hadn’t forgiven Lady Nobuko. Now here she was again, at the center of another crime they were investigating.

“I’ll talk to Lady Nobuko by myself,” Sano said.

Masahiro opened his mouth to object. Sano silenced him with a stern look and said, “Go talk to Dengoro, the boy who was sleeping with the shogun during the attack.”

A hint of the usual tension between them returned. Sano knew that Masahiro’s chafing at his authority went deeper than just a young man’s natural desire for independence. After more than four years of watching Sano try and fail to prove that Lord Ienobu was guilty of murder and treason, Masahiro no longer trusted Sano’s judgment. That hurt.

“The boy couldn’t have done it, could he?” Masahiro said. “Don’t the bloody footprints mean it was someone from the Large Interior?”

Sano sensed that something else was bothering Masahiro, but they didn’t have time for a personal discussion. He also feared that Masahiro’s lack of faith in him would prove to be justified. They were several hours into the investigation, with no results in sight. Lord Ienobu’s threats loomed large.

“It’s too soon to rule Dengoro out, and he’s an important witness,” Sano said. “Maybe he’s remembered something.”

Masahiro went to the section of the palace where the shogun’s boys lived. It consisted of small chambers built around a courtyard, and a theater where the shogun and the boys performed in Nō plays with professional actors. Masahiro walked the deserted corridor, peering into the chambers that smelled of dirty socks and contained wooden swords, balls, horses, and other toys. The beds were unoccupied. Masahiro heard shouts, followed them out a door, and found a furious battle waging in the dark courtyard. Some twenty boys pelted one another with snowballs, ran, and laughed. Standing on the veranda, Masahiro smiled. For the first time since he’d been caught with Taeko, the tension inside him eased.

“Dengoro?” he called.

Boys turned toward the sound of his voice. One said, “What?” Another flung a snowball at him and hit his chest. He yelped.

Masahiro scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at the boy who’d hit Dengoro. His snowball splattered the boy’s face. Everyone started yelling and throwing snowballs at Masahiro. He dodged some, was hit by others. Laughing, he packed more snowballs and returned fire. For a moment he didn’t have to worry about Taeko and her talk of eloping. He didn’t have to think about what would happen if he and his father couldn’t prove Lord Ienobu was responsible for the attack on the shogun. But soon his bare hands were freezing; a snowball melted down his neck. He couldn’t forget that he had a job to do.

The investigation was his chance to help himself, his father, and their whole family get out of trouble for good. He mustn’t flub it. When it was done, he would figure out how to fix things so that he and Taeko could be together.

“That’s enough!” He help up his hands, surrendering. The boys groaned. “Dengoro, come inside with me.”

Dengoro smiled, happy to be singled out by the man who was so good at snowball fights. He led Masahiro to a chamber, sat on his unmade bed, and waited, bright-eyed and expectant.

Masahiro knelt on the floor and introduced himself. He felt under pressure because although he’d helped his father with past investigations, this was the first of his adult life, and more would be expected of him. He’d also realized that his father wasn’t infallible. In four years Sano hadn’t managed to defeat Lord Ienobu, and Masahiro had begun to doubt that he could. Masahiro couldn’t deny that his own life had been adversely affected by Sano’s actions. But that didn’t diminish his love or respect for his father. It only applied more pressure. Sano needed help, and Masahiro couldn’t let him down.

“My father and I are investigating the attack on the shogun,” Masahiro said. Dengoro’s expression filled with the awe of a younger boy impressed with an older one. Pride boosted Masahiro’s confidence. “We have to find out who did it. I’m hoping you can help us.”

“Help you, how?” Dengoro looked eager to do whatever Masahiro wanted.

“I’m going to ask you some questions. Do you swear to answer them honestly?”

Dengoro nodded solemnly. “I swear.”

He didn’t look tough enough to stab the shogun or clever enough to plant bloody footprints leading to the women’s quarter, but Masahiro remembered his father saying that appearances could be deceptive. “Did you like the shogun?”

The boy’s forehead wrinkled. “I guess so. He gives me food to eat, and a place to live, and clothes and toys and everything. I’m an orphan. My parents died in the earthquake. If not for him, I would be dead, too.”

He sounded as if he were quoting the palace official who procured the shogun’s concubines. Masahiro hinted, “But you don’t like him as much as you should?”

“I don’t like the things he makes me do.” Dengoro looked guilty.

“Well, I wouldn’t, either.” Although manly love was common and accepted by society, Masahiro wasn’t interested in it, and he felt sorry for the boys who were forced to have sex with the shogun. He felt particularly sorry for Dengoro, a nice child, but couldn’t go easy on him. “Do you ever get angry at the shogun?”

“… Sometimes. When it hurts.”

“What about tonight?”

Dengoro chewed his fingernails. “I didn’t want to sleep with him. He has the measles. I’m afraid of catching it.”

“My next question is the most important one.” Masahiro paused to let the gravity of it sink in. Dengoro waited, smiling eagerly. “Did you stab the shogun?”

“No!” Dengoro reacted as if Masahiro had played a cruel joke on him.

Masahiro didn’t like to hurt the boy, but he understood that being a detective sometimes required hurting people, and he would do it for the sake of his father. “Maybe it was an accident,” he suggested. “Maybe you just wanted the shogun to leave you alone, and you didn’t mean to hurt him. If it was an accident, you can tell me. I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble.” Being a detective sometimes also meant lying.