Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

“I didn’t.” Dengoro’s sweet face crumpled. “Do you think I did? Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”

Masahiro thought Dengoro was telling the truth. “No, I believe you,” he said in an apologetic tone. “And I still need your help. All right?”

“All right.” Dengoro’s willingness to forgive made Masahiro ashamed.

“You told my father you didn’t see anything when the shogun was stabbed. But maybe you did and you forgot. Think back to when you woke up. Try to remember.”

Dengoro stared into space and concentrated. “… I think I saw somebody running away. An old lady. It might have been the shogun’s wife.”

If Masahiro couldn’t pin the attack on Lord Ienobu, then Lady Nobuko was his second choice. She’d almost gotten him killed. “Why do you think it was Lady Nobuko?”

“It looked like her.”

“How many times have you seen her?”

“Once. During a New Year ceremony.”

Masahiro thought it unlikely that the boy could identify a running figure glimpsed in the dark as a person he’d seen once before. “Do you know that my father is looking for the attacker in the Large Interior?”

“Yes. I heard the guards talking.”

So he knew the women were under suspicion. Masahiro asked, “Which of the other women do you know?”

Dengoro named a few servants. “And there’s the otoshiyori .” His brow wrinkled. “It could have been Madam Chizuru. After I woke up, I think I smelled her. She smells like peppermint and flowers.”

Masahiro had smelled her tonight. Her scent was certainly strong enough to have lingered in the shogun’s bedchamber and distinctive enough for Dengoro to remember. Heartened by this clue, yet skeptical, Masahiro decided to try a test. “Do you know any of the shogun’s girl concubines?”

“No. They’re kept away from us. But we sneak up on the roof and spy on them in their garden. They’re all ugly except one. Her name is Tomoe. She’s really pretty. And she sings really nice.”

Masahiro gave him a sly man-to-man smile. “You like her?”

Dengoro blushed and shrugged.

“I know you wouldn’t want to get Tomoe in trouble, but could it have been her that stabbed the shogun?”

Dengoro hesitated, eyeing Masahiro, gnawing his thumbnail. “Maybe.”

Masahiro rotated his hand, prompting Dengoro.

“I think I heard the person muttering before she ran away. I couldn’t hear what it was, but … it sounded like Tomoe’s voice.” Dengoro looked unhappy to incriminate Tomoe but hopeful that he’d said the right thing.

Exasperation filled Masahiro. His hunch had been correct: Dengoro was inventing evidence to please him. Dengoro probably would have said he’d seen the Buddha stab the shogun, if Masahiro had suggested it. Although flattered because the boy wanted so much to be liked by him, Masahiro was also angry. “You didn’t really see Lady Nobuko, or smell Madam Chizuru’s hair oil, or hear Tomoe’s voice, did you?”

Dengoro’s face showed alarm and confusion that gave way to chagrin.

“Then don’t say you did!” Masahiro grabbed Dengoro by the chin and glared down at him. “This isn’t a game. By making things up, you could get innocent people put to death. You could be helping whoever stabbed the shogun get away with it.” He was furious at the boy for misleading him, furious at Lord Ienobu and Chamberlain Yanagisawa for mistreating him and his father, furious at everything that was keeping him and Taeko apart.

“I was just trying to help.” Dengoro’s voice wobbled.

“You’re wasting my time!” Masahiro let go of Dengoro.

“I’m sorry.” Dengoro jumped to his feet. “Please don’t go. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Ashamed of hurting the boy’s feelings, Masahiro relented. “I’m not mad. But I have work to do.”

“Will you come back and see me again?” Dengoro pleaded.

Maybe he actually did have information about the stabbing. Just because he’d made up stories tonight didn’t mean he hadn’t actually seen something he’d forgotten and would remember later. “All right,” Masahiro said.

If he could help his father solve the crime, maybe it would change things enough that he and Taeko could marry. His own lack of progress increased the pressure and his determination.

Dengoro smiled, cheerful again. As Masahiro left the room, he reminded himself that Dengoro had been at the scene during the attack. Maybe he wasn’t just a terrible witness. Maybe he had stabbed the shogun.

* * *

Sano walked the wet, slushy gravel path to Lady Nobuko’s quarters. Manabe doggedly followed. The sky was more gray than black above the glow of lights from the castle; morning was near. The bamboo thickets hid any sign of life in the little house. When Sano knocked on the door a long time passed before it was opened by a gray-haired man dressed in a dark blue coat-Lady Nobuko’s personal physician.

“Lady Nobuko isn’t receiving visitors,” the physician said. “She’s ill.”

The shogun’s wife suffered from headaches, a convenient excuse for avoiding unwanted conversations. Sano had no patience for his old adversary’s games. “I’m investigating the attack on the shogun. She has to speak with me whether she wants to or not.”

“She was very upset to learn about her husband. I gave her a sedative. She won’t wake up for a few hours.”

Sano wanted to barge in on Lady Nobuko and thrash her until she begged him to let her talk. Pent-up frustration, pressure to solve the crime, and his ravenous hunger for revenge on Lord Ienobu frayed his control over his temper. But there was no use trying to interrogate an unconscious woman. “Tell her I’ll be back later,” Sano said.

As he departed, Manabe fell into step beside him. Sano said, “How about telling me what you really did the night of Yoshisato’s murder?”

Manabe just smirked. Sano determined that he would eventually get the better of both Manabe and Lady Nobuko. In the meantime, he had two other suspects to question.

* * *

Hirata loitered outside Edo Castle, apart from the crowd of beggars, priests, and nuns soliciting alms that began to gather along the avenue as the gray sky brightened. He squinted up at the guards in the watchtowers, the covered corridors on the walls, and the guardhouse built over the main gate at which a long line of officials, troops, and visitors stood. The sentries questioned people one by one before letting them enter.

“How am I supposed to get into the castle?” Hirata asked.

How many times do I have to tell you not to talk to me out loud when other people are around ? said General Otani’s irate voice inside his head. You’ll draw attention to yourself.

Those sentries know me, Hirata said silently. They know I’m wanted for treason. If I try to go in, they’ll try to arrest me, and it would create a scene.

Don’t worry.

Compelled by the ghost’s will, Hirata drew a deep breath. His lungs expanded and expanded. Energy currents spread through him. His aura changed, a sensation like pins pricking the surface of his skin and a sound like metallic tinkling from the part of his mind where the ghost kept its secrets. He looked down at his body-and saw only the snow on the street where his feet had stood. He let out a yell that General Otani stifled by contracting his throat muscles. He held up his hands and saw Edo Castle where they should have been. They, and the rest of him-clothes and all-had disappeared. I’m invisible! What did you do to me?

An ancient spell. General Otani sounded amused at his terror.

Hirata patted his hands over himself. His body, and the rough cotton of his garments, were as solid as ever. He gasped with relief. A soldier coming toward him frowned, wondering where the sound had come from. General Otani made him step aside before the soldier walked right into him.