Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

Kikuko ate hungrily, dropping morsels on her white kimono, smiling at Masahiro. Masahiro chewed and swallowed as if unaware of what he was eating. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Kikuko since he’d first seen her face. Although Sano had hoped Masahiro could accept his marriage, his obvious infatuation with Kikuko made Sano feel more uneasy than relieved. Sano glanced at Reiko. She wouldn’t look at him. He knew with a desolate heart that this wedding marked the end of his own marriage.

Yanagisawa raised his eyebrow at Masahiro and Kikuko and said with a sardonic smile, “It’s time the newlyweds retired for the night.”

A maid helped Kikuko rise. Masahiro jumped to his feet so fast that he upset his tray table. He flushed with embarrassment. Yanagisawa chuckled. Sano felt Reiko seething with helpless anger beside him. Masahiro shambled out of the room beside Kikuko. Sano was so furious, he would have done something catastrophic had Lord Mori not returned at that moment.

“There’s news from the castle,” Lord Mori said to Yanagisawa. “One of your spies managed to smuggle out a message.”

Apprehension clutched Sano’s heart. He heard Reiko gasp. Yanagisawa demanded, “Is it about the shogun?” His features were taut with his fear that the shogun had died, Lord Ienobu was the new dictator, and his own chances of ruling Japan were drastically diminished.

“The shogun is worse than yesterday but still alive,” Lord Mori said. “Lord Ienobu has requisitioned troops from the Tokugawa branch clans, and he expects them to arrive by tomorrow afternoon. He plans to attack us then. By the way, someone did die at the palace today. It was the boy who was sleeping with the shogun during the stabbing.”

“What makes you think the boy was murdered?” Detective Marume asked. “Didn’t he have the measles?”

“Young, healthy people often recover from the measles,” Sano said. “The circumstances of his death are suspicious.”

“The only witness to the stabbing dies suddenly while Lord Ienobu, our favorite suspect, is in charge at the castle? You’re right,” Marume said.

Their voices echoed in dank, earth-scented air. They were walking single file, Marume leading, through Lord Mori’s secret emergency exit. All daimyo estates had at least one. This was a narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel that started beneath the mansion and ran under the streets. The lantern Marume carried illuminated earthen walls shored up with planks and posts driven into a rocky clay floor. Sano felt as if he were marching to hell, but they couldn’t risk another trip through Lord Ienobu’s troops.

The tunnel angled sharply to the left. Water that smelled of sewage dripped down Sano’s neck. His feet sloshed in puddles from cesspools aboveground. Marume suddenly stopped. “Here we are, not a moment too soon.”

Breathing welcome fresh air, they pushed on the iron grille at the end of the tunnel. The grille swung outward. They emerged from a hole in a stone wall and skidded down the steep, slippery bank of a canal. They hurried along the footpath, then through a city lit by a moon that shone through the fog. Smoke from chimneys was the only sign of the citizens who hadn’t fled town. Sano and Marume took a circuitous route through alleys foul with accumulated garbage and night soil, avoiding the army troops who patrolled the main streets. They reached the slum district of Kodemma-chō. Its shacks, piles of debris left over from the earthquake, and roving stray dogs glowed eerily in the light from a fire burning within the high walls that surrounded Edo Jail. The smoke stank of charred human flesh.

“At least we don’t have to worry about Yanagisawa finding out where we’re going,” Marume said.

Sano had had to tell Yanagisawa. He wouldn’t have been able to leave the estate without cooperation from Yanagisawa and Lord Mori. At first Yanagisawa had objected because he’d thought Sano meant to betray him again. Sano hadn’t wanted to leave his family alone with Yanagisawa, but his instincts told him that investigating Dengoro’s death could change the course of events. He’d explained that he had to examine the body; he’d promised Yanagisawa evidence that would prove Lord Ienobu was responsible for the attack on the shogun and the elimination of the witness, and the evidence of his guilt should turn his allies among the daimyo and Tokugawa branch clans against Ienobu. After a heated argument, after warning Sano that his family would suffer if he didn’t behave himself, Yanagisawa had capitulated. Lord Mori had shown Sano the secret exit. Sano only hoped he could deliver on his promise.

“I never thought I’d be glad that Yanagisawa knows about my business here,” Sano said as he and Marume crossed the rickety bridge over the canal that served as a moat for the jail.

The sentries at the ironclad gates recognized Sano even though he hadn’t been there in more than four years. He paid them to keep quiet about his visits. They let him and Marume in. The smoke grew thicker, acrid, and nauseating as Sano and Marume walked through the prison compound, past the guards’ barracks and the dungeon, to a yard enclosed by a bamboo fence. Flames roared from a pit dug near the morgue, a low building with a thatched roof. Human shapes swathed in white cloth lay in a row on the ground-people who’d died of the measles and had to be cremated right away, lest they spread the disease. A man dressed in a leather cape, hood, boots, and gloves dragged a corpse over to the pit and pushed it in. The thud puffed cinders and ash up through the smoke and flames. Sano hoped Dengoro’s body wasn’t already burned up. Another man, stoop-shouldered in his fire gear, leaning on a wooden cane, watched from a safe distance.

“Dr. Ito?” Sano said.

Both men turned. The watcher said, “Who’s there?” and pulled off his hood. His shaggy white hair blew in the smoky wind. His face was deeply lined, his skin blotched with brown spots. Missing teeth slackened his mouth. Although Sano had known Dr. Ito must be at least ninety, he was shocked by the changes that time had wrought upon his old friend.

“It’s Sano- san ,” the other man said, bowing to Sano and Marume.

Sano recognized Mura, Dr. Ito’s longtime assistant. His hair was white, too, his square face craggier. Mura took Dr. Ito’s arm. Ordinarily a man of Mura’s status would never touch a man of Dr. Ito’s. Mura belonged to the class of outcasts, who were considered spiritually unclean because of their hereditary link with dirty, death-related occupations such as butchering and leather tanning. They also collected garbage and night soil and worked as corpse handlers, torturers, and executioners. Dr. Ito was a renowned physician, but after he’d been caught practicing foreign science and sentenced to a lifelong custodianship at Edo Morgue, he’d been cut off from polite society. Mura had become his friend. Now Dr. Ito extended a groping hand into the air and Mura guided him to Sano, who experienced a stab of concern.

“Can’t you see me?” Sano asked.

Dr. Ito’s once-keen eyes were filmy with cataracts. “I’ve gone blind,” he said in the matter-of-fact tone of a man who has accepted his disability.

“I’m sorry.” Sano was grieved by his friend’s loss, the end of Dr. Ito’s life as a scientist. He felt selfish, having two more or less good eyes, his relative youth, and his health. No matter that he’d alienated his wife and son for the sake of an alliance with his worst enemy-he’d had a choice.

Dr. Ito smiled with the sardonic humor he hadn’t lost. “I hope you’re not here because you want me to conduct an examination of a murder victim. My days of practicing illegal science are over. I just pretend to supervise the morgue while Mura does all the work.”