Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

“That’s not necessary,” Sano said, knowing how poor Toda was. He hid his pity, sparing Toda’s pride. “We won’t impose on you for long. You must be anxious to leave.”

“Leave? And miss the war?” Toda laughed. “It will be the greatest spectacle of my lifetime.”

He either had no place to go or no means for getting there, Sano thought. “Be careful.”

“If a stray bullet gets me, fine. There are worse ways to die.” Toda asked Sano, “Who let you out? I thought Yanagisawa had you sewed up tight. Congratulations on your son’s marriage.”

“I see that you’re still well informed.”

“Even though Lord Ienobu kicked me out of the metsuke after thirty years of loyal service, I still have friends who bring me news.”

“Not so loyal service,” Sano reminded Toda. “You were never completely in his camp or anyone else’s. You played for all sides.”

Toda smiled wryly. “Help all of the people some of the time, and I’ll be fine whoever ends up on top. That was my survival strategy, but it didn’t work with Lord Ienobu-he’s an all-or-nothing sort of man.”

“So why are you still alive?” Marume asked.

“He likes knowing there’s someone uglier than he is.”

Sano and Marume laughed. Toda said, “No, it’s because he thinks he may need me someday. I have a lot of information stored up here.” He tapped his scarred head.

“That’s why I’m here,” Sano said. “To mine your memory.”

Toda turned serious now that they were getting down to business. “Lord Ienobu took away my stipend. I can’t afford to give anything away for free.”

“I’ll give you back your stipend after we defeat Lord Ienobu,” Sano said.

“Hah! Fat chance. Is that the best you can offer?”

“Yes.”

Conceding with a shrug, Toda said, “Ask away.”

“Have there recently been any sudden, unexpected deaths in the regime?”

Toda’s eye gleamed with interest. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Nobody’s looked too closely at them, for fear of running afoul of Lord Ienobu.”

Sano felt the sinking sensation that presaged bad news. “Who died?”

“The assistant to the treasury minister.”

“He used to divert money from taxes and tributes into Yanagisawa’s pocket.” Sano saw that putting him out of action would have benefited Lord Ienobu. “How did he die, and when?”

“About two years ago. He had severe indigestion after a banquet. He was a glutton and a big drinker. He died after being violently ill all night.”

“Who else?”

“A captain of the palace guard. He was Yanagisawa’s man, too. He got bronchitis during the Mount Fuji eruption, and he’d had trouble breathing ever since. One night he couldn’t get enough air and suffocated.”

The guard captain would have been able to arrange a lapse in palace security so that Yanagisawa could assassinate Lord Ienobu. Sano and Marume exchanged grave looks as they saw the pattern. Dengoro was the most recent case in which someone who’d posed a threat to Lord Ienobu had had a health problem that could account for his sudden death.

“Do you think the deaths were murders?” Toda asked. “Is that why you’re interested in them? Because you think Lord Ienobu is responsible and you can use it against him? If so, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. There were no wounds or evidence of poison on the bodies.”

No one would have thought to look for a fingerprint-shaped bruise, Sano realized. No one would have suspected that Hirata was involved. If not for his hunch that had sent him to Edo Morgue, Sano wouldn’t have seen the telltale sign on Dengoro.

“I knew it was a long shot digging for dirt on Lord Ienobu. I just asked on the off chance that you had some.” Sano couldn’t tell Toda that it was Hirata whose crimes he was trying to uncover. His own former chief retainer and friend! “I figured you wouldn’t mind helping me take Lord Ienobu down.”

“Believe me, I would be glad to. But his hands are clean as far as I know.”

But Hirata’s weren’t, Sano was now certain. Sano wondered if Lord Ienobu had any idea that someone was secretly killing his enemies on his behalf.

“The third sudden death doesn’t seem to have benefited Lord Ienobu,” Toda said.

Two out of three was bad enough. “Who was it?”

“A samurai named Ishikawa Kakubei.”

“Never heard of him,” Marume said.

“He didn’t live in Edo, although he died here,” Toda said.

“What was he doing here?” Sano asked.

“He was from Nagasaki. He accompanied an envoy of Dutch traders when they came to Edo to visit the shogun.”

Nagasaki was the only place in Japan where foreigners were allowed. A previous shogun had decided that foreigners-and their strange religions and advanced weaponry-posed a danger to the regime and had closed Japan’s other ports. The Western barbarians were the most feared foreigners of all. Only the Dutch, who’d signed an agreement not to meddle in local affairs or spread Christianity, were permitted to trade with Japan. They lived in a prisonlike compound in Deshima, an island off the coast of Nagasaki.

“I remember that visit,” Sano said. “It was a few months after the earthquake.” He also remembered his own visit to Nagasaki nineteen years ago, in another lifetime.

“It was a bad time for them to come,” Marume said. “The roads were barely passable, and the city was still in ruins.”

“The shogun was afraid he would lose face if the Dutch saw his castle in such bad shape,” Toda said, “but they’d been granted official permission for their annual journey to pay their respects to him, and protocol is protocol.”

Sano had been busy organizing relief for the people left homeless and destitute by the earthquake and tsunami. He’d briefly met the Dutch, and he didn’t recall their Japanese escorts.

“Ishikawa was a translator,” Toda said. “He was one of three who interpreted for the Dutch during their visit.”

There were only a few translators in Japan. It was against the law for anyone except those trusted, officially appointed men to learn foreign languages. People who spoke foreign languages might conspire with foreigners against their own government.

“How did he die?” Sano asked.

“He caught a bad cold during the journey. By the time he reached Edo, it had settled in his lungs. He had a high fever, which is what killed him, according to the doctors. He died the day before the Dutch went back to Nagasaki.”

Sano unwillingly spotted another example in the pattern. But why would Hirata have killed a translator? That couldn’t have done Lord Ienobu any good.

“The poor sap,” Marume said. “He made the trip and died for nothing. He must not have interpreted while the Dutch met with the shogun. The shogun never lets anybody who’s sick get near him.”

“That’s right,” Toda said, “but Lord Ienobu had a private meeting with the Dutch envoys. Ishikawa translated during that.”

Here was the connection between Lord Ienobu and Ishikawa. An unpleasant, ominous feeling told Sano that the meeting was an important clue and Hirata was involved in the translator’s death. “What happened at that meeting?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t find out about it until after Ishikawa was dead and the Dutch had gone back to their country. I could hardly ask Lord Ienobu.”

“Was anybody else present?” Sano asked.

“Just Lord Ienobu’s chief retainer. Manabe.”

Sano experienced a sense of inevitability. He’d circled back to the unfinished business that had put him on the cold, dark road from Yoshiwara on a winter night. His quest for the truth about Yoshisato’s death had led him to Manabe. His quest for the truth about Hirata and the attack on the shogun had led him to the same person, again.