Laura Rowland: The Iris Fan

As if he thought his own concern for the shogun might seem lacking, Lord Ienobu said, “Is there anything you want, Uncle?”

“Yes.” The shogun’s voice was faint, sleepy, but tinged with anger. “I want to know who did this to me.”

Opportunity beckoned Sano, as clear, bright, and many-faceted as a crystal. “I’ll find out, Your Excellency.”

The shogun started to turn toward Sano. Alarm bulged Ienobu’s eyes; he gripped the shogun’s hand tighter. “No, Uncle, let me handle it.”

Sano understood why Ienobu didn’t want him to investigate the stabbing: Here was his new chance to bring Ienobu down.

“Leave us for a moment,” Yanagisawa told the physician, Captain Hosono, the guards, and the servants. He obviously didn’t want them blatting all over town about the argument that was about to begin.

Another fit of trembling seized the shogun, then subsided. Dazed from the opium, he squinted at Ienobu, then Sano.

“Lord Ienobu shouldn’t be in charge of the investigation,” Sano said.

Ienobu started to protest. Yanagisawa leaned forward; the fire in his eyes intensified. Sano recognized that look, too: Yanagisawa was scouting the situation for an advantage for himself. The shogun interrupted Ienobu. “Why not?”

Sano couldn’t say, Because I think he sent the assassin to kill you. He’d learned the hard way that it was dangerous to accuse the shogun’s heir of murder and treason. If he accused Lord Ienobu again, and the shogun again didn’t believe him, the result would be death for him instead of another demotion. “Because he has no experience with investigating crimes.”

Yanagisawa said, “Whereas you’ve investigated crimes for twenty years.” Although his scornful tone denigrated Sano’s expertise, he’d also pointed it up.

“That is true,” the shogun murmured.

Ienobu hurried to object. “But, Uncle, you banned Sano- san from court.”

“Your Excellency can bring me back,” Sano said. “It’s your prerogative to have the attempt on your life investigated by the man you’ve always trusted to solve crimes for you.”

The shogun twisted himself toward Sano. Ienobu clutched the shogun’s hand so hard that his own knuckles turned white. “Uncle, you appointed me Acting Shogun so you wouldn’t have to deal with difficult business while you’re ill.”

“Your Excellency can revoke the appointment,” Sano said.

Worry crinkled the red, measled skin on the shogun’s forehead. His eyelids drooped, then fluttered open. Where once he would have gladly let the matter be taken out of his hands so that he could sleep, now he struggled to stay awake because he wanted to make up his own mind.

“Sano- san and Lord Ienobu have both raised valid points, Your Excellency,” Yanagisawa said. “I suggest a compromise.”

If Sano hadn’t already suspected that something was off about Yanagisawa, these words would have alerted him as loudly as if a gong had been struck beside his ear. Compromise was an alien concept to Yanagisawa.

“What sort of compromise?” The shogun reverted to his thirty-year habit of relying on Yanagisawa’s counsel.

“Sano- san conducts the investigation. Lord Ienobu and I supervise.” Yanagisawa sounded as if this were the happiest, most reasonable answer. “We’ll have the benefit of his expertise while making sure he doesn’t step out of line.”

“Very well,” the shogun said with a tremulous sigh. “Nephew, let go of me, you’re crushing my fingers.”

Ienobu released the shogun. Holding his own hand in midair, afraid it was contaminated with measles, he glared at Yanagisawa. Sano saw the division between them as clearly as if it were a line drawn with the shogun’s blood.

With immense, groaning effort, the shogun turned himself on his other side and faced Sano. Sano hurried to say, “Your Excellency, in order for me to do my job properly, I must beg you to restore me to my original rank of chief investigator. And appoint my son as my assistant. And order my swords returned.”

“Done,” the shogun murmured.

Sano exhaled. In these few moments, his fortunes had reversed. His detective instincts and warrior spirit rose up in him like a rejuvenating tide. This was the most important case of his career, and the battle he’d been fighting for more than four years was shifting into a new, decisive phase. This was his chance to make things right for the regime, for his family.

Yanagisawa regarded him with opaque serenity. Ienobu gawped at him in outrage. Sano didn’t know how far he could rely on Yanagisawa; his old enemy’s motives remained a mystery. But he could count on Ienobu to retaliate.

Snow fell on the banchō , the district where low-ranking Tokugawa vassals resided in small estates crammed together and surrounded by live bamboo fences. The bare stalks and dried leaves rattled in the wind. At an hour past midnight, the maze of dirt roads was deserted. Nailed to a rough wooden gate at one estate was a brass medallion of a flying crane-Sano’s clan insignia. Inside the house, a girl tiptoed down the passage. She carried a candle that illuminated her round, pretty face. Her eyes had an eager glow; her soft lips smiled. A green-and-white-flowered nightdress clothed a short figure that was womanly for her fourteen years.

Taeko trembled with anticipation. She stepped carefully, avoiding the spots where the floor creaked. She mustn’t awaken the family.

A tall samurai youth dressed in a dark kimono crept around the corner. The candlelight touched his handsome, alert face. Taeko’s heart leapt. No matter that their families were old friends and they lived in the same house, the sight of Masahiro always thrilled her. She’d loved him since she’d been little and looked up to him and followed him around. Three years her senior, he’d played with her and teased her like a big brother would. Now his face lit with the same joy she felt. He grabbed her hand, blew out the candle, and pulled her into a storage room full of unused household furnishings. Taeko dropped the candle as Masahiro drew her down onto a pile of quilts spread on the floor. He shut the door while they passionately embraced.

Even though they’d been lovers since last autumn, Taeko could hardly believe this was happening. For a long time she and Masahiro had been best friends, and it had seemed he would be content with that forever-until that golden day when he’d looked at her, a new expression had come into his eyes, and it was as easy as that. Now his hands fumbled opened her robe; he caressed her breasts. Taeko cooed with delight.

“Shh!” Masahiro said.

The house was so small, any noise could wake someone. Containing her excitement, Taeko reached under Masahiro’s robe and grasped his erect penis. He stifled a moan. Taeko wished she could see him naked in the light, touch him all over his body, and admire him, but they had to make love in a hurry, under the cover of darkness. Masahiro touched her between her legs. More than ready, she flopped back on the quilts, and he climbed on her. When he entered her, they both gasped with pleasure.

The first two times, it had hurt, and she’d bled. The third time she’d experienced an incredible, wonderful feeling. Now, as Masahiro began to thrust, she held him tight while she soared toward rapture.

Masahiro started to withdraw.

“No!” she whispered, holding him tighter. “Stay!”

“I can’t hold off any longer.”

“It’s all right!”

He groaned, thrusting faster. His body tensed; he shuddered and panted. Taeko screamed as the ecstasy rocked her like waves from the sea.

A little girl’s voice called from down the corridor, “Mama!”

A woman’s drowsy voice answered. “What?”