Laura Rowland - The Shogun's Daughter

“An investigation would be dangerous for you, too, if Yanagisawa finds out that you instigated it,” Sano told Lady Nobuko.

“For a woman there’s nothing worse than what he’s already done to me.” She donned the tragic air of a martyr. “And my life is so filled with suffering that I would gladly risk death for a chance to destroy Yanagisawa.”

The force of his own hunger for revenge pushed Sano toward taking the first step on the dangerous path. But he said, “The evidence that Tsuruhime’s death was murder is flimsy. A soiled sheet that was seen by one witness before it disappeared, that can’t be traced to Yanagisawa. An investigation could endanger us all for nothing.”

“I think it was murder. And I know you’ll find evidence.” Reiko’s eyes shone with faith in Sano.

“I may find evidence that leads somewhere else than to Yanagisawa,” Sano said. “If I do, I won’t frame him and let the real killer go free.”

“I am aware of your reputation for seeking truth and justice,” Lady Nobuko said. “I won’t ask you to compromise your honor. I want the truth about Tsuruhime’s death. I want justice for her even if Yanagisawa comes out smelling like flowers.”

“Very well.” Sano didn’t believe her. He thought her desire for revenge was blinding her to the possibility that someone other than Yanagisawa might be guilty. But Sano realized that he’d decided to conduct the investigation as soon as he’d heard her suspicion that the shogun’s daughter had been murdered by Yanagisawa. He had additional reason besides keeping Yoshisato from inheriting the regime and securing his own family’s future. He must avenge his friends whose lives Yanagisawa had destroyed. “I’ll begin my inquiries at once.”

Lady Nobuko looked satisfied, as if she’d never doubted Sano would cooperate. Korika smiled in relief. “Will you keep me informed as to your progress?” Lady Nobuko said as she and her lady-in-waiting rose.

“Yes.” Sano wondered if he would regret his decision. Circumstances were pushing him along a dangerous course. “Remember, everyone: This must be kept strictly confidential.”

But he was already committed to the investigation, and there was no turning back.

The first post station on the Tōkaidō-the main highway leading to points west-was situated at the edge of Edo. There, a long line of travelers on foot, horseback, and riding in ox-drawn carts or palanquins and basket chairs carried by bearers inched toward a small building. From inside a window in the building, four officials questioned the travelers one by one.

“Name? Place of residence? Why are you coming to Edo?”

The officials recorded the information in ledgers. Clerks searched the travelers, their baggage, and their vehicles for hidden weapons, secret messages, and other contraband.

Hirata sat astride his horse, twentieth in line. Coarse dark stubble covered his face and his shaved crown. His wrinkled clothes were dirty. His fetid odor of sweat, urine, oily hair, and bad breath disgusted him. His skin itched from flea bites.

During his four months’ absence from Edo, he’d been staying in cheap inns and camping in the woods. He hadn’t bathed in days. He looked like the fugitive he was, and he felt the same anxiety, suspicion, and fear as every other man on the run.

Surveying the people ahead of him, Hirata saw four women decked out in gaudy kimonos and makeup. They flirted with the men near them-peasants driving oxcarts owned by the government and laden with wood, stone, and tiles, and the mounted army troops guarding the carts. Behind Hirata, peasants carried knapsacks; samurai bodyguards escorted merchants accompanied by porters lugging goods and cash boxes. Refugees from the villages destroyed by the tsunami numbered among the people flocking to Edo from all over Japan to make their fortune on the rebuilding boom. Edo was like an open sack, and people were stuffing it full of themselves, their muscle, their wealth, their ambitions, their diseases, and their vices. Hirata didn’t see anyone he recognized. He cast his gaze over the surrounding area.

Beyond the post station rose the arched framework of a new bridge spanning the Nihonbashi River; the old bridge had collapsed during the earthquake. There, carpenters were busy at work. Ferrymen in small boats rowed passengers across the river. A new stable sheltered horses for rent. Porters, palanquin bearers, and basket chair carriers for hire sat in a campground, awaiting customers. New inns were under construction amid tents that served as temporary housing for travelers. When Hirata had left Edo, this area had been a complete ruin. Amazed at the progress made in a short time, he uneasily wondered what else had changed.

He concentrated his attention on the auras of the million people in the city, the energy that all living things emitted. His mystical powers allowed him to perceive the unique aura that each human possessed, that signaled his or her personality, health, and emotions. The landscape of Hirata’s brain vibrated and sizzled with auras. Some belonged to people he knew. His mind shied away from those of his family and his master, whom he’d left on bad terms. Uncertain of his welcome, he yearned for them but dreaded seeing them again. He searched for one particular aura-the conjoined energy of the three men he’d fled Edo to escape.

He didn’t find Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. But that didn’t mean they weren’t near. They, unlike most creatures, could turn their aura on and off at will.

The line moved forward. The gaudy women ahead of Hirata reached the post station. They told the officials, “We’re maids looking for work.”

It was obvious that they were prostitutes. The officials fondled them and made lewd remarks while searching them, then let them pass. Edo needed prostitutes to keep the merchants and workers happy.

Now came Hirata’s turn. When he dismounted outside the window, he recognized the samurai official. “Arai?” It was his chief retainer. “What are you doing here?”

“Hirata- san !” Arai was just as surprised to see Hirata. “I work here.”

“What are you talking about?” Hirata said, dismayed as well as puzzled. He hadn’t wanted to meet anyone he knew while he was so dirty and ill-groomed. “Didn’t I put you in charge of my detective corps before I left town?”

“Yes. But a lot of things have happened since then.” Arai looked as if he hated to be the bearer of bad news. “The shogun got mad because you weren’t around when he wanted you. He took away your post. You’re not his sōsakan-sama anymore.”

Hirata was horrified, even though he’d expected it and knew it was no worse than he deserved. “What am I?”

“You’re still Chamberlain Sano’s chief retainer. Except that Sano isn’t chamberlain anymore. Yanagisawa is. He got the shogun to name Yoshisato as his heir. And he demoted a lot of other people besides Sano.”

“When was this?” Hirata said, appalled.

“Today.”

“What happened to Sano?”

“He’s Chief Rebuilding Magistrate,” Arai said.

“And my detective corps?”

“Disbanded. Your stipend was revoked, and there was no money to support us. A friend of mine got me this post. Other men weren’t so lucky. There are many government positions open because people died during the earthquake, but the regime can’t afford to fill them all. Some of our men are working as laborers and living in the tent camps.”

“Why didn’t they stay at my estate?”

“Your estate was taken away, too.”

Panic seized Hirata. “Where are my wife and children?”

“Sano- san took them in,” Arai said.

Guilt increased Hirata’s dread of seeing his family and Sano. Midori was probably furious because he’d left her and the children homeless. And Hirata had not only forsaken his duty to Sano, he’d stuck Sano with the responsibility for his family. Hirata was tempted to turn around and leave town again, but he couldn’t. Along with scores to settle, he had apologies and amends to make. He might as well start now.