Laura Rowland - The Cloud Pavilion

"Speaking of oxcarts," Detective Marume said as he strode into the room with Fukida, "we went to the stables. The man in charge says there weren't any oxcarts assigned to work in Asakusa on the day we found Chiyo there-or on the day she was kidnapped."

"Whoever drove that oxcart, he wasn't there on legitimate business," Fukida said.

"We spent the rest of the day trying to track down drivers who hadn't been where they were supposed to be," Marume said. "But-" He turned up his empty palms.

"Maybe we can narrow down the search," Sano said. "Hirata-san, did you get a description of the driver who was seen near Shinobazu Pond?"

"No. The witness didn't see him. But he said it could be someone who'd been working in the vicinity-a fellow about twenty-five years old, with two teeth missing."

Sano frowned as he drank tea and pondered.

"But that's good news, isn't it?" Reiko said. "Now you have an idea of whom to look for."

"The problem is, I got a description of a suspect, too," Sano said, "and mine doesn't match Hirata-san's." He told of his trip to Zj Temple district. Reiko was aghast to learn that the third victim had been an elderly nun. "My suspect is a big, muscular man in his thirties, with a shaved head, an unshaven face, and a scab on his cheekbone. The novice who saw him outside the convent didn't mention any missing teeth."

"We could have two or three different criminals," Hirata agreed. "What did the nun say?"

"Nothing, unfortunately." Sano explained that she was apparently so distraught that all she did was pray.

At least Chiyo still had her wits, Reiko thought. But that was a mixed blessing. Chiyo couldn't escape her misery by withdrawing into religion.

Sano asked Reiko, "Did you learn anything from Chiyo?"

Reiko felt his hope. "I'm sorry I have so little to report." She told them about the man at the shrine who'd called to Chiyo for help. "But Chiyo doesn't remember actually seeing the man. She does remember what he did to her." Reiko described the bites on Chiyo's breasts, how the man had suckled on her and called her "dearest mother, beloved mother," and the threats he'd made against Chiyo and her baby.

Sano shook his head in horror and disbelief. "Chiyo didn't see him while all that was happening?"

"No. I think he wore a mask." Reiko explained about the demonic face and the clouds Chiyo had seen, or imagined.

"It sounds like she was drugged," Sano said.

"That's what I thought," Reiko said.

"When the mind is disturbed, it can play tricks on itself, with or without drugs," Hirata suggested.

"By the way, Chiyo is still at her father's house. Her husband has cast her off," Reiko explained.

Sano looked disturbed but not surprised. "As if she hasn't suffered enough already." Setting down his tea bowl, he added, "We've covered a lot of ground, but we only have an oxcart that might or might not be involved, and descriptions of two suspects who might or might not be the culprits in any of the kidnappings."

"I started a search for mine," Hirata said.

"So did I," Sano said. "I sent my whole army out on the street to post notices and circulate my suspect's description."

"I hope it works." But Reiko knew how many men among Edo's million people probably fit those descriptions. Personal regret weighed upon her. "I wish there were something more I could do."

"There is," Sano said. "Talk to Chiyo again. Maybe she'll remember something else. And I want you to interview Fumiko and the nun. Maybe you can get more information from them than Hirata and I did."

For a brief moment when the sun ascended over the hills outside Edo, the rooftops of the city gleamed bright as gold. Then clouds rolled down from the hills, chasing and overtaking the rays of the sun. Edo was cloaked in a silvery mist.

Inside Sano's estate, Sano and Masahiro knelt opposite one another, some ten paces apart, in a shadowed courtyard. Each wore white martial arts practice clothes, his hand on the long sword at his waist. They sat perfectly still, their expressions serene yet alert.

Sano drew his sword. In one fluid motion, he whipped his blade out of its scabbard, leaped to his feet, and lunged. Masahiro followed suit. They slashed at each other; they parried and whirled, attacked, and counterattacked. Their wooden blades never touched, never made contact with their bodies. At last they retreated, sheathed their swords, and bowed.

"Your form is improving," Sano said, "but you were slower than usual."

Masahiro hung his head. "I'm sorry, Father."

Sano disliked criticizing his son. That was why he'd hired a tutor to teach Masahiro. He remembered his own childhood, when his father had taught him swordsmanship, and how much his father's constant, merciless tongue-lashings had hurt. He and Masahiro enjoyed practicing together; it was their special time to share during his busy day. But Sano couldn't ignore his son's faults.

Uncorrected, they might be the death of Masahiro someday. His own father's stern discipline was the reason Sano had fought and lived to fight again.

"You weren't paying attention," Sano said. "If this had been real combat, you'd be dead."

"Yes, Father, I know," Masahiro said, chastened.

Sano was concerned because Masahiro usually took martial arts practice very seriously. He knew better than other children how crucial good fighting skills were.

"What's the matter?" Sano said.

"Nothing," Masahiro said, with a haste that aroused Sano's suspicions.

"Is something on your mind?"

Masahiro fidgeted with the hilt of his sword. "No."

The gate opened, and Detectives Fukida and Marume appeared. "Please excuse the interruption, but there's good news," Fukida said.

"Can I go now, Father?" Masahiro said.

Sano studied his son's eager, nervous face. Masahiro was normally enthusiastic about their sessions and reluctant for them to end. His behavior today puzzled Sano.

But Sano said, "All right," and didn't press for an explanation. His own father had made him practice for long hours every single day. He'd often wished for time off to play with other children, wander the city and see the sights, or simply do nothing.

Masahiro hurried off. Sano said to the detectives, "What is it?"

"We just went back to the oxcart stables," Fukida said. "We asked the boss if any drivers fit your description of the man from the convent. He knew of one."

Hopeful excitement rose in Sano. "Good work. Where is he? Have you arrested him?"

"Not yet," Fukida said.

"He's working right near our doorstep," Marume said. "We thought you'd like to be in on the action."

Before Reiko left home, she stopped at the kitchen, where an army of cooks prepared food for the hundreds of people who lived in Sano's estate. Cooks slung vegetables and fish, grilled, stewed, and fried amid a din of cleavers chopping, pans rattling, and hearths roaring. Powerful aromas of garlic and hot oil permeated the steam from boiling pots.

Reiko packed fried dumplings stuffed with shrimp, grilled eel, raw tuna strips fastened to rice balls with seaweed, noodles with vegetables, and cakes filled with sweet chestnut paste into a lacquered wooden, compartmented lunchbox. She filled a jar with water, then carried the feast to her palanquin. She climbed inside and said to the bearers, "Take me to Zj Temple district."

After hastily changing his martial arts clothes for his regular garments, Sano donned his swords, mounted his horse, and left his estate with his detectives. They stopped to fetch Hirata on their way out of the castle. Marume and Fukida led the way through the northwestern gate. They brought their horses to a stop on the avenue that circled the castle. The avenue separated Edo Castle from the daimyo district, where the feudal lords and their thousands of retainers lived in vast compounds. Traffic that consisted mainly of samurai on horse back avoided the roadside by the castle, where piles of rocks, scrap lumber, and dirt overflowed into the street. Sano looked up at the construction site.