Laura Rowland - The Incense Game

“Were Minister and Lady Ogyu acquainted with Lord Hosokawa’s daughters?” This seemed important to ask, although Sano couldn’t grasp why.

“I don’t know if he was, but she was. I give group lessons for women. They usually enjoy it. Lady Ogyu took some lessons with Lord Hosokawa’s daughters. But I don’t think they had much fun. The daughters were always quarreling. It was so uncomfortable, I was almost glad when they switched to Madam Usugumo.” Mizutani added, “Lady Ogyu never said a word. A strange woman. I could never tell what she was thinking.”

Nor could Sano fathom why the connection between Lady Ogyu and Lord Hosokawa’s feuding daughters was significant, although his instincts said it was.

“Sano- san?” Detective Marume’s image blurred in front of Sano. “What’s wrong?”

Sano realized that he was scowling in an effort to concentrate, and swaying on his feet. “Nothing,” he lied, then told Mizutani, “Thank you for your assistance. You can go.”

“I’m taking you home,” Marume said as he and Sano walked toward their horses. “It’s my duty to tell you that you need to follow the doctor’s orders and stay in bed.”

“Not yet,” Sano said. “We’re going to the Yushima Seid o. I have to talk to Lady Ogyu.”

Traveling back to Edo, Hirata set such a fast pace that his horse staggered to a halt on the outskirts of town. He jumped down, glanced up at the sky, and cursed. The sun was rapidly descending toward the western horizon. Desperate to reach the castle before the hour of the cock, he looked around. A mounted soldier trotted in his direction. Hirata ran to the soldier, pulled him off the horse, leaped on, and galloped away. He crouched low in the saddle; the horse’s hooves pounded the earth; Edo’s blighted landscape streamed past him. When the horse gave out in the daimyo district, Hirata leaped from the saddle and ran. Outside the castle, a long line of samurai waited at the gate. Hirata raced to the head of the line.

“This is an emergency,” he told the sentries.

They let him in. He hurried upward through the walled passages, veering around pedestrians, detouring around crumbled pavement. Halfway up the hill, porters carrying wooden beams blocked the path. On their left, the hill rose steeply to the next level of the castle. Hirata scaled the slope, grabbing at trees and shrubs. He climbed a broken wall and jumped down into another passage. Running past mounted patrol guards, he began to tire. Not even mystical powers could keep his body moving so fast indefinitely. By the time Hirata entered the palace gate, his leg ached from the old wound. He limped around the ruins of the palace. Reaching the guesthouse, he fell to his hands and knees. Sweat poured down his face. Panting, Hirata crawled.

Temple bells began tolling the hour of the cock.

Seated on the dais inside his chamber, the shogun announced, “It’s time for my exercise.” He held out his hand to Masahiro, who pulled him to his feet.

“Fetch His Excellency’s outdoor clothes,” Masahiro told the other pages.

The pages glowered at him; they didn’t like him giving them orders, but they obeyed. The shogun had granted him authority to tell everyone what to do. The pages dressed the shogun in the mounds of clothes he wore when he went for the brief walk his doctor had recommended. The shogun leaned heavily on Masahiro as they strolled around the garden, where dark green pines, leafless cherry trees, and frozen flower beds circled a pond with a bridge to a little pavilion. The shogun sniffled. Masahiro turned to him. Was he catching a cold? Everyone in Edo Castle feared he would take ill and die. Then Masahiro saw tears on the shogun’s cheek.

“What’s the matter, Your Excellency?” Masahiro asked.

“Ahh, I’m so unhappy.” The shogun sobbed.

“Why?” Masahiro was puzzled. The shogun had everything a person could want.

“Because I feel so lost,” the shogun said. “Life seems like a, ahh, path through darkness and confusion and danger. I don’t know which way to turn. And I’m all alone.”

This was Masahiro’s first inkling that power and wealth didn’t guarantee happiness. “But you’re not alone. You’re always surrounded by people.”

“That’s part of my problem!” The shogun turned to Masahiro. His eyes and nose were red from weeping. “They’re so smart, and so, ahh, sure of themselves. They know what to do.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Masahiro said, mystified. “They can help you figure things out. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“But I wish I could!” the shogun exclaimed. “I wish I were like my ancestor, Tokugawa Ieyasu, who defeated his enemies on the battlefield and founded the regime. He didn’t need anyone to tell him what to do or think. The cosmos would never think he was a poor ruler and send an earthquake to warn him!”

Masahiro was amazed. He’d thought the shogun liked being dependent and idle. Maybe that was one of the many things the earthquake had changed.

“But I’m too weak and stupid and useless,” the shogun said, wiping his tears on his sleeve. “And everybody thinks so.”

“No, they don’t,” Masahiro hastened to lie. “They respect you.”

“Only because they’re afraid that if they don’t, they’ll be put to death! I know! I’ve seen them sneer and roll their eyes when they think I’m not looking.”

Masahiro had thought the shogun was too dense to notice. He didn’t know what to say.

“And I deserve it.” Dissolving into sobs, the shogun leaned more heavily on Masahiro. “Ahh, how I wish I could be different! But it’s too late. I’ve been a fool all my life. I’ll be one until the day I die!”

Masahiro didn’t know how to console the shogun. He thought about fetching help, but the shogun wouldn’t want anyone else to see him in this condition. And Masahiro felt protective toward his lord. He searched his brain for words.

“It’s not too late. As long as we’re alive, there’s a chance to do the things that are important.” That was what his father had once told Masahiro when he was little, when he’d complained that he wanted to be a great sword-fighter and a great archer but he didn’t have enough time to practice both martial arts. “If you really want to change, you can.”

The shogun regarded Masahiro with eager hope. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes.” Masahiro believed his father.

“But how do I become a great samurai like Tokugawa Ieyasu?”

That was an easy question. “You must study the Way of the Warrior.” Masahiro had had its principles drilled into him, by his tutors and his parents, ever since he could remember. “You must apply it to everything you do.”

“Yes! I will!” Enthusiasm cheered up the shogun. Then his brow wrinkled. “But I’m afraid that people won’t like it if I start, ahh, making decisions and taking actions on my own.”

They wouldn’t, Masahiro thought. The shogun’s men enjoyed running the government themselves. But he said, “You’re the dictator. It’s your right.”

“But I’m afraid I’ll make mistakes.”

Again Masahiro quoted his father: “‘Mistakes are our best teachers.’”

The shogun vacillated. “People will disapprove. They won’t say so, but I’ll be able to tell. I don’t think I can bear it.”

“If you’re doing what you believe is right and honorable, then no one else’s opinion matters. Don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself.” Masahiro had never exactly heard these things said at home, but he had watched his father-and his mother-act accordingly.

“Ahh, you are so wise so young.” The shogun beamed affectionately at Masahiro, patting his arm. “I’m so glad I have you to talk to. I feel much better now.”