Laura Rowland - The Ronin’s Mistress

The man turned his head toward Hirata. Recognition flashed in his puffy eyes, even though he and Hirata weren’t acquainted: A perpetual criminal knows the law when he sees it coming after him. He rushed into the room behind the balcony. Hirata galloped his horse toward the house, stood in the saddle, and jumped.

He caught the wooden railing of the balcony and pulled himself up. He charged into a room cluttered with an unmade bed, heaps of clothes, and a bow and a quiver of arrows. The man was nowhere in sight. Hirata heard footsteps pounding down stairs. He sped through a curtained door, into a dim, narrow stairwell. Clearing the stairs in one leap, he saw the man run across a courtyard. Hirata caught the man by the shoulder just before he reached the gate. The man turned, his eyes wide with shock: He couldn’t believe Hirata had caught up with him so fast. Hirata squeezed a nerve in his shoulder. The man crumpled, howling with pain.

“Who are you?” He clutched his arm, which jerked in spasms. “What did you do to me?”

Hirata said, “Don’t worry-the damage isn’t permanent. My name is Hirata.”

The man gasped. He obviously knew Hirata’s reputation. “What do you want?”

“Are you Genzo, convicted twice for assault?” Hirata asked.

“Yes. But I haven’t done anything wrong since then.”

“You ambushed three men the other night,” Hirata said. “You killed two of them and beat the third so badly that he may die, too.”

“How did you know I did?” Genzo was so flabbergasted that he didn’t think to deny the accusation. Confusion, terror, and pain had caused him to blurt out his guilt.

“Never mind.” Hirata seized Genzo by his uninjured arm and hauled him to his feet. “You’re under arrest.”

As he marched Genzo out of the courtyard to the street, Hirata looked up at Edo Castle. It looked the same as ever, with a smoke haze around its hill and its white walls and tile roofs shining in the sun. Nothing had happened yet, as far as Hirata could tell.

Reiko remembered that Oishi’s former wife had said she worked as a maid for a salt merchant. Accompanied by her guards, Reiko rode in her palanquin past the salt warehouses along a canal near the reeking fish market in Nihonbashi. Peasants hefted crocks of salt out of boats moored at the quays. In the district where the merchants lived, Reiko’s guard captain asked a watchman at a neighborhood gate, “Where can we find a woman named Ukihashi?”

“Oh, the samurai lady. She works for Madam Yasue,” the watchman said, and gave directions to the house.

Ukihashi had said that her employer enjoyed having a samurai lady for a servant, Reiko recalled. Evidently, Madam Yasue was so proud of it that she’d spread the word.

The procession stopped in a street of houses that were big but plain. Sumptuary laws prevented commoners from flaunting their wealth; the penalty was confiscation of their assets. Any expensive things were hidden behind those bamboo fences and half-timbered walls. Reiko climbed out of her palanquin, went up to the gate, and rang the bell.

A girl answered. She was about ten years old and wore the indigo kimono and white headscarf of a maid. Reiko said, “I’m looking for Ukihashi. Is she here?”

Before the girl could reply, the door of the house behind her opened. A stout, middle-aged woman emerged. Her upswept hair was dyed a fake, bronzy shade of black. She wore thick makeup and a garish floral kimono. “Who’s there?” she barked at the girl.

“A lady,” the girl mumbled. “She wants to see my mother.”

Reiko noticed that the girl had Ukihashi’s square face and delicate features. The woman, presumably Madam Yasue, raked her gaze over Reiko. “Who are you?”

Reiko introduced herself.

“Ukihashi is a servant who has work to do,” Madam Yasue said, “but I’ll let you see her for a few minutes.” She jerked her chin at the girl.

The girl trudged toward the rear of the house. Reiko followed. She pitied Ukihashi and her daughter, employed by that mean, vulgar woman. She tried not to think that their fate could be hers someday. If Sano left, there was no telling what depths she and the children might sink to, even if he wasn’t made a ronin.

The kitchen occupied a building attached to the house by a covered corridor. Its yard contained buckets, a storage shed, and slop barrels. Steam that smelled of fermented soybeans billowed from the open door. Reiko heard rattling, sizzling, and hissing noises. She entered, peered through the steam, and saw two women at a table surrounded by pots boiling on the hearth, dishware on shelves, utensils hung from the ceiling, bales of rice, and ceramic jars of food. Ukihashi was cleaning fish, slitting their bellies with a sharp knife and scraping out the entrails. The other woman knelt with her back to Reiko. All Reiko could see of her was her head drape and her cloak.

Ukihashi glanced up and noticed Reiko. Her raw, chapped lips parted. The other woman turned. It was Lady Asano. The drape covered her shaved head. Her plain, round face revealed shock and dismay. Reiko had never seen two people less glad to see her.

Ukihashi said, “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you again,” Reiko said.

Lady Asano rose hastily. “I’ll be going, then.”

“Stay,” Reiko said. “I need to talk to you, too.”

Lady Asano reluctantly knelt. “About what?”

“First, I want to know why you’re here,” Reiko said.

“We’re friends.” Lady Asano’s small, wide-set eyes skittered. “I’m just visiting.”

“I thought you’d had a quarrel,” Reiko said.

“We’ve made up,” Ukihashi said in a flat tone meant to discourage more questions.

Reiko sensed the strain in the air that accompanies a serious, intimate discussion. The women’s eyes were red and swollen. “Why have you been crying?”

“It’s none of your affair.” Ukihashi gutted another fish. “Either say what you came to say or go. I’m busy.”

“A judge on the supreme court was attacked the night before last,” Reiko said. “He’s my father.” She watched the women; their expressions were blank. “He was badly beaten.”

“I’m sorry,” Lady Asano said with the indifference of a person so beleaguered by her own problems that she didn’t care about anyone else’s. “But what has that to do with us?”

“My husband and I think it was arranged by somebody who wants to sabotage the supreme court.” Reiko sprang her accusation on both women. “Was it you?”

Lady Asano laughed, an involuntary outburst, behind her hand. Ukihashi said, “No.” Her tone was incredulous. “Why would you think it was us?”

“Because you have an interest in the verdict.” Although their reaction suggested that her suspicions were baseless, Reiko said, “Ukihashi- san, you would seem to want your husband punished. Lady Asano, you would surely rather have the forty-seven ronin pardoned.”

“I didn’t beat your father,” Ukihashi said, indignant. “I’ve never wanted to hurt anybody.”

Her bloody hand gripped the knife. Reiko remembered the ferocity with which she’d attacked Okaru.

“Me, either,” Lady Asano said.

“My husband and I think this attack was done by a criminal for hire,” Reiko said.

“How could I have hired a criminal, even if I knew how, which I don’t? I’ve been cooped up in this house, working,” Ukihashi retorted. “You can ask my employer.”

“I’ve been stuck in a convent for two years, remember,” Lady Asano said. “This is the first time I’ve been out.”

“Besides, where would I have gotten the money?” Ukihashi demanded. “I earn barely enough for me and my daughters to live on.”