The Cloud Pavilion (13 page)

Among the dogs now gathered in the marketplace, Reiko spied a flash of green, from a kimono worn by a girl who’d fallen on the ground. She cringed as the dogs snapped at her.

“Stop!” Reiko cried to her bearers. The moment they set down her palanquin, she was out the door. She called, “Lieutenant Tanuma! Save that girl!”

He and two other guards jumped off their horses. Shouting and waving their swords, they chased the dogs away. People nearby paid scant notice; the public had learned not to get involved in dog attacks. Nobody wanted to hurt a dog and be arrested and executed. Reiko hurried over to the girl, who scrambled to her feet. Near her lay a half-eaten fish that she and the dogs had been fighting over.

“Fumiko-
san
, are you all right?” Reiko said.

The girl started at the sound of her name. The fright on her dirty face turned to scowling distrust. “Who are you?”

“My name is Reiko. I’m the wife of Chamberlain Sano.” Reiko extended her hand. “I want to help you.”

Fumiko recoiled. “Don’t touch me!” Her voice was gruff, boyish. “Leave me alone!” She turned to run.

“Don’t let her get away,” Reiko ordered her guards.

Lieutenant Tanuma put out his hand to grab the girl; the other men surrounded her. Reiko warned, “Look out—she’s got a knife!” just as Fumiko slashed it at Tanuma. He jerked his hand back. Fumiko cowered within the circle formed by the guards and Reiko, as terrified of them as she’d been of the dogs.

“Shall I take the knife away from her?” Tanuma asked.

“No. Wait.” Reiko ran to the palanquin and fetched the lunchbox. She opened the lid and showed the contents to Fumiko. “I brought this for you,” she said. “Do you want it?”

Her eyes glazed with hunger, Fumiko breathed through her open mouth as she stared at the food.

“Put your knife away and come sit with me inside my palanquin,” Reiko said, “and I’ll give it all to you.”

Fumiko hesitated. Reiko read in her gaze the fear of what might happen if she put herself in the hands of a stranger. “What do you want?” she asked.

“Just to talk,” Reiko said.

Fumiko tucked her knife under her sash, climbed into the palanquin with Reiko, and fell upon the food. She crammed fish, rice, dumplings, noodles, and cakes into her mouth. She gulped and slurped, hardly bothering to chew. It was like watching a wild animal feed.

In the close confines of the palanquin, Reiko could smell Fumiko’s stench of urine and unwashed hair and body. Fumiko ate and ate until the lunchbox was empty. She washed the food down with water from the jar Reiko had brought. Then she lunged for the door.

Reiko held it closed. “We’ll talk first.”

“Let me out, or I’ll kill you.” Fumiko reached for the knife.

Reiko grabbed Fumiko’s wrist. It was skin and bone, thin and fragile.

“Let me go!” Fumiko cried.

As she struggled to pull free, their gazes met, and something unspoken passed between them. Maybe it was a sudden realization that they were both women in unusual circumstances—Fumiko the gangster’s daughter who’d become a wild, starving street child; Reiko the samurai lady who’d ventured outside her own society to befriend an outcast. Maybe they had more in common than both of them recognized. Fumiko stopped fighting. When Reiko let go of her wrist, she scowled, but she stayed.

“Talk about what?” Fumiko said.

“Your kidnapping,” Reiko said.

Now Fumiko looked surprised. “How do you know about that?”

“A friend of mine heard it from the police.”

“The police?” Fumiko glanced out the window in sudden fright, as if she suspected a trap. “We don’t want them in our business.”

“We” meant her father’s gangster clan, Reiko supposed. Not all the police were in cahoots with Jirocho, and he undoubtedly steered clear of those who tried to enforce the law.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring the police,” Reiko said. “They only knew about the kidnapping because your father reported it to them.”

“My father?” Hope appeared on Fumiko’s face, breaking through her distrust like the sun through clouds. “Did he send you?” She sounded puzzled but eager.

Reiko realized that Fumiko thought Jirocho had sent the chamberlain’s wife to rescue her, as improbable as that would be. Hating to disappoint the girl, she said, “No, I’m sorry,” and watched Fumiko’s expression turn woeful. “My husband sent me. He and I want to catch the person who kidnapped you.”

Fumiko frowned, her suspicion renewed. “Why?”

“Because he hurt you,” Reiko said. She didn’t mention Sano’s cousin and the nun who’d also been kidnapped; she didn’t want Fumiko to think she cared only about them. She felt an affection for this savage little girl. “He should be punished.”

“If I ever see him again, I’ll kill him myself,” Fumiko said. “That’s the way we do things. We don’t wait for other people to get revenge for us.”

Reiko began to wonder what kind of life Fumiko had led within the gangster clan. Maybe she’d been wild and violent even before she’d been disowned. “Still, I want to help you,” Reiko said. “Tell me about the man who kidnapped you. What did he look like?”

Confusion shadowed Fumiko’s face. She pressed her lips together.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Reiko said gently. When Fumiko remained silent, Reiko said, “Tell me what happened.”

Fumiko bowed her head and mumbled through the tangled hair that fell over her face: “I was at Shinobazu Pond, feeding the fish. After that, it’s all mixed up in my head. There was a little monkey . . .”

Confused, Reiko said, “A monkey? Where?”

“A man had it on a leash. He said that if I came with him, he would let me play with it.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t remember.” Fumiko sighed.

The kidnapper had used the monkey as bait for the girl, Reiko de-110 110 duced. Fumiko must have gone with him, perhaps to an oxcart in which he’d carried her away. This was a different ploy than Chiyo’s kidnapper had used. Reiko considered the disturbing idea that there were two rapists, possibly three.

“I was playing ball with the monkey,” Fumiko said. “Then I woke up and it was gone. Everything was gone.” The puzzlement she must have felt sounded in her voice. “I was someplace that was filled with clouds.”

That did match Chiyo’s story. “Was the man there?” Reiko asked.

Fumiko nodded.

“But you didn’t see him?”

“No. Because of the clouds.”

“What did he do?” Reiko asked.

She expected Fumiko to be so overcome with shame that she couldn’t bear to tell the tale. But Fumiko spoke with startling matter-of-factness. “He pawed me all over. He put his thing in my mouth for me to suck.”

Reiko remembered that Jirocho ran illegal brothels. Perhaps Fumiko had seen sex there, between the male customers and girls as young as herself.

“I tried to fight him off, but I couldn’t move,” Fumiko said. “I screamed and cursed at him. He called me a naughty girl. He spanked my behind until I cried. Then he shoved himself into me and did it.”

Reiko was disturbed, and not only by what Fumiko had suffered. The man in Fumiko’s case seemed to have different tastes in women and sexual practices than the one in Chiyo’s. Still, Reiko believed that Chiyo and Fumiko had both been drugged; maybe their minds had been affected, and that explained the discrepancies. But despite the similarities in the stories, Reiko couldn’t dismiss the possibility that there was more than one rapist.

“That’s all I remember,” Fumiko said. “The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground beside Shinobazu Pond.”

“The man hit your face, didn’t he?” Reiko said. Although loath to make Fumiko dwell on bad experiences, she must probe the girl’s memory for information about the criminal.

Fumiko touched her bruised eye. “No. My father did. He said I led the man on. He said I disgraced myself and our clan.”

Here was the most tragic similarity between her story and Chiyo’s. Both women had suffered insult heaped upon injury.

“I begged him to forgive me,” Fumiko said. Tears trembled beneath her gruff, sullen manner. “I offered to cut off my finger.” She added, “That’s how we make it up to my father when we’ve done something wrong.”

Reiko had known about the gangsters’ rule, but the idea that a little girl should take it for granted was shocking.

“But my father wouldn’t listen,” Fumiko said. “He threw me out.”

At that moment Reiko hated Fumiko’s father, and Chiyo’s husband, as much as she hated the man—or men—who’d assaulted the women. “I’m sorry about what happened to you. It wasn’t your fault, no matter what anybody says. You’re a brave, good girl. And I want you to know that my husband will catch the man who hurt you.”

But even as she spoke, Reiko remembered that Sano’s objective was to punish the man who’d kidnapped and raped his cousin. If a different man had kidnapped Fumiko, would Sano avenge her? He had enough else to do. Reiko made a private vow that if Sano didn’t deliver Fumiko’s rapist to justice, then she herself would. In the meantime, she could offer Fumiko other assistance.

“For now, you’re coming with me,” she said, then called to her bearers, “Let’s go.”

They hoisted the beams of the palanquin to their shoulders. As the vehicle began moving, Fumiko looked aghast. “Go where?”

“To my house,” Reiko said, “inside Edo Castle.”

“I can’t!” Fumiko protested.

Reiko thought the girl must be afraid of a strange place. “Yes, you can,” she said soothingly. “I’ll give you as much food as you want, clean clothes, and a nice place to sleep. You’ll be quite comfortable.”

“Please stop,” Fumiko said as the bearers carried her and Reiko past the market stalls. “I can’t leave!”

Bewildered, Reiko said, “Here you have to sleep outdoors; you have to eat garbage. Why do you want to stay?”

“My father knows I’m here.” Fumiko was frantic. “His gangsters have seen me. If I go someplace else, he won’t be able to find me.”

“Why would he want to?” Reiko asked. “He threw you out.”

“After he thinks I’ve been punished enough, he’ll take me back.” Fumiko sounded desperate to believe it.

“I’ll send word to your father that you’re at my house, so he’ll know to look for you there.”

“He might not like that. He might get even angrier.”

“You were just attacked by dogs,” Reiko reminded Fumiko. “You might not be saved next time. You might not survive until your father decides to bring you home.”

Fumiko flapped her hands, as if to ward off Reiko’s logic. “I’m not going with you! Here is where I belong!”

She picked up the empty lunchbox and hurled it at Reiko. Reiko flung up her arms. Fumiko bounded out the door.

“Wait!” Reiko cried. “Fumiko, stop!”

The girl ran away into the marketplace, where the throngs absorbed her. Lieutenant Tanuma called, “Should I go after her, Lady Reiko?”

“No, don’t.”

Sighing, Reiko closed the door of the palanquin. She wouldn’t force Fumiko to accept shelter against her will. Perhaps Fumiko was right in her belief that Jirocho would relent, and when he came to fetch her, she had better be here, or he would change his mind. Reiko didn’t understand gangsters well enough to know otherwise. And she had another task to perform for Sano.

“Take me to the Keiaiji Convent,” she called to her escorts. “Maybe I’ll have better luck with the nun.”

Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s estate was one of many inside the quarter within Edo Castle where the shogun’s top officials lived. Guards opened its gate, and out came Yanagisawa, his son Yoritomo, and their guards, all on horse back. Clad in rain hats and capes, they rode down the street amid mounted soldiers going in the same direction.

One soldier wasn’t really a soldier. The face under his helmet belonged to Toda Ikkyu. As he followed Yanagisawa and Yoritomo, they didn’t notice him. Neither they nor Toda noticed the boy riding a pony, trailing in their wake.

Masahiro wore, in addition to the rain cape and hat that hid his face and clothes, a flag bearing the Tokugawa crest on a pole attached to his back. He carried a leather sack of bamboo scroll containers. The flag, sack, and scrolls were the standard equipment of messenger boys. He’d borrowed them from Father’s office. He hoped Father wouldn’t mind. The scroll containers were empty; they were part of his disguise.

He’d gotten the idea for the disguise from Mother. She sometimes dressed as a servant, the better to avoid attention when she went out investigating. Masahiro had also taken a hint from the spy who’d come to visit Father last night. Under the scrolls in his sack were a spare hat and jacket.

As he trailed Yanagisawa, Yoritomo, and their procession along the stone-walled passages that wound downhill through the castle, his heart beat fast with excitement. This was his first day as a real detective. He meant to find out what Yanagisawa was up to.

The procession stopped at a checkpoint, two gates that led in and out of a square enclosure designed to trap invading enemies during war. In peacetime, the guards merely eyed the folks who came by and let them pass. Yanagisawa rode through with his party. Masahiro waited impatiently, stuck behind the people who blocked his view. He mustn’t lose track of Yanagisawa. He worried about whether his disguise would pass inspection. Would the guards notice that he was too young to be a messenger? He drew himself up to his full height, held his breath, and silently prayed.

The guards let him through without a second glance. Relieved, Masahiro hurriedly rode after Yanagisawa. But as they approached the castle’s main gate, he felt serious qualms.

He’d never gone outside the castle by himself. Father and Mother said it was too dangerous. He didn’t want to admit that he was afraid to go out, but he was. The city was a big place filled with scary people. Masahiro carried a dagger hidden beneath his cape, but what if he got attacked by someone too big and strong for him to fight? He also worried about what would happen when Father and Mother found out he’d broken their rule.

Ahead loomed the gate. Masahiro saw Yanagisawa’s procession riding through the portals. What should he do?

He drew a deep breath for courage and followed Yanagisawa.

Tonight, when he told Father and Mother what he’d learned about Yanagisawa, they would be so proud of him that they wouldn’t be angry.

Inside the bedchamber at the convent, two novices held the nun Tengu-in, who sat on a futon atop a wooden pallet. Another novice spooned miso soup into her mouth. The old woman struggled weakly, spat, and whispered prayers.

“It won’t do you any good to talk to her,” the abbess said, standing in the doorway with Reiko. “See for yourself.”

Reiko watched with dismay as Tengu-in coughed and retched, while the novices poured water into her. The force-feeding seemed like torture, but it had probably kept the old nun alive. “I must try,” Reiko said.

She walked toward Tengu-in across the big room where the other nuns slept at night on the pallets laid out in a row. The abbess and the novices bowed and left. Tengu-in lay on her bed, eyes closed, exhausted. In the misty daylight that shone through the paper windowpanes she looked like a corpse. Her face was sunken, her skin so thin that the spidery blue veins pulsed through it on her bare scalp. Her skeletal hands clutched a rosary of round, brown jade beads strung on a thick leather cord.