The Cloud Pavilion (17 page)

When Sano emerged from Edo Jail with Reiko, he heard screaming and weeping. Jirocho was planted outside the gate with Fumiko on the ground before him, her arms wrapped around his legs. “Papa, please don’t be mad at me,” she cried as she sobbed.

“Let go, you dirty little animal!” Jirocho shouted, trying to kick her away.

Chiyo stood near them, watching, her hands clasped under her chin. Beside her, Major Kumazawa said, “Let’s go.”

His face was stiff with disgust at the scene that Jirocho and Fumiko were making. But Chiyo didn’t move. At the bridge waited Sano’s troops, Jirocho’s gangsters, and the palanquins and bearers that had brought the women to the jail. Prison guards peered out of the watch towers.

“Papa, why don’t you love me anymore?” Fumiko wailed. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“You couldn’t identify the bastard,” Jirocho said, his face purple with ugly rage. “Are you trying to protect him? Or have you had so many men that you can’t remember what they look like?” He seized Fumiko by her hair, pulled her head up, and slapped her face. “Whore!”

“Stop that!” Sano commanded.

As he strode toward Jirocho, the gangster pried Fumiko’s arms off his legs. “Papa, forgive me, I want to go home with you,” she pleaded.

Jirocho beckoned his men. As they all stalked off, Jirocho threw Sano a baleful glance. Fumiko lay curled on the ground and wept. Even though Sano was furious at Jirocho for punishing the girl, he felt responsible for her suffering. If Sano had caught the culprit, maybe Jirocho would have been willing to reconcile with his daughter. A familiar guilt, heavy and sickening as a physical illness, plagued Sano. Another of his investigations hadn’t produced quick enough results, and people had suffered.

Chiyo gently lifted Fumiko to her feet, held her, and murmured soothing words. “You can come home with me. Would you like that?”

Fumiko sobbed brokenheartedly, but she nodded. Major Kumazawa exclaimed, “She’s not setting foot in my house!”

Chiyo responded with an obstinacy that matched his. “Yes she is, Father.” For the first time Sano saw a family resemblance between them. Chiyo helped Fumiko into the palanquin. The bearers carried the women away.

“I’m glad Fumiko has someplace safe to live,” Reiko said. “But it must be awful for her to realize that her father isn’t going to take her back.”

Sano thought of Akiko and couldn’t understand how a man could treat his daughter in such fashion, but he’d never walked in Jirocho’s shoes. “Maybe Fumiko and Chiyo will be good for each other,” he said hopefully. One had lost her parent, the other her children. They might find solace together.

Major Kumazawa glared after the palanquin, then at Sano. “I don’t like how your investigation is proceeding.”

Sano didn’t like how his uncle was speaking to him, and if Major Kumazawa were anyone else, Sano would put him in his place without hesitation. Yet Major Kumazawa was the father of a crime victim, and Sano felt guilty because he hadn’t done better by his family.

“I warned you,” Sano said. “No promises.”

“You never warned me that my daughter would be dragged to Edo Jail to look at naked men. That’s unheard of.”

“One can’t predict what will need to be done during an investigation,” Sano said. “Having Chiyo view the suspects was the only way to determine whether I had her kidnapper.”

“Well, it didn’t work, did it?”

“I explained to you and Chiyo, beforehand, that either of those men could be guilty or not. And she wanted to come.”

“And now I have to give room and board to a gangster’s brat.” Major Kumazawa laughed, a sour, rasping chuckle. “Asking you for help was a mistake. I should have known better than to expect anything good from a son of your mother.”

The outright insult stung Sano and drew a gasp from Reiko. He heard Marume and Fukida grumble under their breath. His forbearance toward Major Kumazawa snapped.

“I should have known better than to help a man who’s so small-minded that he values pride and convention above his own family.” Sano tasted rage, hot as a fire in his throat. “My mother is fortunate that you cast her out. And so am I.”

Major Kumazawa started as if Sano had hit him. His features swelled bloodred with fury as he absorbed the implication that Sano had risen higher than anyone brought up in the bosom of the clan. “How dare you—”

“I dare,” Sano said, reminding his uncle that he was chamberlain, the shogun’s second-in-command. He had another sudden flash of memory. He’d seen his uncle this angry before, on that long-ago occasion at the Kumazawa house. But he couldn’t remember why Major Kumazawa had been angry then. “I suggest you improve your attitude toward me. Otherwise, you might find yourself serving the regime in a much lower capacity, far from Edo. Or maybe not serving at all.”

Now the blood drained from Major Kumazawa’s face: He understood that Sano had threatened to demote him or banish him from the regime to live in disgrace as a
r
nin
unless he showed Sano due respect. Without a word, he turned, mounted his horse, and galloped across the bridge so fast that his troops had to hurry to catch up.

Sano’s sense of victory was minimal; he felt as much depleted by the quarrel as angry at his uncle for goading him into showing off his power. Their relationship was going downhill as fast as his investigation was.

Reiko, Marume and Fukida, and Sano’s other troops tactfully pretended that nothing had happened. No one spoke until Hirata came out of the jail.

“What do you want to do with the prisoners?” Hirata asked Sano. “Keep them locked up?”

Sano thought a moment, then said, “No. Let them go.”

“Let them go?” Reiko regarded him with disbelief. “Even though Chiyo and Fumiko couldn’t identify the suspects, don’t you think those men are guilty? I do.”

“Let them go, but have them watched,” Sano clarified. “Do you have any detectives who are good at secret surveillance?”

“Yes,” Hirata said. “I’ll get them over here.”

“If our suspects are guilty, maybe we can catch them in the act of another kidnapping,” Sano said.

He looked at the clouded, darkening sky. The guards lit lanterns inside the turrets of the jail. Flames and smoke diffused in the moist air. Sano said to Reiko, “I’ll take you home. We’ve had enough for one day.”

Sano and Reiko arrived at their estate as the temple bells tolled the late hour of the boar. Stone lanterns glowed along the path to the mansion. The misty air vibrated with the sound of crickets and frogs in the garden, dogs barking and castle patrol guards calling to one another in the distance, and water trickling. Sano, Marume, Fukida, and the troops dismounted from their horses; Reiko climbed out of her palanquin. Sano’s secretary called from the doorway, “Honorable Chamberlain, Toda Ikkyu is waiting to see you.”

“Maybe our luck is about to change,” Sano said.

He and Reiko went to the reception room. There, Toda knelt in the light from a metal filigree lantern suspended from the ceiling. Toda said, “I know this is a bit late for a call, but I thought it best not to wait.”

“Have you brought some information?” Sano asked.

“Yes. I’ve also brought something that belongs to you.”

Toda pointed to the corner, where Masahiro sat in the shadows. His expression combined chagrin and fright. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears, as if in expectation of a blow.

Reiko exclaimed, “Masahiro! Are you all right? Where have you been?”

“You’d better explain,” Sano told Toda.

“I was spying on Yanagisawa today. Imagine my surprise when I caught your son doing the same thing.”

Sano felt shock drop his mouth. Reiko gasped.

Toda smiled. “I doubted that you would approve. So I brought him home.”

Sano strode over to Masahiro and crouched in front of him. “Is this true?”

Masahiro hung his head. “Yes, Father.”

“You went outside the castle?” Reiko was aghast. “By yourself?” When Masahiro nodded sheepishly, she said, “You know you’re not supposed to do that!”

Sano cut to the more serious issue. “Why on earth were you spying on Yanagisawa?”

Masahiro cringed from Sano’s anger. “You wanted to know what he’s doing. I wanted to help.”

Sano could only shake his head, his mouth open but empty of words. Although he was furious at Masahiro for breaking a rule intended to keep him safe, and for taking such a risk, Sano couldn’t bear to scold Masahiro. His son’s wish to do him a good deed moved Sano almost to tears.

Reiko grabbed Masahiro by the front of his kimono and shook him so hard that his head bobbled. “How could you be so foolish? You know how dangerous Yanagisawa is!”

“He didn’t even see me,” Masahiro defended himself.

“Indeed he didn’t,” Toda said, amused. “Your son’s disguise was pretty good.”

“But what if he had?” Reiko demanded.

“Yanagisawa is the kind of man who assumes that anyone following him is an assassin,” Sano told Masahiro. “If he’d seen you, he’d have killed you first and asked questions later. And that would have made your mother very, very unhappy.”

“It certainly would have,” Reiko said, “although right now I’m ready to kill you myself.”

Masahiro sagged in capitulation and shame. “I’m sorry.” Then he brightened and said, “I followed Yanagisawa and Yoritomo all the way to the river. I saw them meet three ladies.”

“Oh?” Sano said, his interest caught even though he knew Masahiro was trying to barter information for forgiveness. “What did they do?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Reiko protested.

“Yanagisawa talked to the two old ladies,” Masahiro answered eagerly. “Yoritomo went for a walk with the younger one. But I couldn’t hear what they said.”

“That’s enough,” Sano said. “Masahiro, you are never to spy on Yanagisawa or anybody else ever again. Do you understand?”

Masahiro sighed. “Yes, Father.”

“Go to your room,” Sano said. “You’ll stay there until you realize what a reckless thing you did and I decide you can be trusted again.”

As Masahiro rose to obey, Fukida and Marume appeared at the door. Sano said, “Organize a watch on my son. Make sure he doesn’t leave his room.”

“Why?” Marume asked. “Masahiro, have you been a bad boy?”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it,” Reiko said as the detectives followed the glum, defeated Masahiro out of the reception chamber.

“I hope that will teach him a lesson,” Toda said. “If it does, it might add a few years to his life.”

Sano didn’t want to discuss Masahiro’s future with Toda. “Thank you for bringing him home,” he said, then changed the subject. “Did you see the three ladies?”

“I did.”

“Who were they?” Sano asked.

“I don’t know,” Toda said. “I’ve never seen them before.”

“What were they doing with Yanagisawa and Yoritomo?”

“Sorry, I can’t answer that question, either. They chose a place that had few people and lots of open space. I couldn’t get close enough to eavesdrop. But it looked like a
miai
.”

“It’s reasonable that Yanagisawa would decide his son should marry,” Reiko said to Sano. “Yoritomo is more than of age. Maybe the meeting had nothing to do with political schemes.” She sounded more hopeful than convinced.

“Maybe not, but then why should Yanagisawa keep Yoritomo’s marriage prospects under wraps? I’d have expected him to put out the word that he was looking for a wife for his son and send a go-between to solicit offers from important families. No—there’s something fishy about that
miai
.”

Sano turned to Toda. “Continue your surveillance on Yanagisawa. Find out who those ladies are and what Yanagisawa is trying to accomplish.”

“I’ll do my best,” Toda said, then bowed and departed.

Alone with his wife, in the quiet of their home, Sano suddenly realized how exhausted he was from the day’s endeavors and disappointments. Masahiro’s escapade on top of everything else was entirely too much. Sano was also ravenous with hunger.

“Let’s eat,” he said, “then go to bed.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Reiko said. “Tomorrow should be a better day,” Sano said. “We’ll get another chance to catch the kidnapper. And what else could possibly go wrong?”

Morning thunder awakened Edo. Storm clouds obliterated the sunrise. Rain swept the city, drenched people hurrying along streets whose ends vanished into streaming mist. Edo Castle wore a veil of showers that poured down from the sky, rendering the turrets and rooftops invisible from below.

Inside her chamber, Reiko opened the door that led to the garden. She frowned at the rain. Today’s journey would be wet and uncomfortable, even more so for her palanquin bearers and guards than for herself. As she closed the door, Akiko toddled into the room and said, “Mama, no go.”

Reiko sighed. Akiko often ignored her for days, and Reiko had to work to get her attention. But sometimes—invariably when Reiko had important business to take care of—Akiko couldn’t live without her. Akiko had sharp instincts that warned her when Reiko was about to leave the house. Maybe she feared being abandoned again, and her bad timing was perfect.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Reiko said as she knelt, hugged Akiko, and tried to soothe her.

Akiko clung and began to cry. Reiko finally had to call the nurse to peel Akiko off her. She left Akiko with a promise to bring her candy. The sound of Akiko’s sobs followed her down the corridor. Motherhood and detective work were not always compatible. Reiko swallowed her guilt and went to look in on Masahiro.

He was in his room, practicing calligraphy, supervised by his tutor, guarded by one of Sano’s soldiers. When Reiko put her head into the room, he barely glanced up from his work.

“I have an errand, then I’m going to visit your father’s cousin,” Reiko said. “Be good while I’m gone.”

“Yes, Mother.” Masahiro looked so unhappy about being confined to his quarters that Reiko felt sorry for him. But she had to uphold the law that Sano had laid down.

“Do you promise to stay home?” she asked.

Masahiro sighed with all the exasperation and impatience that nine-year-old boys could convey so well. “Yes, Mother.”

Before Sano could resume his investigation, he had an important meeting with the shogun, Yanagisawa, and the Council of Elders.

In the main reception room in the palace, the shogun knelt on the dais. The mural at his back depicted lily pads and blossoms floating on a blue pond under a gilded sky. Charcoal braziers warmed away the dampness in the air. Sano and Yanagisawa shared the place of honor to the shogun’s right. They scrupulously took turns sitting closest to him. Today the privilege was Sano’s.

The elders—four old men who comprised Japan’s highest governing body—knelt on the floor one level below the dais. A few lesser officials occupied the next, lower level. Secretaries sat at desks off to the side; guards stood along the walls. Everyone was flushed from the heat except the shogun. Although he was bundled up in a thick, bronze satin robe, his complexion had its usual waxen pallor. As Sano, Yanagisawa, and the elders discussed government affairs, he grew bored and restless. Sano could almost see the words going in one of his ears and out the other. When asked to approve decisions, he did so automatically, and the secretaries applied his signature seal to documents.

The assembly reached the final item on the agenda. “His Excellency’s pilgrimage to Nikko Toshogu,” announced the senior elder.

The Toshogu was a shrine in the city of Nikko, a two-day journey north of Edo, where the first Tokugawa shogun had been laid to rest. Now the shogun perked up.

“Ahh, I’ve been so looking forward to my trip.” He normally preferred not to brave the discomforts of travel, but he was enjoying a rare spell of good health, and it had whetted his taste for adventure. “When would be an auspicious time for me to go?”

The elders didn’t answer. Hands folded, expressions grave, they waited for someone else to deliver the bad news.

“Your Excellency, I regret to say that I must advise you against making the trip,” Sano said.

“Oh?” Miffed, the shogun turned to Yanagisawa in hope of advice he liked better. “What do you say?”

At one time Yanagisawa would have contradicted Sano to gain points in their lord’s favor. But now Yanagisawa said, “I must agree with Chamberlain Sano.” The elders looked simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Sano suspected that they missed the excitement of political strife even though they appreciated the peace and quiet. “The trip isn’t feasible.”

The shogun regarded Sano and Yanagisawa with the hurt expression of a child bullied by his two best friends. “Why not, pray tell?”

Once, Yanagisawa would have let Sano say what the shogun didn’t want to hear and suffer the consequences. Instead he explained, “A trip would involve a huge procession, with new ceremonial robes for you and everyone else, plus lodging and formal banquets. That’s too expensive.”

“How can it be?” the shogun said, puzzled. “I’m rich, I can afford anything I want.” Uncertainty crept into his eyes. “Can’t I?”

It was Sano’s turn to acquaint his lord with reality. “There’s not enough money in the treasury to pay for the trip and cover the regime’s other expenses.”

The shogun wavered between annoyance and dismay. “We’ve never had this, ahh, problem in the past.”

The regime had been chronically short on funds during his rule, and his officials had often tried to tell him, but it never sank in. Ordinarily, Yanagisawa would have jumped at the chance to blame Sano for the shortfall. He’d have accused Sano of squandering and embezzling the money during Yanagisawa’s absence. Sano could have accused Yanagisawa of both crimes, which Yanagisawa certainly had committed in the past. But Yanagisawa wasn’t doing it now. Sano knew because he kept a close watch on the treasury. Why Yanagisawa now adhered strictly to the rules was a mystery to Sano. So was the reason Yanagisawa didn’t seize the opportunity to make Sano look bad.

Sano studied his onetime foe, seeking clues, as Yanagisawa said, “The Tokugawa treasury has become depleted over the years. The cost of rebuilding Edo after the Great Fire—”

The shogun waved away the Great Fire as if it had been a minor inconve nience instead of a disaster that had killed over a hundred thousand people and laid the city to waste. “That was more than forty years ago!”

“There have been other heavy expenditures,” Sano said. “You have many temples and shrines to maintain, as well as roads, bridges, and canals.”

“Remember that you’re supporting thousands of retainers, including the Tokugawa army,” Yanagisawa said.

“Ahh.” The shogun hunched his back, momentarily weighed down by the thought of his financial responsibilities. “Well, if I need more money, can’t you make me some more?”

“It’s not that easy,” Sano said. “The yield from the gold and silver mines has been decreasing. We can’t just mint more coins.”

“Much of Japan’s wealth has left the country with foreign traders who sell us goods from abroad,” Yanagisawa added.

The shogun pouted. “Then why not just, ahh, debase the coinage again?”

That drastic measure had been undertaken six years ago, when coins had been collected, melted down, and alloyed with base metal to reduce their gold and silver content, thereby increasing the supply of currency.

“We can’t do that too often,” Sano said.

“It has the unfortunate side effect of raising the price of goods,” Yanagisawa explained.

“Why should I care?” the shogun said, confused and vexed.

“Many citizens won’t be able to afford food,” Yanagisawa said. “There will be famine. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No, but I still want to go to Nikko.” The shogun’s face took on the peevish expression that presaged a tantrum that would end with him threatening to execute Sano and Yanagisawa.

“The people need you to take care of them,” Sano said. “That’s your duty according to Confucius.” The shogun was an enthusiast of the Chinese sage whose philosophy had strongly influenced Japa nese government. “Therefore, you must be frugal. As shogun, you’re not just a dictator; you’re virtually a god, with the power to be generous and merciful.”

“I guess I am,” the shogun said, preening at this glorified image of himself. In a tone lofty with self-sacrifice he said, “I shall postpone my trip for the sake of doing what’s right.”

Yanagisawa raised an eyebrow at Sano, suggesting that Sano had laid it on a bit thick, but he didn’t complain. No one else in the room would look at them or anyone else. “That’s admirable of you, Your Excellency. We must all bow to your superior judgment.”

The shogun beamed. Everybody else relaxed. But his mood suddenly darkened. “What is this world coming to?” he lamented. “I’m running out of money. I’m so anxious about the future. When I die, what will become of my regime?”

“Don’t worry, you’re still young,” Sano said. But the shogun’s demise was something that everyone in the regime feared. When the reins of a dictatorship changed hands, so could the fate of everyone inside it change for the worse.

“The court astrologer says that the stars predict a long life for you,” Yanagisawa said. Had the astrologer predicted anything else, he’d have been executed. And Yanagisawa knew as well as Sano did that they must calm the shogun down or anxiety could bring about another serious, perhaps fatal, illness.

“Everyone dies someday,” the shogun said, refusing to be soothed. “And I seem, ahh, destined to go without an heir to carry on my bloodline!” This was a constant source of grief for him. “Ahh, how fate has worked against me.”

No one dared point out that his own sexual preference for men had worked against his chances of fathering a son. “There’s still time,” Sano said, hiding his own doubt.

“Perhaps you could make a special prayer to the gods,” Yanagisawa said.

The shogun flapped his hands at the idea. “Nothing I do seems to work. I established laws to protect animals, I build temples.” Nobody dared suggest the direct, obvious solution to the problem. “And what good has it all done? My wife is an invalid.” She was confined to the women’s quarters and rarely seen. “My only son died.” Rumor said that the boy, born by one of the palace concubines, wasn’t the shogun’s. “And my daughter doesn’t seem likely to bear a child.” The identity of her father was also a matter of speculation, although not in the shogun’s hearing. “What have I done to deserve such misfortune?” the shogun wailed.

Before Sano or Yanagisawa could reply, his mood took another turn. “Perhaps it’s not my fault. Perhaps I’ve done wrong because of bad advice from other people.”

His glare accused everyone in the room, then focused on Sano and Yanagisawa.

“Chamberlain Yanagisawa has given you the wisest, soundest advice that anyone could,” Sano hurried to say.

“So has Chamberlain Sano,” said Yanagisawa. “He’s devoted his life to your service.”

“Oh?” The shogun narrowed his eyes at Sano. “Then what’s this I hear about you investigating a crime that I never authorized you to investigate? The abduction of your uncle’s daughter, I understand?”

Sano felt the bad wind of the shogun’s pique blow harder in his direction. “It’s a family matter. I assure you that it has not interfered with my duty to you.” But the case had taken time away from his official duties, and the shogun was a jealous man. “May I ask how you heard about the investigation?”

“Yoritomo told me,” the shogun said.

Sano glanced at Yanagisawa, who frowned as though genuinely dismayed by his son’s actions. “My duty to you is my top priority,” Sano assured the shogun. “Should you need anything, I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and rush to your aid.”

“So will I,” Yanagisawa said. “Trust us, Your Excellency, and everything will be fine.”

“Well . . .” The shogun vacillated, torn between the pleasure of indulging in hysterics and his liking for peace, passivity, and indolence. “All right. But if I decide that either of you has served me ill . . .”

He didn’t need to complete the sentence. Everyone knew that the penalty for displeasing him was death by ritual suicide.

“Enough of all this business, I’m tired,” he said. “This meeting is adjourned.”

When Reiko climbed out of her palanquin in the Z
j
Temple district, Lieutenant Tanuma held an umbrella over her head to shield her from the rain. He opened the gate of Keiaiji Convent for her, and she lifted the hem of her robe as she walked through the wet garden in her high-soled sandals. The pine trees filled the air with their fresh, resinous scent; their heavy green boughs dripped. The abbess came out on the veranda to greet Reiko.