The Cloud Pavilion (27 page)

Reiko continued reading, and her surprise turned to concern. “Chiyo says there’s trouble. She begs me to come at once. She’ll explain when I arrive.” Beset by anxiety, Reiko said, “What can be wrong? What should I do?”

“Your husband doesn’t want you going back to the Kumazawa house,” Tanuma said.

Reiko knew how displeased Sano would be if she went. “But Chiyo needs me. I can’t refuse to help.”

“Major Kumazawa would probably not let you in the door even though Chiyo invited you,” Tanuma said.

“I’ll take the chance.” Reiko stood. “Are you coming?”

“If you say so.” Tanuma had worked for her long enough to understand that arguing with her when she’d made up her mind was a lost cause.

As they hurried off, Reiko hoped she wouldn’t be too late to help Chiyo.

Sano and his entourage gathered in the street outside Ogita’s house. He assigned a few troops to follow Ogita, in case the rice broker could lead them to the shogun’s wife. Fukida said, “Should we go search Ogita’s other properties?”

“No,” Sano said. “If the shogun’s wife were there, he wouldn’t have told us about them. I suspect those aren’t his only other properties.”

“Shall I find out what others he owns?” Fukida asked.

Sano envisioned a long, tedious search through Edo’s mountains of property records. “No. We don’t have time.”

What they did have was two other suspects to investigate.

As they rode down the street, Marume said, “I heard what Ogita said about spring books. He’s right—a lot of men have them. You should see the ones in the barracks at home.”

Edo had an overabundance of men without women. They were samurai retainers who were single or had left their wives in their lords’ provinces, as well as merchants, artisans, and laborers who’d come to seek their fortune in the city and couldn’t afford to marry. Under these conditions, prostitution and erotic art flourished. And even rich men, who could have all the women they wanted, enjoyed spring books. But that didn’t clear Ogita, not in Sano’s opinion.

“I skimmed through the rest of Ogita’s book,” Sano said. “All the other pictures showed men raping women. Even if Ogita didn’t kidnap the shogun’s wife, I think he’s responsible for one or more of the other crimes.”

But so could the other suspects be guilty.

“Where are we going now?” Fukida asked.

“We’re going back to the exorcist,” Sano said.

A group of beggars in ragged clothes loitered in the street outside the exorcist’s temple. When they saw Sano’s party coming, they held out their hands for alms, but without much hope. Sano and his men proceeded to the hall where he’d seen Joju the day before yesterday. Again, the monks at the door tried to prevent them from entering.

“His Holiness doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Try to keep us out, and he’ll be worse than just disturbed,” Marume said.

Sano and his detectives went inside the hall while his troops swarmed the grounds and other buildings. He found the hall drastically altered since his last visit. Daylight poured through open skylights. The black drapes, suspended from rods, were drawn back to expose windows cut high in the walls. From one window protruded a wooden bracket that held the painting of bloody fetuses. Through another Sano saw a drum, lute, and samisen in a room where musicians evidently played during rituals. Some windows opened onto platforms. There, monks crouched, setting up flares, rockets, and smoke bombs. More monks leaned out of a hole in the ceiling and lowered a dummy, dressed in white veils, on thin cords. Like puppeteers, they manipulated the dummy; it flew and dived. The scene reminded Sano of a theater undergoing preparations for a new play.

Spying Sano and the detectives, the monks hauled up the dummy, scrambled to close the drapes, and fled through the windows. Marume called, “It’s too late.” He and Fukida laughed. “We’ve seen everything.”

Joju strode into the room so fast that his saffron robe whipped around his ankles like flames. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his handsome face dark with anger. “Your troops are invading my temple. They say I’m hiding the shogun’s wife. That’s ridiculous!”

“You’ve been hiding plenty of other things.” Sano gestured around the room.

Joju stopped short, but quickly recovered. “Those are just tools for my rituals.”

“ ‘Tools’? Is that what you call it?” Sano said. “I call it ‘fraud.’ ”

The priest put on a dazzling, condescending smile. “The spirits are real. My exorcisms are real. But they work best if people believe in them. The props help people believe.”

“I wonder if the shogun will continue to believe in you when he finds out about this,” Sano said.

“You wouldn’t tell His Excellency.” Joju’s intonation made the words a blend of question, statement, and threat.

“He deserves to know when someone is taking his money and playing him for a fool.”

“Before you do, you should understand that people want to believe in what I do,” Joju said. “His Excellency would rather think that I can communicate with evil spirits and solve problems by driving them out, than hear that my exorcisms are fakery and there’s no help for people who are ill and troubled.”

“You have a good point,” Sano said, “but I have influence with the shogun.”

“Then let us present our cases to him and see whose side he takes.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Sano said, although he knew the superstitious shogun might well come down on Joju’s side. “Are you ready to gamble that His Excellency will continue his patronage of you when he finds out that you kidnapped his wife?”

“I didn’t.” Joju spoke with obstinate defiance, but Sano sensed his fear that he would be framed.

“Then you should be able to prove you’re innocent,” Sano said. From outside came the sounds of his troops overrunning the temple grounds, calling to one another, tramping in and out of buildings. “Where were you early yesterday?”

“Here at the temple.”

“Have you seen or heard from Jinshichi and Gombei?”

“The oxcart drivers? No.”

Sano glanced at Marume and Fukida. He read on their faces the same concern that had arisen in his mind: If Joju did have the shogun’s wife, she was hidden somewhere else. All Joju had to do was keep quiet, and Sano wouldn’t find her until he let her go. By then, the damage would have been done to an innocent woman, and the shogun would never forgive Sano.

As much as Sano hated to admit it, this was a time for him to compromise. “Listen,” he said to Joju. “Give me the shogun’s wife, and I won’t tell the shogun that you’re a fraud. I won’t tell him how I found her, either.”

Marume and Fukida frowned: They could tell that Sano wasn’t trying to trick Joju; this was a genuine offer. Sano knew they didn’t want him to let a supposed criminal go free or compromise his principles. Then they nodded in resignation because they knew that what mattered was returning the shogun’s wife safe and sound, and Sano had to do what he must.

Joju favored Sano with a smile that bespoke regret as well as offense. “I’m surprised to say that I believe you would actually uphold your end of the bargain. But I can’t give you the shogun’s wife because I don’t have her. That is the truth, I swear by all the spirits in the cosmos.”

“I hate to say this, but I think Joju is telling the truth about the shogun’s wife,” Fukida said.

“So do I,” Marume said.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sano said.

He and the detectives stood in the temple grounds with his other troops, who’d just finished their search without finding Lady Nobuko. By now Sano was so exhausted that he felt his instincts shutting down; he hardly knew what to think anymore.

“Maybe Joju isn’t responsible for Lady Nobuko’s disappearance or for the other kidnappings.” Sano looked around the grounds. He didn’t see the men he’d just assigned to keep surveillance on Joju; they’d mixed with the crowds of worshippers. With luck, Joju wouldn’t spot them, either. “But I hope he’ll lead us to her, if Ogita doesn’t.”

“If neither one has her, there’s still Nanbu,” Fukida said.

“He’s next,” Sano said.

He and his men left the temple. Outside, there was now only one beggar, a woman with raddled skin, lank hair, and feet so calloused and caked with dirt that they looked like hooves. She said something to Sano that he didn’t catch. He was so surprised that he paused before mounting his horse. Beggars usually didn’t dare talk to samurai.

“What did you say?” he asked.

A closer look at her showed him that her features were delicate; she must have once been pretty. Her voice marked her as younger than Sano had at first thought, in her thirties. Maybe she was bold because she had nothing to lose except her life, which was a burden to her anyway.

“Is he in trouble?” she said.

“Who?” Sano said.

The woman gestured toward the temple. “Him. Joju.”

“Yes, in fact he is,” Sano said.

She smiled, showing decayed teeth. “Good.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m glad. I hate him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a bad man.”

Here was someone willing to speak ill of the priest that had the shogun’s protection, that so many people revered. Now she had Sano’s full attention. “Why do you think he’s bad?”

The woman’s mouth twisted; a tear traced a glistening rivulet down her dirty cheek. Sano spoke to his men: “Give us some privacy.” As they rode off and stopped a short distance away, Sano removed a cloth from under his sash and handed it to the woman. She took it, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose.

“What’s your name?” Sano asked.

“Okitsu.” She offered the cloth to Sano.

He saw grime on it and smelled her rank odor of sweat, fish, dirty hair, and urine. “You can keep it.”

With a lopsided smile, she carefully tucked the cloth inside her ragged blue kimono.

“Tell me what Joju did to make you hate him,” Sano said.

Her expression suddenly altered into a scowl so fierce that Sano took an involuntary step backward. “He ruined my life.”

“How?”

“When I was a girl, I was possessed by evil spirits,” Okitsu said. Her scowl faded, but a shadow of it remained, like a warning. “I heard their voices.” She raised her head, as if listening for them now. “They told me things.”

“What sort of things?”

“They said people were out to get me. They told me to curse at them and hit them. I did it, because if I didn’t, the voices would get louder and louder. They wouldn’t stop.” She clapped her hands over her ears. “My parents took me to see Joju. They begged him to drive out the spirits.”

Dropping her hands, Okitsu said, “They didn’t have enough money to pay him. He said that when I was cured, I could be his servant. My parents agreed. He did the exorcism. The spirits went away. I went to live at the temple. During the day I washed laundry and floors and cleaned the privies. At night—”

A sob broke her voice. “At night Joju did things to me. Things that should only happen between husbands and wives. Things that priests aren’t supposed to do. But I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t say no. I owed it to him.” She buried her face in her hands. “I was so ashamed.”

Realizing he wasn’t the most objective judge of Joju’s character, Sano cautioned himself against rushing to believe her story, but it resonated with truth.

“After a while he said my debt was paid, and he sent me back to my parents,” she said. “But it was too late. I was already with child.”

Sano felt pity toward her, and anger at Joju for exploiting a helpless girl.

“My parents threw me out,” Okitsu said. “I had the baby in an alley. It died. I almost did, too. That was when the evil spirits came back.” She smiled, and her eyes shone with a feral gleam. “They said I must live and be strong. So I did. For a while I sold myself to men. When I lost my looks, I became a beggar. The spirits said that one day I would have a chance to pay Joju back for what he did to me.” She grinned at Sano. “They say that day is coming soon.”

An eerie shiver rippled through Sano. He could see the evil spirits looking out of her eyes. Then Okitsu turned and shuffled down the street, muttering under her breath. Sano mounted his horse and joined his men. As they rode, he told the detectives what she’d said.

“Well, well,” Marume said. “Our friend Joju is guilty of the same sin as the people he exorcises.”

“He doesn’t seem to be haunted by the dead baby,” Fukida said.

“But I’d believe a mad beggar woman over that fake exorcist any day,” Marume said.

“So would I.” Sano made an effort to hold on to his objectivity. “But even if Joju raped Okitsu, that doesn’t mean he raped the other victims. That’s not strong enough evidence.”

He saw a theme developing. Ogita liked violent erotic art, but so did other men. Joju had exploited a helpless girl, but untold numbers of other men forced themselves on women and society looked the other way.

“It makes him look bad, though, doesn’t it?” Fukida said.

“Maybe Nanbu will look worse,” Sano said.

“How are we going to get to him while he’s protected by his dogs?” Fukida said.

“Thank you for reminding me about the dogs,” Sano said. “Before we pay a call on him, we’d better take precautions.”

Accompanied by his two chief detectives, Hirata rode along a street that led him past the canals, quays, and ware houses of the Hatchobori district.

“Do you feel anything yet?” Detective Arai asked.

“Not yet,” Hirata said.

The enemy must be biding his time, letting Hirata’s anxiety grow before he made his next appearance.

Since Hirata had discovered that his enemy could reach him anywhere, he’d decided to stay away from home as much as possible. He didn’t want Midori or the children to get hurt, and he didn’t want a confrontation with his enemy to happen inside the castle, because if he drew his sword there, even to defend himself, the penalty was death. Instead, he must lure the enemy to a place he liked better.

“When he comes, we’ll help you take him,” Detective Inoue said.

“When he comes, you’ll stay out of it,” Hirata said. His men were good fighters, but no match for the enemy. Only Hirata stood a chance of winning. At least Hirata hoped he did. “Remember, you’re not here to fight.”

He’d brought his men to protect innocent people from him in the event that he lost control again. Maybe they couldn’t, but it was the best precaution he could devise.

At the ferry dock on the Sumida River, he and his men left their horses at a public stable, then commandeered a ferryboat. They sat under the canopy while the ferryman rowed. The river was as flat and gray as a sheet of lead. It smelled of the brackish water downstream where it met the sea at Edo Bay. Fragments of bamboo, wood, paper, vegetables, and other trash mingled with a frayed sandal, a child’s broken doll, and spent rockets from the fireworks display that celebrated the beginning of summer. As the boat glided into the deeper, cleaner water in the middle of the river, the ferryman steered around barges. A light rain began, marrying river and sky. Drops stippled the water, transforming it into liquid gooseflesh. Ahead, at the mouth of the river, loomed two islands.

The southern island was Tsukudajima, a fishing village whose residents doubled as spies for the shogun. Hirata knew that the people in the small boats off shore watched for any suspicious movement of watercraft in the bay and reported it to the
metsuke
.

The ferry stopped at the northern island, Ishikawajima, which was allotted to the controller of the Tokugawa navy. Along the docks, war junks waited for an invasion that might come someday. A shipyard contained vessels undergoing repairs. On a wooded rise in the middle of the island stood the controller’s estate. As Hirata and his men stepped out of the ferry, Arai said, “Here, you’ll be able to see him coming.”