With a gasp, Haru bolted awake and upright, her heart pounding. Even as she realized that she’d been dreaming, quick, stealthy footsteps came down the corridor. She heard a metallic scraping sound as the iron bar that secured the door to her cell withdrew. Instinctive alarm launched Haru to her feet. She scuttled into the cell’s back corner and stood still, arms pressed to her sides, trying to make herself invisible.
The door cracked open, and they slipped into the cell-three men wearing cloths tied over their hair and the lower portions of their faces. The last one in shut the door quietly. Haru saw their eyes glint in the moonlight and fix on her. She could scent aggression in their sweaty, pungent odor, hear malevolent purpose in their harsh breathing. Squealing in fear, she shrank into the corner. The tallest man swiftly crossed the room toward her. He seized the front of her robe, jerked her close to him, and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t fight, and don’t make a sound,” he whispered hoarsely, “or I’ll kill you. Understand?”
He held her trapped between his body and the walls. His hard fingers squeezed her jaw shut and mashed her lips against her teeth. As terror constricted her chest, Haru nodded.
“I’ve come to tell you what you’re going to do,” the man said, his mouth moving behind the cloth. “So listen well.”
Haru didn’t recognize his eyes or his voice. The other men standing on either side of him seemed vaguely familiar, but with their features hidden Haru couldn’t be certain.
“When you go to your trial, you will confess to murdering those people and burning the cottage,” said her captor.
An involuntary mewl of protest issued from Haru’s throat. The man shoved her, banging her head against the wall. The blow stunned Haru; her ears rang.
“You think you can save yourself by saying you didn’t do it,” he said as if reading her thoughts, “but if you don’t confess, and the magistrate spares your life, you’ll come to wish you had been executed after all.”
Who was he, and why did he want her to die? The questions flitted unanswered through Haru’s confusion and fright.
“We’re going to give you a taste of what you can expect unless you do as I say,” the man hissed.
He yanked her out of the corner, spun her around, and flung her away from him. His companions caught her. She cried out and clawed at them, but one man locked muscular arms around her while the other gagged her with a cloth. Haru retched. Her heart thudded in panic. The two men held her by the wrists; stretched between them, she twisted and struggled.
The man who’d spoken struck her cheek. Haru’s head snapped back. Pain shot through her face. He hit her nose and ears; more pain rocked her. Warm, salty blood streamed out of her nostrils, clogged her throat. Certain that they would hurt her even more if she made noise, Haru fought the urge to scream. She wept while the man attacked her with a short leather whip that lashed lines of agony across her breasts and stomach, her back and buttocks and legs. The only sounds in the cell were the crack of the whip, her tormenters’ harsh breathing, and her own muffled sobs.
Then the two men let go of her. Haru collapsed, her whole body quivering in agony. Now the men were rolling her on her back, tearing open her robe, spreading her legs. The tall man straddled her, and reality merged with the horrors of her nightmare.
“No!” she pleaded through the gag.
She flailed, but the other men grabbed her wrists and ankles. They held her still while their comrade shoved his organ into her. Haru gave a shrill cry of pain. He smacked her head.
“Quiet!” he growled, plunging and heaving.
He was Commander Oyama; he was her husband. His foul stench sickened Haru as the brutal mating continued. Gritting her teeth, she thought how much she hated them all.
“Confess, or expect much worse than this,” he rasped in her ear.
But she could never tell all that she’d done and seen, because she would lose what mattered as much as her life.
“If you escape execution, I’ll come after you,” the man said. “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll find you. I’ll punish you until you plead for the mercy of death. Then I’ll kill you.”
He grunted, and Haru felt his hardness break inside her. As he withdrew and rose from her, she moaned in relief, but then one of the other men mounted her. Again came the savage thrusting, the pain. And again, when the third man took his turn. Haru’s crotch was sore and slick with blood. The frantic tossing of her head loosened the gag.
“Stop! Leave me alone!” she screamed.
She heard stirrings in the other cells as prisoners awakened. The man on top of her froze.
“Help! Help!” Coherency deserted her, and she shrieked in hysterical bursts.
Down the corridor came hurrying footsteps. Male voices conversed somewhere nearby. The man leapt off Haru, cursing. As her assailants rushed to the door, the tall one paused.
“Remember what I told you,” he said.
Haru kept shrieking; she couldn’t stop. Three guards burst into the cell, carrying lanterns that lit the room. Through a daze of pain and tears, Haru saw their shocked faces as they stared down at her exposed body.
Her assailants were gone.
28
Those who are not fully versed in all matters
Cannot identify the truth from among ten million falsehoods.
– FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA
The next morning, before Reiko could to go to the palace women’s quarters to look for Midori, she passed Sano’s office and heard Hirata’s voice say, “There’s news from Edo Jail. Haru was attacked last night.”
Alarm halted Reiko. She quickly backtracked and entered the office. Inside, Sano was seated at his desk, and Hirata kneeling opposite him. The pair saw her, and their faces took on uneasy expressions.
“Please excuse us. We’re discussing business,” Sano said.
He and Reiko had spent another night in separate rooms, and Reiko guessed from his drawn features that he hadn’t slept any better than she. His tone clearly said that he didn’t want her there, but she ignored the hint.
“What’s happened to Haru?” she said.
“Haru isn’t your concern anymore,” Sano said with controlled patience. “Please go.”
Reiko didn’t budge. After a tense moment, Sano reluctantly nodded to Hirata.
“The prison guards found Haru screaming in her cell,” Hirata said. “She’d been beaten.”
“Who did it?” Reiko said, horrified.
“There was no sign of her attacker,” Hirata said, “and Haru seems unable to speak.”
Sano rose. “We’d better look into this.”
“I’m going with you,” Reiko said. She would talk to Midori later. Right now she had to offer Haru whatever help she could.
“A wife can’t tag along on official business,” Sano said, visibly irritated. “And Edo Jail is no place for you.”
“No harm will come to me as long as you’re there to protect me,” Reiko pointed out. “It sounds as though Haru is in the same condition she was in after the fire. If she won’t talk to the jailers, she probably won’t talk to you, either. She needs someone who will at least listen to her side of the story.”
Sano hesitated, and Reiko saw him weighing his desire to keep her apart from Haru against his need for facts. At last he nodded in resignation. “All right.”
An hour later, they arrived at Edo Jail. Sano, Hirata, and three detectives rode their horses across the rickety wooden bridge that spanned the canal fronting the prison. Guards followed on foot, escorting Reiko’s palanquin. Outside the iron-banded gate, the riders dismounted, and Sano went to the guardhouse to speak to the sentries. Reiko stepped out of the palanquin, looking curiously up at cracked, mossy stone walls and dilapidated roof gables that rose above the slums of Kodemmacho district. This notorious place of death and defilement didn’t look as bad as she’d imagined.