Had Lady Harume died because the killer had wanted to destroy the child? Jealousy might have compelled Lady Ichiteru or Lieutenant Kushida, rival and rejected suitor. However, a more ominous motive came to Sano’s mind.
“Can you determine the sex of the child?” he asked.
With the tip of a metal probe, Dr. Ito uncurled the infant and surveyed the genitals, a tiny bud between the legs. “It is only about three months old. Too early to tell whether it would have become a boy or a girl.”
The uncertainty didn’t alleviate Sano’s worries. The dead child could have been the shogun’s long-desired male heir. Someone might have murdered Lady Harume to weaken the chances of continued Tokugawa reign. This scenario posed a serious threat to Sano. Unless…
“Could the shogun have sired a child?” Dr. Ito voiced Sano’s unspoken thought. “After all, His Excellency’s sexual preference is well known.”
“Lady Harume’s pillow book mentioned a secret affair,” Sano said, then described the passage. “Her lover could be the father of the child-if they didn’t limit their activities to the kind Harume wrote about. Maybe I can prove it when I visit Lord Miyagi Shigeru today.”
“I wish you good luck, Sano-san.” Dr. Ito’s face reflected Sano’s hope. The stakes had risen; mortal danger now overshadowed the investigation. If the child belonged to another man, then Sano was safe. But if it was the shogun’s, then Lady Harume’s murder was treason: not just the killing of a concubine, but of Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s flesh and blood, a crime that merited execution. And if Sano failed to deliver the traitor to justice, he himself could be punished by death.
12
Through the streets of Nihonbashi moved a procession of soldiers and attendants, all wearing the gold flying-crane crest of the Sano family, escorting a black palanquin with the same symbol emblazoned on its doors. Inside the cushioned sedan chair sat Reiko, tense and anxious, oblivious to the colorful sights of mercantile Edo. To disobey her husband’s orders would surely bring divorce, and shame to the whole Ueda clan. But she was still determined to pursue her illicit inquiry. She must prove her competence to herself as well as Sano. And to gain the necessary information, she must use every resource she possessed.
Under the surface of Edo society ran an invisible network composed of wives, daughters, relatives, female servants, courtesans, and other women associated with powerful samurai clans. They collected facts as efficiently as the metsuke-the Tokugawa spy agency-and spread them by word of mouth. Reiko was herself a link in the loose but effective network. As a magistrate’s daughter, she’d often exchanged news from the Court of Justice for outside information. This morning she’d learned that Sano had identified two murder suspects, Lieutenant Kushida and Lady Ichiteru. Social custom prevented Reiko from meeting two strangers without introduction by mutual acquaintances, and she dared not risk Sano’s anger by approaching them directly. However, the strength of the female information network lay in its ability to bypass such obstacles.
The procession skirted the central produce market, where vendors manned stalls heaped with white radish, onions, garlic bulbs, ginger-roots, and greens. Memory brought a smile to Reiko’s lips. At age twelve, she’d begun sneaking out of her father’s house in search of adventure. Dressed in boys’ clothes, a hat covering her hair, swords at her waist, she’d blended with the crowds of samurai who roamed Edo ’s streets. One day, here in this very market, she’d come upon two rōnin who were robbing a fruit stall and beating the helpless merchant.
“Stop!” cried Reiko, drawing her sword.
The thieves laughed. “Come and get us, boy,” they goaded her, weapons unsheathed.
As Reiko lunged and slashed, their amusement turned to surprise, then fury. Their blades clashed with hers in earnest. Shoppers fled; passing samurai entered the melee. Horror filled Reiko. Unwittingly she’d started a full-scale brawl. But she loved the thrill of her first real battle. As she fought, someone’s elbow slammed her face; she spat out a piece of broken tooth. Then the police arrived, disarmed the swordsmen, subdued them with clubs, bound their hands, and marched them off to jail. A doshin grabbed Reiko. While she struggled, her hat fell off. Her long hair spilled down.
“Miss Reiko!” the doshin exclaimed.
He was a friendly man who often stopped to talk to her when he visited the magistrate’s house on business. Thus Reiko soon found herself not in jail with the other troublemakers, but kneeling in her father’s courtroom.
Magistrate Ueda glared down at her from the dais.”What is the meaning of this, daughter?”
Quaking with fear, Reiko explained.
Her father’s face remained stern, but a proud smile tugged his mouth. “I sentence you to one month of house arrest.” This was the usual punishment for brawling samurai when no fatalities were involved. “Then I shall provide a more suitable outlet for your energy.”
Hence the magistrate had begun letting her observe trials, on the condition that she stayed off the streets. The broken tooth, though an embarrassment, was also Reiko’s battle trophy, the symbol of her courage, independence, and rebellion against injustice. Now, as the palanquin carried her into a lane of shops with colorful signs above curtained doorways, she felt the same thrill that she’d known during that long-ago battle and the trials she’d watched. She might lack detective experience, but she knew instinctively that she’d at last found the right use for her talents.
“Stop!” she commanded her escorts.
The procession halted, and Reiko alit from the palanquin. As she hurried down the street, her escorts tried to follow. But Reiko soon lost them in the crowd, which was composed mainly of women, like flocks of chattering birds in their gay kimonos. These shops sold beauty potions and hair ornaments, makeup and perfume, wigs and fans. The few men present were shopkeepers, clerks, or ladies’ escorts. Reiko ducked under the indigo doorway curtain of Soseki, a popular dealer of unguents, and stepped inside.
The showroom, lit by barred windows and open skylights, contained shelves, cabinets, and bins of every imaginable beautifying substance: medicinal balms, hair oils and dyes, soap, and blemish removers, as well as brushes and sponges for applying them. Clerks waited on their female customers. Reiko left her shoes in the entryway, then moved through the crowded aisles. She halted at the bath-oil display.
There stood a woman in her late thirties, wearing the blue kimono of a joro-second-rank palace official. Thin to the point of emaciation, hair piled atop her head, she addressed the clerk in an authoritative manner. “I’ll take ten bottles each of the pine, jasmine, gardenia, almond, and orange-scented oils.”
The clerk wrote up the order. Gathering her attendants, the joro prepared to leave. Reiko approached.
“Good morning, Cousin Eri-san,” she said, bowing.
This was a distant relative from her mother’s side of the family, once concubine to the last shogun, Iemitsu. Now Eri was in charge of supplying the personal needs of the women’s quarters, and thus a minor functionary whom Sano would no doubt relegate to the bottom of his list of witnesses. But Reiko knew that Eri was also the center of the Edo Castle branch of the female gossip network. Through the servants, Reiko had traced Eri to Soseki, and she meant to benefit from her cousin’s knowledge. Still, Reiko addressed Eri with cautious diffidence.
“Might I please have a word with you?” Since her mother’s death, the Ueda clan had maintained infrequent contact with Eri’s family. Eri’s position had further isolated her, and Reiko guessed that she might resent a younger, prettier, and well-married relative.