Her enthusiastic welcome flattered Hirata, easing his nervousness. At once he felt more like the competent professional he really was. Wishing to prolong the sensation, and reluctant to hurt Midori by correcting her assumption that she was the object of his visit, he said, “Oh, we detectives have ways of finding out things.”
“Really?” Midori’s eyes widened in awe.
“Sure,” Hirata said. “Just try me. Come on. Give me a mystery to solve.”
With her head tilted in thought, a finger to her cheek, Midori made a charming picture. Then she grinned mischievously. “I’ve lost my favorite comb. Where is it?”
She laughed at Hirata’s disconcerted expression, and after a moment, he joined her. “I confess; I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll come over and help look for it if you want.”
“Oh, would you?” Dimples sparkled in Midori’s face.
Cheered by her frank admiration, Hirata chatted about inconsequential things with Midori. They didn’t hear the door open, or notice Lady Ichiteru until she spoke.
“I am honored by your acceptance of my invitation, Hirata-san.” Down the length of the arbored passage, her low voice issued like a warm draft from a furnace. “A thousand thanks for being so… prompt.”
Cut off in midsentence, Hirata turned and saw Ichiteru standing on the shadowy veranda. Her pale skin, mauve silk kimono, and the ornaments in her upswept hair gleamed as if she somehow concentrated the meager light upon herself. Her enigmatic gaze transfixed Hirata. At once his dread returned.
“Midori, why do you detain my guest outside instead of bringing him to me?” Lady Ichiteru rebuked the girl.
Hurt filled the eyes Midori turned on Hirata. Crestfallen, she said, “Oh. You’ve come to see her. I guess I should have known. I’m sorry for keeping you.” Bowing awkwardly, she added, “I’m sorry, my lady.”
Hirata pitied her embarrassment. Vaguely he remembered that his plan called for questioning Midori.
“Detective Hirata-san, there’s something I should probably tell you,” Midori whispered, averting her face so Ichiteru wouldn’t notice.
“Yes, sure,” Hirata said. But Ichiteru’s seductive beauty lured him like a physical force. “Later.” Leaving Midori, he moved through the dark tunnel of vines. The crumpled list of questions fell from his hand. He climbed the steps of the veranda and accompanied Lady Ichiteru into the house.
The corridor was dim, and smelled of mildew and the dank canal. Drifting a few steps ahead, Lady Ichiteru shimmered like a ghostly vision. Panic and anticipation weakened Hirata’s legs. Every sane, prudent instinct told him to conduct their conversation outside, in the safety of the public thoroughfare. But the powerful, bittersweet scent of her perfume tantalized him. He would have followed Ichiteru anywhere.
She ushered Hirata into a room at the end of the corridor, where a single lamp burned upon a low table which also held a sake decanter and two cups. Age and dampness had discolored the painted landscape murals on the walls, so that they looked like cliffs and clouds under water. Carved sea demons snarled upon ancient cabinets. Through the shuttered windows Hirata could hear the waters of the canal lapping at the stone embankment. A futon lay upon the tatami. At the sight of it, Hirata felt heat gather in his loins. Tearing his thoughts away from the bed’s implicit invitation, he blurted the first thing that came into his mind: “Whose house is this?”
A fleeting smile crossed Ichiteru’s face. “Does it matter?” Kneeling beside the table, she motioned for him to join her. She murmured, “The important thing is that you are here… and so am I.”
“Uh, yes,” Hirata said. Clumsily he trod on the hem of his trousers and almost fell as he knelt opposite Ichiteru. Shame flushed him. The room seemed too warm and too cold at the same time; his hands felt like ice, while sweat saturated his clothes. “So, uh, what did you want to tell me?”
“Come now, Hirata-san.” Ichiteru shot him a coquettish glance. “There’s no need to be… in such a hurry. Are you that eager to get away?” Her full lips pouted. “Do you dislike me so much?”
“Oh, no. That is, I like you just fine.” A hot blush crept over Hirata’s neck and ears.
“Then let us first… enjoy this time we have together.” Ichiteru’s kimono, worn fashionably off the shoulders, slipped lower, revealing the top of the aureole around one nipple. “May I offer you refreshment?” She lifted the sake decanter, arching her painted brows in suggestive invitation.
Hirata usually preferred not to drink while on duty, but now he needed to calm his nerves and still his trembling hands. “Yes, please,” he said.
Lady Ichiteru poured a cup of sake. When she passed it to Hirata, her smooth, warm fingers caressed his. Her eyes drew him into their fathomless depths. With difficulty, Hirata looked away and drained the cup in one swallow. The liquor had an odd, musty taste, but he was too grateful for its immediate calming effect to care. Ichiteru watched him, her hands clasped in her lap, a smile playing around her mouth.
“Now I believe we’re ready,” she said.
Leaning forward, she drew her fingertips down Hirata’s cheek. Her touch left a trail of heat. Aroused but aghast, he shrank away.
“What-what are you doing?” he demanded. The rational part of his mind guessed that she was trying to distract him through seduction. For the sake of the investigation, he must not let it happen, no matter how much he wanted her. “Your letter said that you had important information about Lady Harume’s murder. And I need answers to the questions you avoided at the puppet theater.” Wishing he hadn’t lost his plan, he tried to recall its instructions. “Where were you when Harume was almost killed by a flying dagger? How did you really feel about her?”
“Shhhh…” Tenderly Ichiteru’s finger traced his lips.
“Stop that,” Hirata said. He tried to stand, but a peculiar sensation came over him. His limbs were as heavy as bags of sand; his head felt disconnected from the rest of his body. His senses grew extraordinarily acute. Every pore seemed to open, every nerve to vibrate. The murky colors of the room glowed; the lapping of the canal sounded as loud as ocean waves; Lady Ichiteru’s perfume filled his lungs like the fragrance from a million flowers. Hirata heard the rapid drumming of his heart, the rush of his blood. His manhood swelled into an erection bigger than any he’d ever known.
Ichiteru was helping him to his feet, half carrying him to the futon. “No,” Hirata protested weakly. Through a dreamy haze that filmed his mind, he recalled the police clerk mentioning a drug that induced trances and heightened sexual pleasure. Hirata also recalled that Ichiteru hadn’t imbibed any of the sake. She must have put the drug there.
Had she bought it from Choyei, along with the poison that had killed Lady Harume?
“Let me go. Please!” Hirata feared for his own life, but Lady Ichiteru’s nearness sent shivers of delight through him; her touch burned all vestiges of reason from his mind. Surrendering, he collapsed on the futon. The coffered ceiling was decorated with painted waves that undulated before Hirata’s dazed vision. Ichiteru hovered over him as if airborne, the folds of her mauve kimono swirling. Then she raised her arms and the garment fell away, leaving her naked. Hirata gasped. Ichiteru’s breasts were full and lush, the nipples large as coins. Her hips curved voluptuously from a tiny waist; a tuft of silky black pubic hair nestled in her crotch. Sleek, creamy skin enhanced the elegant bone structure of her neck, shoulders, and long, graceful limbs. Beneath her perfume, Hirata smelled her natural odor: pungent and salty as the sea. A tide of desire rose in him, but mortal fear rode its crest.
“No. Please. We can’t do this. If the shogun finds out, he’ll have us both killed!”
Lady Ichiteru only smiled, untied his sash, and removed his garments. She unwound the bands of his loincloth, and his erection sprang free. As he exclaimed in horrified excitement, she said, “It is for the sake of His Excellency that I summoned you here. He is in great danger.” Ichiteru’s voice surrounded Hirata like a cloud of disembodied sound; her scent engulfed him. “The murder of Lady Harume was part of a plot against our lord.”