“What plot? I-I don’t understand.” The drug was rapidly diminishing Hirata’s mental capacity; his brain floated in a sea of intoxication. Lady Ichiteru leaned close. Gently her breasts brushed his chest. The exquisite sensation drew a moan from Hirata. He heard the waters of the canal crashing against its banks. He must escape. He must have Ichiteru. But he could manage neither; the drug immobilized his limbs.
Then Ichiteru cupped her breasts in both hands and pressed his manhood into the warm, smooth cleft between them. Up and down she moved, smiling. The friction was unbearably arousing. Hirata cried out as his pleasure mounted too fast, too high.
“Stop. Don’t!” Enough of his self-consciousness remained that he didn’t want to spurt all over Lady Ichiteru, but his protest went unheeded. She continued her movements. Hirata felt the rapid approach of inevitable release. Deftly Ichiteru applied pressure to several points at the base of his erection. Hirata’s climax erupted in spasms of ecstasy. Even as he moaned and gasped, he made a feeble attempt to shield Ichiteru, but his hand refused to move. Ichiteru and the place where their bodies touched seemed impossibly far away, and he strained to focus his vision there. Then surprise silenced him.
No seed had spilled from his manhood, which was still rock hard. And the climax hadn’t diminished his arousal in the least.
“What did you do to me? What kind of magic is this?” he demanded.
Looming over him, Ichiteru put a finger to his lips. “Shhh…” Her musical laughter mocked his panic. As the drug’s effects intensified, Hirata grew dizzier. The bed beneath him rocked, and the water sounds grew louder. Waves of heat licked him. He and Ichiteru were spinning, the patterns of the ceiling a blur of color above them. Only her beautiful face remained in clear focus. “Don’t be afraid… it won’t hurt you. Just enjoy yourself…” Each word resonated through Hirata’s head. “And don’t you want to know who killed Lady Harume?”
“No. I mean, yes!” Hirata fought the resurgence of desire rising in him.
“It was someone who was jealous of Harume… A man who feared that the birth of the shogun’s heir would thwart his ambitions…” Lady Ichiteru held a red lacquer cylinder as thick as her arm. “He seeks to rule Japan, and cannot afford to lose his one avenue to power.”
The spinning accelerated; Hirata’s mind reeled. Frantically he tried to remember the facts of the case, and the male suspects. “Who are you talking about? Lieutenant Kushida? Lord Miyagi? Lady Harume’s secret lover?”
“None of them… of them… of them…” Lady Ichiteru’s soft voice echoed over the sounds of water, the pulse of Hirata’s own blood. She slipped the hollow cylinder over his organ. The oiled silk lining sheathed him in pure pleasure. As Ichiteru moved the cylinder, ridges under the lining alternately gripped and released him. Panting, Hirata began the ascent toward another orgasm.
“Priest Ryuko has spies everywhere… knew about Lord Miyagi’s letter… He comes and goes freely within the Large Interior… One day I heard him tell Lady Keisho-in that Harume was with child and must die… Together they decided that Ryuko would buy poison and put it in the ink.”
Even while the new evidence against Keisho-in filled Hirata with horror, the spasms of climax convulsed him. Again Ichiteru prevented the full release he craved. She removed the cylinder and tossed it away.
“Please. Please!” Sobbing with need, Hirata strained to reach her, but he couldn’t move a muscle. Now Lady Ichiteru knelt above him, thighs straddling his torso. The magnificence of her body, the serene loveliness of her face, and her feral, bittersweet smell maddened him.
“I beg you to warn His Excellency that the Tokugawa succession is in grave danger,” Ichiteru said. “There will never be a direct heir as long as Ryuko and Keisho-in remain at Edo Castle. They will murder any other woman who conceives the shogun’s child… They fancy themselves emperor and empress of Japan… They will manipulate the shogun… and squander his money on their own whims… The bakufu will weaken and insurrection arise… You must expose these murderers and save the Tokugawa clan and the entire country from ruin.”
Despite his agitation, Hirata could see the danger of doing so. “I can’t. At least not without corroboration. If my master and I should falsely accuse the shogun’s mother, that would be treason!”
“You must promise to take the chance.” Ichiteru’s hand, coated with gardenia-scented oil, caressed his organ until his moans turned to hoarse cries and he felt ready to burst-then she stopped. “Otherwise… I will leave now… and you shall never see me again.”
Horror flooded Hirata at the thought of losing Lady Ichiteru, of never satisfying the urgent need that consumed him. From passion grew love, like a malignant flower blooming in his spirit. Ichiteru was wonderful; she would never speak anything but the truth. “All right,” Hirata cried. “I’ll do it. Just please, please-”
Lady Ichiteru’s approving smile filled him with guilty delight. “You have made the right decision. Now you shall have your reward.”
She lowered herself onto his erection. Hirata almost swooned as he slid into her moist, hot womanhood. Faster and faster the room spun; sound, sight, and smell merged into a single, overpowering sensation. Up and down moved Ichiteru, with accelerating speed. Her inner muscles held him in a fierce suction. Hirata’s excitement climbed toward a peak higher than ever before. His heart thundered; his straining lungs couldn’t get enough air; sweat bathed him. He would die of pleasure. Panic seized Hirata.
“No. Stop. I can’t take any more!”
Then he exploded in a cataclysm of rapture. He felt the seed pumping from his body, heard his own shouts. Above him Ichiteru reigned in triumph. As he succumbed to her power, Hirata knew that the path he’d chosen was fraught with peril. Yet both duty and desire compelled him to travel it. He couldn’t ignore a possible threat against the shogun, and he must have Lady Ichiteru. Hirata had no choice but to report her statement to Sano, who would proceed with the investigation from there.
Even at the risk of their own lives.
29
The vibrant, haunting tones of koto music told Reiko that she had at last found the witness she’d been seeking for two days. From the lofty hilltop behind Zōjō Temple, the ancient melody drifted down through forests, over worship halls, pavilions, and pagoda, each note sharply defined in the clear air.
“Let me out here,” Reiko commanded her palanquin bearers.
Alighting at the foot of the hill, she hurried up a flight of stone steps that ascended through fragrant pines. Birds warbled an accompaniment to the music, which grew louder as she climbed higher. However, the tranquil beauty of the place made little impression upon Reiko. Everything-not just her personal ambitions or her marriage to Sano, but their very lives-might depend on what the witness knew about Lady Harume’s murder. Anticipation quickened her steps; her billowing cloak flapped behind her like umber wings. Gasping for breath, heart pounding, Reiko arrived at the summit.
A vast panorama spread around her. Below, on the other side of the hill, stone bridges arched across Lotus Pond to the islet upon which stood a shrine to the goddess Sarasvati. The temple’s tile roofs gleamed in the sunlight; fiery foliage blanketed the surrounding landscape. In the north, Edo lay beneath a haze of charcoal smoke, embraced by the Sumida River ’s shining curve. Reiko walked toward the many-armed statue of Kannon, goddess of mercy, and the pavilion beside it. An audience of peasants, samurai, and priests had gathered to hear the musician who knelt before the koto, under the pavilion’s thatched roof.