Rising, she descended from the pavilion. She moved with a jerky, unfeminine stride; her gray kimono hung on her angular body. Hovering close beside Reiko, she said, “We are delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Earlier, Reiko had hoped that the Miyagi would welcome a chance to curry favor with Sano through her, and hence give her more than the usual few moments allotted for a courtesy call. Now, though the scheme was working, she longed to finish her business and leave as soon as possible. Lady Miyagi’s flat black eyes glittered with predatory interest. Reiko edged away-and bumped into Lord Miyagi, who had come to stand at her left.
“As lovely as spring snow on cherry blossoms,” he drawled, sighing through moist lips.
Pinned between her hosts, Reiko felt increasingly alarmed, and not at all flattered by the compliment, which suggested the spoilage of beauty. She found Lord Miyagi repulsive, with his loose skin, droopy-lidded eyes, and slouching stance. Was he the father of Lady Harume’s child? How could she have tolerated his touch? The stench Reiko had noticed didn’t mask the intimate, musky odor that wafted from husband and wife. Inwardly she recoiled from its aura of mysterious, unhealthy practices. After consummating her marriage, she’d fancied herself very adult and experienced. Now her happy delusion crumbled before the perverse sophistication of the Miyagi.
“A walk in the garden sounds wonderful,” she blurted.
Eager to put some distance between herself and the couple, she started down the path. But Lord and Lady Miyagi stayed so close that their sleeves touched hers as they strolled. Reiko could feel the daimyo’s hot breath on her temple. Lady Miyagi was a barrier that prevented her from breaking the formation. Had Lady Harume felt this fearful unease while ensnared in the couple’s erotic web? Would they dare make designs upon the wife of a high Tokugawa official?
Reiko wished she’d brought her guards. Nervousness drove from her mind the plans she’d made for questioning Lord Miyagi. She fumbled to start a conversation that might produce the answers she wanted.
“I admire your garden,” she said. “It’s so-” Seeking an apt description, she noticed another statue: a two-headed winged demon with the corpse of a small animal in its claws. Reiko shuddered. “So elegant, ” she finished lamely.
Lady Miyagi said, “But I imagine that the sōsakan-sama’s garden is far better?”
Hearing genuine curiosity in the conventional reply, Reiko guessed that the daimyo’s wife had mentioned Sano because she wanted to find out what Reiko knew about the murder case. Reiko seized on the opening. “Unfortunately, my husband hasn’t much time to devote to nature. Distressing matters occupy his attention. You may have heard about the incident that interrupted our wedding festivities?”
“Indeed. Quite shocking,” Lady Miyagi said.
“Oh, yes.” The daimyo sighed. “Harume. All that loveliness destroyed. Her suffering must have been extreme.” Lasciviousness crept into Lord Miyagi’s smile. “The knife cutting her soft skin; the blood welling; the poisoned ink seeping into her young body. The convulsions and madness.” Lord Miyagi’s hooded eyes sparkled. “Pain is the ultimate sensation; fear is the most intense of all emotions. And there’s a unique beauty in death.”
Reiko experienced a frisson of horror as she realized that Lord Miyagi’s tastes ranged even farther beyond the boundaries of normality than she or Sano had thought. She remembered a trial her father hadn’t let her watch, that of a merchant who’d strangled a prostitute while they coupled, achieving the ultimate carnal satisfaction in the death of his lover. Had Lord Miyagi sought the same with Lady Harume, reveling in her agonies from afar?
Pretending not to notice anything unusual about his response, Reiko said, “I was very much saddened by Lady Harume’s death. Weren’t you?”
“Some women are wayward creatures who tease, torment, and entice in a continual flirtation with danger.” A dark, morbid excitement roughened the daimyo’s affected drawl. “They invite killing.”
Reiko’s heart jumped. “Did Lady Harume do that?” she asked. With you, Lord Miyagi?
Perhaps aware that her husband spoke too freely, Lady Miyagi cut in, “What progress does the sōsakan-sama make on his investigation? Will he make an arrest soon?” Eagerness sharpened her voice: She, unlike the daimyo, seemed worried about the outcome of the murder case.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about my husband’s business affairs.” Reiko spoke with blithe unconcern, not wanting the couple to guess that she knew Lord Miyagi was a suspect.
Neither Lady Miyagi’s expression nor bearing changed, but Reiko felt her relax. They reached the flower bed where the daimyo had been working. He picked up the bucket, which contained a lumpy red and gray slop, the source of the unpleasant odor. Flies buzzed around it. “Ground fish,” Lord Miyagi explained, “for enriching the soil and making plants grow.”
Reiko’s stomach turned. As the daimyo ladled the mixture onto the ground, his limpid gaze caressed her. “From death comes life. Some must die so others may survive. Do you understand, my dear?”
“Um, yes, I guess so.” Reiko wondered whether he was referring to dead animals-or Lady Harume. Was he justifying her murder? “It’s the way of nature,” she improvised.
“You are as perceptive as you are beautiful.” Lord Miyagi brought his face close to hers and smiled, his wet lips baring discolored teeth.
Rigid with distaste, Reiko tried not to cringe from the dawning infatuation in his bloodshot eyes. “A thousand thanks,” she murmured.
At the sound of the door opening and footsteps on the veranda, Lady Miyagi said, “Tea is served.”
“Tea! Oh, yes!” Reiko exclaimed, giddy with relief.
They sat in the pavilion. The concubines brought hot, damp cloths for washing their hands and laid before them an extravagant repast: tea, fresh figs, bean-jam cakes, pickled melon, boiled chestnuts in honey, sliced lobster arranged in the shape of a peony. As Reiko politely sampled the refreshments, she thought of the poisoned ink. Her throat closed; a surge of nausea roiled her stomach. She felt a growing conviction that Lord Miyagi was the killer. The crimes against Lady Harume, which had involved no physical contact, suited the daimyo’s habits. He’d sent her the ink bottle. The tea tasted bitter in Reiko’s mouth, and the sweets saturated with the taint of dead flesh.
Lounging beside her, Lord Miyagi chewed slowly, amid much lip-smacking. As he ate petals of the lobster peony, his gaze moved over Reiko as if peeling off her clothes with his eyes. She blushed under her makeup, forcing down a gulp of tea. Her stomach lurched, and for one awful moment she feared the liquid would come back up.
The daimyo intoned:
"High on the bough hangs the ripe fruit,
Safe beyond the reach of man; untouched
A wasp pierces her downy flesh
And drinks of the sweetness within-
From below, I celebrate the wedding
With my own ecstasy.”
He bit into the rosy pulp of a fig, never taking his gaze from Reiko. With a sinuous movement, he lifted a hand to her head. Reiko gasped. The concubines tittered; Lord Miyagi chuckled. “Don’t be afraid, my dear. A leaf has become tangled in your pretty hair-let me remove it.”
His fingers trailed over Reiko’s temple and down her cheek before falling away. There was no leaf in them. The daimyo’s touch left a damp sensation, like a snail’s track. Hot with angry embarrassment, Reiko looked away. As a sheltered upper-class girl, she’d had little contact with men outside her immediate household, and none had dared treat a magistrate’s daughter with such disrespect. Thus, she had no idea how to handle Lord Miyagi’s vulgar attentions. The only thing she could think to do was pretend she didn’t know what he was doing.