Lattice walls at the back and sides of the pavilion shielded them from the wind; charcoal braziers under the tatami floor warmed them. A lantern lit individual desks furnished with writing supplies. A table held refreshments. On a teak stand were the traditional offerings to the moon: rice dumplings, soybeans, persimmons, smoking incense burners, and a vase of autumn grasses.
With a provocative gesture, Lord Miyagi picked up a brush and offered it to Reiko. “Will you compose the first poem in honor of the moon, my dear?”
“Thank you, but I’m not ready to write yet.” Smiling nervously, Reiko wanted to move away from Lord Miyagi, but Lady Miyagi sat too close at her other side. “I need more time to think.”
In truth, she was too frightened to apply her mind to poetry. During the journey from Edo, the presence of her palanquin bearers, guards, and the two detectives had eased her fear of Lord Miyagi. But she hadn’t foreseen that the moon-viewing site would be so far from the villa, where her escorts now waited. She’d had to leave them behind because ordering them to stand guard over her would have aroused Lord Miyagi’s suspicion. Trapped between the murderer and his wife, Reiko swallowed her rising panic. Only the thought of the dagger hidden beneath her sleeve reassured her.
Lady Miyagi laughed, a gruff caw tinged with excitement. “Don’t rush our guest, Cousin. The moon has not even begun to approach its full beauty.” She seemed strangely altered since morning. Her flat cheeks were flushed; the prim line of her mouth quivered. Her eyes reflected pinpoint images of the lantern, and her restless energy filled the pavilion. Fidgeting with a brush, she smiled at Reiko. “Take all the time you need.”
What a pathetic fool, obtaining vicarious thrills by abetting her husband’s interest in another woman! Hiding disgust, Reiko politely thanked her hostess.
“Perhaps you’d like some refreshment to fortify your creative talents?” Lady Miyagi said.
“Yes, please.” Reiko swallowed hard.
The thought of eating in the Miyagi’s presence again brought a wave of nausea. Reluctantly she accepted tea and a round, sweet cake with a whole egg yolk baked inside to symbolize the moon. A sense of imprisonment worsened her discomfort. She could feel night closing in, obliterating the trail leading down the wooded slope to her protectors. Outside the pavilion ran a narrow gravel path. Beyond this, the ground dropped off steeply to the boulder-strewn bank of a stream. Reiko could hear the water rushing far below. There seemed no escape except over the precipice.
Crumbling the moon cake on her plate, Reiko got a tenuous hold on her poise and addressed her host. “I beg you to write the first poem, my lord, so that I might follow your superior example.”
Lord Miyagi preened under her flattery. He contemplated the view, then inked his brush and wrote. He read aloud:
“Once the moon rose above the rim of the mountain,
Casting its brilliant light upon the landscape.
I raised my eyes over the windowsill,
And, with my gaze, caressed the loveliness within.
But now the old moon has waned,
Beauty has turned to ashes-
I stand alone in the cold, cold night,
Waiting for love to come again.”
He aimed a suggestive look at Reiko, who could barely conceal her revulsion. The daimyo was twisting the moon-viewing ritual to serve his own purpose, issuing a blatant invitation for her to replace the lover he’d killed.
“A brilliant poem,” Lady Miyagi said, although her praise sounded forced. Her eyes burned feverishly bright.
Ignoring Lord Miyagi’s innuendo, Reiko seized upon the tiny opening his verse offered. “Speaking of cold weather, yesterday I went to Zōjō Temple and almost froze. Did you go outside, too?”
“We both spent the entire day at home alone indoors together,” Lady Miyagi answered.
That she should give her husband an alibi for the time of Choyei’s murder didn’t surprise Reiko. However, Lord Miyagi said, “I did go out for a while. When I came in, you weren’t there.” He added peevishly, “You’d gone and left me all alone. It was ages before you returned.”
“Oh, but you’re mistaken, Cousin.” A warning note sharpened Lady Miyagi’s voice. “I was attending to some business in the servants’ quarters. If you’d looked harder, you would have found me. I never left the house.”
Reiko concealed her delight. If the daimyo was stupid enough to break his own alibi, then coaxing a confession from him should be easy.
From the food table, Reiko selected a radish pickle and took a bite. The acrid morsel filled her mouth with saliva; imagining poison, she almost retched as she swallowed. “This is delicious. And think of how far it must have traveled to reach this table! When I was young, my nurse took me to see the vegetable barges at Daikon Quay. It’s a very interesting place. Have you ever been there?”
Lady Miyagi cut in brusquely. “I am sorry to say that neither of us has ever had that pleasure.”
The daimyo had opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a glance. He looked confused, then shrugged. It was obvious he’d been to Daikon Quay. Certain that he’d stabbed Choyei, Reiko hid a smile.
“Why don’t you try a poem now?” Lady Miyagi said to her.
Such pitiful attempts to prevent her husband from making incriminating remarks that the shogun’s sōsakan-sama might eventually hear! Reiko turned a classic theme to her advantage. She wrote a few characters and read:
“The moon that shines on this pavilion
Also shines on Asakusa Kannon Temple.”
Before she could continue questioning Lord Miyagi, the daimyo, inspired by her verse, recited:
“In the night, a worm secretly bores an apple,
A caged bird sings out in ecstasy,
The moonlight’s milky celestial fluid streams
down through my hands.
But in the graveyard, all is still and lifeless.”
His crude sexual symbolism and morbid obsession with death appalled Reiko. Inwardly recoiling from Lord Miyagi, she said, “Asakusa is one of my favorite places, especially on Forty-six Thousand Day. Did you go this year?’’
“The crowds are too much for us,” Lady Miyagi said. Though the constant interference annoyed Reiko, she was grateful for Lady Miyagi’s company, because surely the daimyo wouldn’t hurt her in the presence of his wife. “We never go to Asakusa on major holy days.”
“But we made an exception this year-don’t you remember?” Lord Miyagi said. “I was having pains in my bones, and you thought that the healing smoke from the incense vat in front of Kannon Temple would help.” He chuckled. “Really, you’re becoming very forgetful, Cousin.”
Thrilled that he’d placed himself in Asakusa on the day of the dagger attack on Lady Harume, Reiko sought to establish his presence in Harume’s vicinity. “The Chinese lantern plants in the marketplace were splendid. Did you see them?”
“Alas, my health did not allow me the pleasure,” the daimyo said. “I rested in the temple garden, leaving my wife to enjoy the sights alone.”
With obvious annoyance, Lady Miyagi said, “We are straying from the purpose of our trip.” She turned her brush around and around in trembling fingers; her musky odor grew stronger, as if increased by the heat of her body. “Let’s compose another poem. I’ll begin this time.”
“I shall let the brilliance of the full moon
Cleanse my spirit of evil!”
The sky had darkened, immersing the city in night; stars glittered like gems floating in the moon’s diffuse radiance. Inspired by a myth about two constellations that cross once a year in autumn, Reiko dashed off a verse:
“Behind the veil of moonlight,
On the River of Heaven,
The Herd Boy and Weaver Girl meet.”
Lord Miyagi said:
“As the lovers embrace,
I rave at the sight of their forbidden rapture,