“It was inevitable,” Sano said. “My allies are deserting me and rallying around the shogun.”
They’d clearly decided to join forces with the shogun, who had the hereditary right to rule, the sanction of the emperor, and a strong following of old-time loyalists who’d never approved of Sano. Which meant that Sano had fewer allies to defend him in the event of war.
“Lord Matsudaira’s allies are probably doing the same thing,” Hirata said.
“True, but that won’t help me if I don’t solve the murders.” Sano turned the conversation back to the subject they’d been discussing. “We have the same situation with Lord Arima as with the fake tutor. Both of them acting strangely, neither on his own.”
“They were both working for somebody else,” Hirata concluded.
“We didn’t run across any evidence that they knew each other, but there’s a connection between them.”
“The murder of the actor.”
“Yes. Ishikawa and Ejima said that Lord Arima sent them to kill the man we thought was the tutor. At first I didn’t know whether to believe them, but now…” Sano accepted their dying confession as the truth. “And I don’t believe Lord Arima did the murder for Lord Matsudaira.”
Puzzlement creased Hirata’s brow. “Then who could it be that they and the actor were working for?”
“Don’t laugh when you hear,” Sano warned. They were nearing Edo Castle. Although the boulevard was deserted, Sano knew that spies lurked in shadows, and he refrained from naming a name. “I think it’s an old friend we thought was safely out of the picture.”
As Hirata comprehended Sano’s meaning, his expression rearranged into shock. “That can’t be. If he were back, how could he have kept it a secret?”
“He’s clever, and he has supporters to hide him. Besides, this situation stinks of him.”
“The reports from Hachijo don’t say a word about any escaped prisoners,” Hirata pointed out.
“You and I both know that reports don’t always tell the truth.”
“But how can you be so sure?” Hirata eyed Sano as if questioning his sanity.
“I just am.”
Sano’s certainty was more than a hunch built from odd incidents and facts and glued together with logic. For eleven years he and the man had lived through rivalry and truce, through violence, bloodshed, and the threat of death, through clashes and collaboration. Sano had come to know the man as well as himself. He knew the pattern of the man’s thoughts, the distinct texture of his vision. The two of them had developed a preternatural awareness of each other, as if the space between them were charged with energy like the air before a thunderstorm. When one moved, the other felt the sensation in his nerves.
Sano had felt that sensation for some time now. One thing happening after another had made it grow stronger, impossible to let common sense push to the back of his mind anymore. “If I’m right, it would explain a lot of things.”
“Such as the increase in activity by his underground partisans,” Hirata said, not convinced but willing to test the theory. “Add to that the attacks on Lord Matsudaira-who’s his biggest enemy-and on you, the man who took his post.”
“Those attacks include the one in Ezogashima last winter,” Sano said.
“We were never able to determine who threw that knife at you,” Hirata recalled.
“I suspected then, and I do now, that our friend sent an assassin to kill me in Ezogashima,” Sano said.
“If he knew you were going there, and if he knows enough about the murder investigation to meddle in it, then he must be close by.”
Sano could almost see the shadow of a tall, familiar figure move across their path. Hirata lifted his head, and his nostrils flared as if smelling their old adversary’s scent.
“He must have friends at court who keep him well informed.” Sano could guess whom they included. He thought of Yoritomo’s strange behavior. More mysteries became less perplexing.
“Suppose you are right,” Hirata said. “We can’t let him keep pulling strings and wreaking havoc from behind the scenes. But we can’t hit an invisible target, either. What are we going to do?”
“I’ll think of something. But there’s no time now. I have to exonerate my mother by the end of the day tomorrow.” Amid the dark, tangled wilderness of his troubles, Sano saw a faint glow of hope. “And I know one more place to look for proof that she’s innocent.”
The next morning found Sano and Hirata in the forest where Tokugawa Tadatoshi’s skeleton had been discovered. They stood gazing down at the closest thing they had to a crime scene.
The grave had been filled in. All Sano could see of it was bare dirt with white salt crystals sprinkled on top to purify it. The tree knocked over by the wind had been removed. The forest was peaceful, enlivened by birdsong. A gentle breeze swayed boughs green with new foliage. Patches of sunlight and shadow formed a moving tapestry on the leaf-covered earth. Sano breathed air that was fresh and clean in these hills far above the city and the fires.
“There’s nothing here related to Tadatoshi, his death, or whoever killed him,” Hirata said.
Sano knew that Hirata had trained his senses to perceive the energy that every living thing gave off and any disturbance to the world of nature. Hirata had employed this unique talent to help solve the murder case they’d investigated in Ezogashima, and if he said there was no evidence here, Sano believed him. But Sano wasn’t discouraged.
“Fortunately, there are other kinds of evidence besides physical clues.” Sano turned to the man waiting on the path, who’d shown Sano and Hirata to the graveside. It was the priest who’d discovered Tadatoshi’s skeleton. “Were you here during the Great Fire?”
“No,” said the priest. He wore a dark blue kimono over gray trousers instead of his ceremonial white robe and black cap. His placid face, oval in shape and speckled with age, reminded Sano of a quail’s egg. “I came here three years after.”
“Are there any people around who were?” Sano said.
“Many, all over Edo, I suppose,” the priest said. “These hills were a refuge for people escaping from the fire. The shrine gave shelter to hundreds.”
“Too many witnesses are better than too few,” Hirata said.
“But searching the whole city for them will take more time than I have left to solve the murder,” Sano said.
“Perhaps I can save you some trouble,” said the priest. “If you will please come with me?”
He led Sano and Hirata out of the forest to the shrine, which embodied Shinto religious architecture in its simplest form. They walked through a torii gate to a small, plain wooden building that waited ready for the spirits to occupy. Outside stood a gong for summoning the spirits and a basin of water for visitors to wash their hands. The shrine was off the main routes, visited mostly in the summer by people who flocked to the hillside villas to escape the city heat. Today the shrine was deserted except for an old man who sat on a stone bench, his hands propped on a cane, eyes closed, face lifted to the sun.
The man turned as Sano and his companions approached. The priest said, “This is Rintayu. He was the priest here before me. Now he’s a pilgrim who travels from shrine to shrine. He returns here every year. He just arrived yesterday.”
Rintayu nodded and smiled. He was over eighty, his face tanned and wrinkled, his mouth toothless, his hands gnarled. His expression was benign and sunny. The priest introduced Sano and Hirata to him, and Rintayu bowed. He said in a quavering but clear voice, “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“They need your assistance,” the priest told him.
“Whatever I can do for you, just ask,” Rintayu said, without opening his eyes.
“He’s blind,” the priest explained.
Sano regarded the old man with concern. “How long have you been blind?”
“Since I was five years old,” Rintayu said.