“I didn’t know her very well, but she was a good teacher, a fine woman.” Ryuko’s manner grew cautious, as if he realized that there had been something wrong with his initial reaction, which he hoped Sano hadn’t noticed. “The earthquake has cost so many people their lives.”
“The earthquake didn’t kill Usugumo,” Sano said. “She was poisoned.”
Ryuko’s expression stiffened; he resembled a Buddha statue more than ever. Sano felt the tension in him return, drawing his muscles tight. “Poisoned, how?” His lips barely moved.
“At an incense game with two of her pupils.” Sano didn’t mention that the other victims were Lord Hosokawa’s daughters. “There was arsenic in the incense. All three women were found dead together, in the remains of Usugumo’s house.”
Ryuko swallowed visibly. “It couldn’t have been an accident?” His eyes betrayed the hope that his flat tone tried to conceal.
“Anything’s possible, but it looks like murder,” Sano said.
“That’s why you’re here.” Ryuko couldn’t hide the fear that turned his complexion grayer. “You’re not checking on the temple; you’re investigating Usugumo’s murder. And you think I killed her!”
“I’m not investigating any murder. How would I have time?” Sano hoped the lie sounded more believable than it felt. “Her murder will be a matter for the police, when they get around to it. But since you raised the possibility that you killed her, I might as well ask: Did you put the arsenic in the incense?”
Offense revived the color in Ryuko’s face. “I shouldn’t dignify that question with a reply, but I will.” He said forcefully, “No.”
Sano couldn’t tell if he was lying. Ryuko, like all successful courtiers, was an expert actor, even when under pressure. “You’ve been in Usugumo’s house, haven’t you? You could have mixed in the arsenic while you were blending incense. Or you could have prepared the poisoned incense pellets ahead of time and brought them with you to your lessons.”
“Why would I do that?” Ryuko sounded a shade more tentative now, as if he were afraid that Sano had the answer. He hurried to counterattack. “I think you are investigating the murder. If you aren’t, why bother bringing it up?”
“Just curious,” Sano fibbed. “I’m sorry to upset you.”
“I am not upset,” Ryuko said in the haughty tone that often accompanies this lie. Perspiration gleamed on his shaved scalp. “I am merely annoyed, because you have the temerity to suggest that I could be involved in such a sordid matter. And because I think you”-he pointed a finger at Sano-“are up to some kind of dirty business, and the murder investigation is a ruse.”
“No dirty business, no ruse,” Sano said in the artless tone in which a false denial is often spoken. “Pardon me. Forget I mentioned Usugumo. I’ll be leaving now.”
Ryuko thrust his finger into Sano’s face. Its nail was long, curved, and sharp. “I warn you,” he said, the rasp in his voice like a jagged knife. His angry eyes glittered as brightly as his stole. “Leave me alone, or I’ll have a word with Lady Keisho-in. She won’t like you making insinuations about her favorite priest.” But his fear that he would be blamed for the murder, and lose her patronage, showed in the trembling edges of his fierce smile. “She’ll turn against you. And after a word from her, so will the shogun.”
He swept past Sano, his robes lashing against Sano’s legs as he stalked toward the main hall where the prayers droned on and on. Sano wondered what he could have done differently, to avoid antagonizing Ryuko. He also wondered what Ryuko was hiding about his relations with the incense teacher.
“You don’t want to go in there,” said one of the ladies-in-waiting huddled on the veranda outside the Large Interior.
The Large Interior contained the women’s quarters of the palace, where the shogun’s mother, wife, female concubines, and their attendants lived. They still lived there, although most of their building had collapsed during the earthquake; no better accommodations were available. A bamboo fence screened the intact wing from the ruins, the workers clearing them away, and the noise.
“Why not?” Reiko noticed more women occupying the pavilion in the snowy garden. These most privileged, pampered women in Japan were living like housewives in the slums. The earthquake had equalized the social classes. They looked cold and dour.
“You’ll see,” the lady-in-waiting said ominously.
Carrying a small lacquer lunch box she’d brought, Reiko entered the low, half-timbered building. A din of women’s shrill voices sounded like quarrelsome birds. She left her shoes by a pile of other shoes and draped her cloak on other garments that hung in the entryway. Heading down the corridor, she winced at the stale odor of too many people shut up in too little space. Chambers contained women bathing, brushing their hair, putting on makeup, eating, or playing cards. Acrimony tinged their conversations. Two girls squabbled about a broken comb. They were all like caged animals, venting their frustrations on one another. The loudest voice emanated from the largest room. Reiko stood at the threshold because so many women knelt on the floor, taking up all the space. Young and old, they wore brightly painted kimonos, their hair spiked with expensive ornaments. They sat in frightened silence. Amid them lay Lady Keisho-in, the shogun’s mother.
She drummed her heels and fists on the floor and yelled, “How dare he?” in her croaky old voice. “Who the hell does he think he is?”
Small and plump, she wore a brilliant magenta silk kimono. She loved girlish clothes, which she’d never given up even though she was seventy-six years old. Thick white rice-powder on her round, double-chinned face hid its wrinkles. Red rouge on her lips and cheeks, and black hair dye, lent her a semblance of youth. As she ranted, the gaps between her teeth hardly showed; the ones that remained were painted black in the fashionable style for married women. She’d never married the shogun’s father, Reiko knew; she’d been his peasant concubine. The fact that she’d given birth to the shogun gave her every privilege of fashion and rank she wanted. Reiko understood why the women were outside in the cold: They didn’t like to be around while Lady Keisho-in had a tantrum.
A gray-haired attendant spied Reiko and exclaimed brightly, “Look, my lady! You have a visitor!”
The other women cleared a path for Reiko. As she walked into the room, they bowed, smiled, and backed out, leaving her to cope with Lady Keisho-in, who shouted curses. Reiko knelt. Lady Keisho-in sat up and went silent, surprised to see Reiko, puzzled because she’d lost her audience.
“Good afternoon, Lady Keisho-in,” Reiko said. “May I ask what has upset you so much?”
An angry scowl creased the makeup on Lady Keisho-in’s face. “It’s that damned astronomer. Have you heard about his pronouncement?”
“Yes, my husband mentioned it,” Reiko said.
“His constellations say the cosmos is displeased with the government in general, and an important personage in particular. He had the nerve to hint that it’s me, because I was promoted to the highest rank in court, which is too far above my station.” Lady Keisho-in exclaimed, “Can you believe it?”
Reiko hadn’t heard that part of the story. “No, indeed, I can’t.” It was dangerous for anyone to criticize the shogun’s mother.
“As if that weren’t bad enough, he suggested that the earthquake is my fault!”
The astronomer had put Lady Keisho-in in danger, too, Reiko realized. People wanted someone to blame for the earthquake. If it was Lady Keisho-in, not even her status as the shogun’s mother would protect her from harsh punishment. Reiko reflected that no matter how bad one’s own earthquake-related problems seemed, others had theirs that were even worse.
“He doesn’t know his anus from a hole in his head,” Lady Keisho-in declared. “I deserve that rank even though I was born a peasant. I’m the mother of the shogun! Besides, my son has the right to promote anyone he wants!” She cursed, then asked Reiko, “What do you think?”