Lady Yanagisawa was too desperate to quibble with his attitude. As desire swelled hot and urgent in her, she followed her husband to his bedchamber. It was dim and cold, but Lady Yanagisawa barely noticed. She watched, trembling in a torment of eagerness, while the chamberlain opened a cabinet, hauled out his futon, and threw it open on the floor beside her. Facing her, he stroked her cheek, her lips, her neck. Lady Yanagisawa didn’t mind that his caresses seemed perfunctory. Her lips swelled and her skin tingled at his touch. As the desire flowed its heavy, liquid weight through her breasts and loins, she moaned.
The chamberlain loosened her robes and dropped them from her. The cold raised bumps on her skin. Heat rising within her steamed from her pores while his hands moved over her. “Please,” she whispered, clutching at him.
He let her untie his sash and stroke his bare, smooth, muscular chest. With fumbling hands she removed his loincloth. His manhood hung flaccid. His obvious lack of desire for her didn’t discourage Lady Yanagisawa. She sank to her knees. She fondled and sucked his manhood. As it curved erect, she relished its velvet-skinned hardness that pulsated under her tongue and fingers. The chamberlain groaned, and pleasure lowered his eyelids. He let her worship him until she fell back on the futon, gasping with need, her arms outstretched for him. He straddled her and caressed her shoulders; he tongued her nipples; his fingers rubbed hot, wet circles between her legs.
Inarticulate cries arose from Lady Yanagisawa as he raised her toward the heights of sensation that she’d approached with him two days ago. She went mad with pleasure. Her gaze devoured him; her hands frantically roved his body in an attempt to experience him to the full. To her delight, she saw her need reflected in his eyes, although they didn’t meet hers; she heard his breathing quicken. She eagerly spread her legs wide. He lowered himself, held her, and entered.
The tight, slick friction when he slid into her! The feel of him moving inside her for the first time in the ten years since they’d conceived Kikuko! Sobbing with rapture, Lady Yanagisawa heaved and writhed under him. Through her tears she saw his face. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back as he thrust. She understood that he didn’t want to look at her and thereby spoil his enjoyment. But her hurt quickly faded. Her insides were melting and unfurling in a blossom of flames, blood, and desire. Her pleasure reached its zenith. Violent waves of ecstasy pulsed through her. She screamed with a joy and release she’d never thought possible. Afloat in a world of fulfillment, she sobbed in gratitude and embraced her husband.
“Come to me,” she murmured, craving his release as much as she had her own. “Come to me now.”
He thrust harder and faster, his jaws clenched, every muscle strain ing. Suddenly he reared back on his knees. His manhood whipped out of Lady Yanagisawa. He moaned, arched his back, and spurted hot, wet semen onto her stomach. As he shuddered and gasped, Lady Yanagisawa realized why he’d withdrawn before his climax: He didn’t want to breed another idiot child.
Happiness yielded to humiliation. The room seemed cold now, as the heat from their coupling dissipated and her bodily sensations waned. Lady Yanagisawa felt slighted by her husband. She regretted the friendship she’d ruined for his sake. Now she couldn’t even turn to Reiko for comfort. And the bloody stain of her guilt would never go away. To please this man who treated her so deplorably, she had doomed her soul to burn forever in the fires of the netherworld.
Then the chamberlain lay down beside her. Propping himself on his elbow, he smiled into her eyes. “That was good,” he said, and she knew that he meant the service she’d rendered him as well as the sex they’d just had. He whispered, “I love you.”
Those words compensated Lady Yanagisawa for all the pain he’d caused her. Now she wept for joy. At last she’d won his love! All the evils she’d done seemed worthwhile; all she’d risked or lost was nothing. A radiant future beckoned. The chamberlain would become a real husband to her and a real father to their daughter, just as he’d promised. He would rule Japan; she would help him whenever possible and necessary.
At this moment, not even Reiko could boast such good fortune as Lady Yanagisawa enjoyed.
The Kanda district verged upon the northeast boundary of Edo Castle. It was convenient to the seat of political power, yet a world away, and mostly populated by merchants who’d come from central Japan to seek their fortunes. Dyers, blacksmiths, carpenters, plasterers, swordsmiths, and candle makers inhabited various quarters in Kanda, but not all the residents engaged in profitable or legal commerce. Along the bank of the Kanda River were hovels for beggars and outcasts, and a field known as a haunt of the lowest class of prostitutes, the itinerant “nighthawks.” Here, a nobleman could find a haven from the Tokugawa court; he could exist anonymously among people beneath his class and too occupied with the struggle for survival to pay him much notice.
Sano arrived with Hirata, a squadron of detectives, Otani, Ibe, and their men, in Tsukegi Street. The street was named for the product sold there-charms against fire, Edo’s worst natural hazard. Shops displayed the little figurines made from wood and sulfur. Above the shops were living quarters. These had latticed windows and rickety balconies sheltered by overhanging eaves. Sano and his companions dismounted and secured their horses outside the middle building on the west side of the street, where Daiemon had maintained a secret establishment.
Its entrance was located in an alley festooned with laundry on clotheslines. Sano and Hirata climbed a creaky wooden staircase to Daiemon’s quarters while the other men waited below. Although Hirata had determined the house to be unoccupied, Sano knocked on the door because Ibe and Otani were watching and he must act as if he knew nothing about the house or who might be there. Nobody answered. Sano tried the door and found it locked, but when he and Hirata shoved hard against it, the catch gave way. Ibe and Otani hastened up the stairs and followed them into the house.
The first room was a kitchen furnished with a hearth and a few dishes and utensils. “Whoever lives here doesn’t do much cooking,” Ibe remarked.
They passed beyond a sliding partition, into a chamber that contained a tatami floor, built-in cabinets, and an elaborately carved black wooden chest. Charcoal braziers filled with ash stood about the room; a red lacquer table held a porcelain sake decanter and cups. A silk cushion sat before a writing desk made of black lacquer and decorated with floral gold inlays. In one corner, a screen decorated with a painting of a waterfall enclosed a metal tub large enough for a man to bathe in. Such luxurious decor seemed out of place in humble Tsukegi Street.
“He makes himself comfortable,” Otani said as he opened a cabinet to reveal folded silk bedding and robes.
Ibe examined the screen. “This wasn’t cheap. He has money.”
Sano wondered uneasily whether Ibe and Otani would discover whose house this was and what would happen if they did. But Daiemon seemed not to have left any obvious clues to his identity. Sano and Hirata found two smaller rooms, both unfurnished. They returned to the main chamber, where Otani had opened the chest. This held a pair of swords on a rack.
“Whoever he is, he’s a samurai,” Ibe said.
Otani lifted out the long sword and frowned in puzzlement. “This dragon design on the hilt looks familiar,” he said. “I’m sure I’ve seen it someplace before… but where?”
Sano gave Hirata a look that said they’d better finish inspecting the house before Otani recalled that he’d seen his lord’s nephew wearing the sword. While Hirata began searching the cabinet, Sano opened the lid of the desk. Inside he found writing supplies and a pile of gold coins alongside a stack of white rice paper. Sano riffled the sheets and found them all blank except the last, which bore scrawled black writing.