Ibe hesitated and sucked his lips. Sano bet that the man’s cowardice would prevail. Ibe said, “All right-you win. But how do you propose to find the evidence you need?”
“The Floating Teahouse is a place to start,” Sano said.
“Let’s go, then.” Ibe headed for the door with Sano and Hirata.
“I forbid you,” Otani said, grasping at the shreds of his authority.
“You can come with us if you want,” Ibe said, “but you can’t stop us.”
Otani reluctantly followed them out of the house.
30
Reiko rode in her palanquin along the passage that led uphill from the official quarter to the palace. While her bearers negotiated turns and paused at checkpoints, her mind went over and over her conversation with Lady Yanagisawa. She desperately sought a way to evade blackmail and ruination.
The moment when she’d considered obeying Lady Yanagisawa had passed; conscience had overridden self-interest. Reiko couldn’t interfere with Sano’s investigation on the chamberlain’s account. And she could never bring herself to assassinate Lord Matsudaira. Having realized that, Reiko must somehow protect her marriage from Lady Yanagisawa.
The simplest way would be to tell Sano the truth about what had happened between her and the Dragon King, before Lady Yanagisawa got to him. But if Reiko did, he might still believe Lady Yanagisawa. Even if he didn’t divorce Reiko, he would never trust her again. Their love would be damaged beyond repair. Although Reiko knew that their love should matter less than resisting the evils that Lady Yanagisawa had asked of her, it was the most important thing in her life besides her child.
Next, Reiko thought of discrediting Lady Yanagisawa in order that Sano wouldn’t believe anything she told him. But Sano already knew from Reiko that Lady Yanagisawa was a jealous, treacherous madwoman, and even that didn’t seem enough to counteract her lies. Sano hadn’t witnessed Lady Yanagisawa’s attempts to kill Masahiro or Reiko. One hint of suspicion about Reiko’s veracity might goad him to think that Reiko had invented the murder attempts, as well as her version of the story about the Dragon King. Yet despite these problems, discrediting Lady Yanagisawa-and getting the woman permanently out of her life-still seemed the best defense to Reiko. But how to do it?
She rode through a gate and a garden of cherry trees whose bare, black limbs seemed unlikely to ever blossom in the spring. The bearers set down her palanquin outside the Large Interior, the wing of the palace where the shogun’s concubines, female relatives, and their attendants lived. Reiko forced herself to forget her personal problems and concentrate on the murder investigation. She climbed out of the palanquin and hurried up to the two guards stationed outside a door to the half-timbered, tile-roofed complex of interconnected buildings.
After identifying herself to the guards, she said, “I wish to see Madam Eri.”
Soon Eri came out the door. “Honorable Cousin Reiko!” she said with a friendly smile. A thin, middle-aged woman, she had hair dyed black and a gaunt face. Once a concubine to the previous shogun, she was now a second-rank palace official in the Large Interior. She wore a padded cloak thrown over the blue kimono of her rank. “How nice to see you!”
“I need your help,” Reiko said, forgoing pleasantries in the interest of haste. “Can you spare a moment to talk?”
“Certainly,” Eri said.
Reiko beckoned Eri, and they walked among the cherry trees in the deserted garden. “I need to find out the name of the woman that Lord Matsudaira’s nephew Daiemon was having an affair with. Can you tell me?”
Eri’s pleasant expression turned uneasy. She halted on the path. Averting her gaze from Reiko, she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know who she is.”
“I think you do,” Reiko said. “You know everything about the personal business of high society.” Eri was a notorious gossip who gathered news from the wives, concubines, servants, and other women associated with prominent men. “Who is she?”
“All right. I do know.” Eri faced Reiko, her eyes troubled. “But I can’t tell you.”
Reiko was surprised because Eri had often helped her with investigations. “Why not?”
“The woman is beholden to a jealous, violent man. I don’t want to cause trouble for her.”
“If she met Daiemon at the Sign of Bedazzlement and killed him, she deserves trouble.”
Eri shook her head. “I can’t believe she killed him.”
“Then help her clear herself,” Reiko said. “Tell me who she is so I can talk to her. If she convinces me that she didn’t kill Daiemon, I’ll tell my husband she’s innocent. Her affair will never become public.”
“But what if she doesn’t convince you?” Eri said, defensive and obstinate. “You’ll drag her into the sōsakan-sama’s investigation. Her man will punish her for cheating on him. She’ll be a dead woman.”
“As might I be, if my husband doesn’t find out who killed Daiemon,” said Reiko. “Would you shield Daiemon’s mistress at my expense?” In her desperation, Reiko had no qualms about using whatever means necessary to coax Eri. “Would you sacrifice your own cousin to protect a woman who may have murdered the shogun’s heir apparent?”
Guilt and uncertainty colored Eri’s features. She clasped her hands and bowed her head over them, as if praying for good judgment. Then she leaned close to Reiko and whispered in her ear, “The woman’s name is Gosechi. She’s Lord Matsudaira’s concubine. Now do you understand why the affair had to be kept secret?”
The Floating Teahouse was a boat moored on the Kanda River. It had a long, flat, wide hull enclosed by a cabin made of bamboo blinds and a plank roof. A red lantern painted with the characters of its name hung from a pole at the bow. Up and down the river were other, similar boats that contained brothels, drinking places, and gambling dens. The pleasure seekers who frequented these businesses during warm months were scarce today. Outside a floating brothel, a frowzy young woman greeted an old samurai. A trio of male commoners joshed and laughed on a bridge that led to warehouses on the opposite bank. Ferries and barges plied the muddy, rippling water.
Sano, Hirata, Ibe, and Otani walked the path down the riverbank to the Floating Teahouse. Their troops waited on the slope above. A hunchbacked man wearing a gray kimono and leggings came out of the teahouse and hurried toward Sano and his companions.
“Greetings,” he said, beaming at the prospect of customers with money to spend. “Welcome to my humble establishment. Come in, come in!” He shooed them toward the boat.
“I could use a drink,” Otani said grumpily.
They entered the boat’s cabin, which contained sake urns, a smoking charcoal brazier, and a tray of cups. Sano, Hirata, and the watchdogs knelt on a frayed tatami mat. Inside the boat was almost as cold as outside, but the bamboo blinds provided shelter from the wind. The proprietor served sake heated on the brazier. He hovered near Sano and the other men as they drank.
After Sano introduced himself as the shogun’s sōsakan-sama, he told the proprietor, “I’m looking for information on two men who may have come here three days ago. One was a samurai.” He described Daiemon.
“Oh, yes,” said the proprietor, “I remember them. The samurai was the only one I’ve had here in a while, until now.”
“I’m particularly interested in the other man,” Sano said. “I want to find out who he is. Did you hear his name?”
“No,” the proprietor said, “but I can tell you. He was Koheiji, the Kabuki actor.”
“Koheiji?” Sano felt his surprise shared by his companions. “How do you know?”
“He’s my favorite actor. I go to all his plays. I recognized him the moment I saw him.” The old man’s eyes shone with delight. “To think that such a great star drank in my teahouse!”