Hoshina and the detectives stared at Sano in astonishment. That few samurai ever attained the ability to kill without weapons, by force of will alone, had made the practitioners of kiaijutsu the rarest, most fearsome and deadly warriors throughout history. The killer’s presence, mighty and monstrous, seemed to darken the tranquil garden, and Sano knew his companions sensed it too.
Then Yoriki Hoshina chuckled. “I’ve never heard of anyone actually killed by a scream. That theory sounds like superstition to me,” he said, expressing the modern skepticism that relegated amazing feats of martial arts to the realm of myth.
Sano had suspected that Hoshina might not be as compliant as he’d first seemed. Now he knew that Hoshina had a mind of his own; he wouldn’t automatically accept the judgment of a superior. Sano wondered if the locals knew of the circumstances that had brought him here, and whether Hoshina might take advantage of Sano’s shaky position in the bakufu. Many men rose to power by attacking vulnerable superiors, and while Sano had no particular reason to distrust Hoshina, he knew better than to think that Miyako politics were any different than Edo’s. Aware that he must assert his authority, Sano rose to Hoshina’s challenge.
“Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s tea master, Sen-no-Rikyu, averted an attack from the great General Kato Kiyomasa with a single glance that took away his strength,” Sano said. He himself had once thought kiaijutsu a lost art, but the murder of Left Minister Konoe had revived his belief that myths were based on fact. “Yagyu Matajuro, tutor of Tokugawa Ieyasu, could knock men unconscious with a shout.”
“I’ve always thought those legends were invented by charlatans wishing to bolster their reputations.” Hoshina’s tone was deferential, but the fact that he dared to argue told Sano he liked to be right and wasn’t afraid to take chances. "Certainly, there haven’t been any recent, documented cases of death by kiai”.
“The general level of combat skill has declined; there are fewer great martial arts masters today,” Sano admitted. “But Miyako is a city with strong ties to the past. Someone here has apparently rediscovered the secret of kiaijutsu. The scream and the condition of the corpse indicate that Left Minister Konoe was indeed a victim of a spirit cry.”
Pronounced by the shogun’s highest representative, Sano’s opinion became the official cause of death. Rather than pursue the discussion and risk censure, Hoshina nodded and said respectfully, “Yes, Sōsakan-sama.” Sano observed that he knew when to yield for the sake of self-preservation.
“Who discovered the remains?” Sano said, moving on to the next important topic.
“When the palace residents heard the scream, they rushed to see what it was,” Hoshina said. “Emperor Tomohito and his cousin Prince Momozono were first on the scene. They found Konoe alone, lying in a pool of blood.”
So the case involved at least two important members of the Imperial Court, Sano thought. “What time did this happen?”
“Around midnight,” said Hoshina.
“What was Left Minister Konoe doing out here so late?”
“No one admits to knowing.”
“You’ve questioned the palace residents, then?”
“Yes, I conducted a preliminary investigation,” Hoshina said, “to save you some trouble. The results are detailed in a report which I’ll give you later, but I’ll summarize them now. All the guards, servants, attendants, and courtiers were elsewhere at the time of Left Minister Konoe’s death. He’d ordered everyone to stay out of the garden.”
“Excellent work,” Sano said, noting the raw edge of pride and ambition behind the yoriki’s modest demeanor: Hoshina enjoyed showing off, and he anticipated rewards for pleasing the shogun’s sōsakan-sama. That their interests coincided inclined Sano to trust the helpful Hoshina.
“Were there any visitors or other outsiders present in the compound that night?” Sano asked.
“No,” Hoshina said, “and there was no sign of forced entry, so it’s unlikely that an intruder killed Left Minister Konoe.”
Sano said, “Was everyone else in the court accounted for around the time of the murder?”
“I thought it best to wait until your arrival before questioning the imperial family,” Hoshina said. “However, I’ve made discreet inquiries. There are some people whose whereabouts I haven’t been able to establish. Emperor Tomohito and Prince Momozono weren’t in their quarters as usual. Neither were the emperor’s chief consort, Lady Asagao, or his mother, Lady Jokyōden.”
Four potential murder suspects; all members of Japan’s sacred imperial family. Sano contemplated the politically volatile nature of the case. By probing into palace affairs, he was bound to violate social and religious convention, thereby damaging relations between the bakufu and the institution that sanctioned its right to rule. Nevertheless, the killer must be caught, or others might die.
Looking upward, Sano saw the hills darkening in murky twilight. He couldn’t call on the imperial family so late, on such short notice, without offending them. “I’ll interview the emperor, his mother, cousin, and consort tomorrow morning.”
“Of course,” Yoriki Hoshina said. “I’ll arrange appointments for you. Shall I take you to your lodgings at Nijō Manor now?”
The offer tempted Sano, who was hungry and tired, caked with sweat and grime; he needed food, a bath, and sleep. He also wanted to discuss the case with Reiko, but he hadn’t finished the day’s work at the palace. “Before we go, I’d like to inspect Left Minister Konoe’s residence and question the household.”
3
Sano, Yoriki Hoshina, Marume, and Fukida walked west along a passage that bisected the palace compound, through the district of the kuge, court nobles who were hereditary retainers to the imperial family. Fences bounded some hundred estates packed side by side, where buildings clustered with scarcely a gap between roofs. As the dinner hour approached, charcoal smoke billowed from many chimneys; the noise of activity and conversation made a constant, muted din. Through the passages strolled courtiers dressed in the old-fashioned short jackets and black hats of imperial tradition. Everyone bowed to Sano and his party.
At the Konoe estate, near the northern wall of the imperial enclosure, black mourning drapery decorated the lattice fence and double-roofed gate. Hoshina rang a bell that dangled from the portal. After a moment, the gate swung open to reveal a courtier, who looked startled by the unexpected arrival of four samurai, then bowed politely.
“Greetings, Honorable Masters. How may I serve you?”
Hoshina introduced Sano and said, “The sōsakan-sama is investigating the death of Left Minister Konoe. You shall assemble the family for questioning and show us the left minister’s quarters.”
The courtier led Sano’s party along a flagstone path through a garden landscaped with pines. Within a gravel courtyard stood a mansion built in the same style as the palace. Wooden rain doors were raised to admit the mild evening breeze. Walking behind the courtier down hallways floored in polished cypress, Sano and his companions passed spacious parlors where cultured voices murmured and a samisen played behind paper partitions.
In the reception hall, screens decorated with forest scenes formed an enclosure; lanterns cast a soft glow.
The courtier invited the four samurai to sit on the dais, then left. Presently he returned, announcing, “I present the honorable Konoe clan.”
Sano watched in amazement as a long parade of people, young and old, filed into the room to kneel before the dais. The courtier introduced siblings, cousins, and other relatives of the dead man. Sano had known that court families were large but hadn’t expected quite so many people living under the same roof. The men wore traditional court costume. The women were dressed in multilayered pastel robes with voluminous sleeves and narrow brocade sashes; long hair flowed down to their waists. Sano recalled that Tokugawa Ieyasu had established "Laws Pertaining to the Emperor’s Retainers,” which consigned the noble class to the practice of scholarship and arts rather than politics. Isolated from the world during the seventy-six years that had followed, these people fulfilled little purpose except to preserve their obsolete way of life. They were virtual prisoners of the bakufu, which financially supported them along with the imperial family. Now they comprised a huge pool of potential witnesses.