“If you will kindly excuse me, I have business to attend to,” Ichijo said, bowing.
“As have I.” A bemused expression, tinged with worry, came over Yanagisawa’s face.
“And I,” Sano said, as foreboding stirred in him.
At the Palace of the Abdicated Emperor, Reiko sat on a veranda with Lady Jokyōden. They gazed at the sunlit park, where courtiers and noblewomen strolled. Wind chimes tinkled; dragonflies hovered over fragrant flowers.
“Everything looks the same,” Reiko said. “It’s as if nothing had happened to disturb the peace of this world.”
“I must devote more effort to preserving that peace,” Jokyōden said, “and more attention to His Majesty the Emperor.”
This was the only reference they made to the revolt. Reiko contemplated Jokyōden’s hint that she would keep her son under stricter control. Men dominated politics and waged wars, but a woman working behind the scenes could accomplish much. Reiko doubted if the emperor would dare defy his mother and misbehave again, and the Tokugawa regime was indebted to Jokyōden.
“Many thanks for your help,” Reiko said, bowing.
With dignified grace, Jokyōden also bowed. “I am honored to have been of service.”
“I wonder-” Reiko paused, eager to satisfy curiosity, yet hesitant about broaching a personal question. “May I ask why you decided to help me, when your interests opposed mine?”
“I saw myself in you,” Jokyōden said with a wry smile. “Besides that, another woman aided me many times during my life. She is beyond my assistance, so I repaid her favor by helping you.” As if to herself, Jokyōden murmured, “May that deed compensate for those less virtuous.”
A chill passed over Reiko. By now she’d read the metsuke dossiers that Chamberlain Yanagisawa had sent Sano. She’d learned of Jokyōden’s rivalry with another court lady whose fatal fall over a cliff might not have been accidental. Even if Jokyōden hadn’t murdered Left Minister Konoe or Aisu, even if she didn’t have the power of kiai, she was still dangerous.
Lady Jokyōden gave Reiko a faint smile. As though aware of Reiko’s thoughts all along, she said, “Women are generally considered helpless, yet under the right circumstances, we are capable of great harm as well as good.”
Reiko realized with an unpleasant shock that she herself was a dangerous woman. As the wife of the shogun’s sōsakan-sama, she had more power than ordinary women, and she’d played a role in incriminating the innocent Lady Asagao. Would she, too, someday have sins to regret?
There was another reason for this visit besides bidding good-bye to her friend: Sano had asked her to solve a minor puzzle in the case. Knowing that Jokyōden would see through any subterfuge she tried, Reiko said bluntly, “I’d like to know what is your connection with the Daikoku Bank.”
Jokyōden looked surprised, then recovered her composure and nodded. “I trusted your discretion once, and you did not fail me, so I shall tell you. As you may know, the imperial family has financial problems. I sold my valuable kimonos and used the money to establish the Daikoku Bank. Through my agents, I issue loans and speculate on commodities. The profits supplement the court’s income.”
“Astonishing,” Reiko murmured. Surely Jokyōden was history’s first noblewoman banker.
“I made the mistake of telling Left Minister Konoe,” said Jokyōden. “He demanded a share of my profits in exchange for not revealing that I had crossed the boundaries of womanly behavior and trespassed on the purview of the merchant class.”
“I’m sure that if I tell my husband about your business, he’ll agree to ignore it because you’re doing no harm and you led us to the conspiracy,” Reiko said.
“I would much appreciate his generosity,” said Jokyōden.
Reiko suspected that Jokyōden had chosen to reveal her secret because she’d predicted this outcome. The world of women wasn’t so different from the world of men, Reiko observed. Favors were the common currency, and she owed Jokyōden a greater debt than she’d repaid. Perhaps she could pass along the favor by helping other women in need, and use her power to do good.
They rose and made their final bows of farewell.
“It may be that we shall meet again someday,” Jokyōden said.
In spite of the distance from Miyako to Edo, Reiko had hopes that they might. So many unimaginable things had already happened: the discovery of a man with the power of kiai; Sano’s return from the dead; a war averted. Anything seemed possible.
“Perhaps we shall,” she said.
As her palanquin carried her out of the Imperial Palace, her thoughts turned toward another impending event-one more commonplace than her recent experiences, yet just as miraculous, and now a certainty. Soon she must tell Sano.
At Nijō Castle, troops and servants prepared for the trip to Edo, packing clothes and supplies, readying the horses. Chamberlain Yanagisawa paced the veranda of the private chamber. He inhaled on his tobacco pipe, hoping the smoke would calm his nerves. Hearing footsteps behind him, he stopped, turned, and saw Yoriki Hoshina standing at the far end of the veranda.
“You sent for me.” The hesitancy in Hoshina’s voice made it almost a question. Yes…
Slowly they walked toward each other and stood at the railing, looking out at the stark, treeless garden. “So you’re leaving tomorrow,” Hoshina said.
Yanagisawa nodded. His spirit and body came alive with the exhilaration that Hoshina’s presence inspired. After leading the victorious army back to Miyako and returning Emperor Tomohito to the palace, they’d spent much time celebrating their reunion with violent, physical passion. Yet so much had happened that neither had dared mention the future.
“There’s something I want to talk about,” Yanagisawa said, at the same moment Hoshina said, “I suppose this is our last day together.” An uncomfortable silence ensued. Then, with a sense of leaping off a cliff, Yanagisawa spoke in a voice barely above a whisper: “It doesn’t have to be.”
“What did you say?” Hope battled disbelief in Hoshina’s face.
Now Yanagisawa’s voice came out clear and strong: “I want you to come to Edo with me.”
That Hoshina also wanted it was apparent in his shining eyes and trembling mouth, but he didn’t speak.
“I’ll make you my new chief retainer,” Yanagisawa said.
“You would do that? After I betrayed you?” Incredulity strained Hoshina’s voice.
“After you proved your loyalty, yes, I would.” Yanagisawa spoke with full knowledge of the danger of fostering a potential rival.
“If you’d proposed this a few days ago, I would have jumped at the chance. But now…” Hoshina smiled wryly. “Instead of planning my brilliant future, I’m thinking about how having me around could hurt you. I served you well this time. But later… what if I turn out to be the same man who once meant to take advantage of your generosity? How can you trust me?”
“Perhaps I’m still the same man who condemned you to death for disappointing me,” Yanagisawa said. “If you trust me, I’ll trust you.”
They exchanged a long, questioning gaze. Then, with somber smiles, they nodded.
“You’d better settle your business in Miyako and start packing,” Yanagisawa said. “We leave at daybreak.”
Sano rode through Miyako, down streets now bare of the stalls that had sold Obon supplies, past houses no longer decorated with lanterns or incense burners. The city teemed with gay, bright life, and along the Kamo River, only piles of ash remained from the Festival of the Dead, but as Sano reached Kodai Temple, his mind was uneasy. Reiko had willingly agreed that he should pay a last courtesy visit to Kozeri, and knowing what he now did about the nun, he thought he could resist her… but he wasn’t quite certain.