Sano said, “I understand that you manage the affairs of the imperial family. You must have a remarkable talent for business.”
“You’re too generous. My poor efforts hardly deserve praise.” An air of waiting stillness came over Jokyōden, although her hands continued filling dishes.
“So it would be humiliating to fall under the domination of someone less worthy or capable than yourself.”
“Humiliation was the ultimate result of my affair with the left minister, yes.” Rising, Jokyōden began setting food platters on each altar as offerings to the spirits of the dead. She gave Sano an oblique glance, as if not sure what he was getting at, but sensing a trap.
“And now, with Left Minister Konoe gone, you’re free from his interference,” Sano said, walking beside Jokyōden. “But how free can you really be, while the Imperial Court is ruled by the bakufu? Do you ever resent its domination?”
“Why resent a circumstance that is beyond my control?” A note of puzzlement crept into Jokyōden’s voice. “That would be a waste of energy.”
“Not if you thought you could change your circumstances,” Sano said, handing plates of fruit to Jokyōden. “Do you ever imagine ruling Japan? An entire country would offer a much wider scope for your talent than the small world of the court. Do you ever think you could govern better than the bakufu does?”
Jokyōden turned an acid glare on him and said, “Your mockery of this poor woman shows deplorable manners.” Then, as she bent over an altar and set down the plates Sano had handed her, a glimmer of a smile lit her profile. “But perhaps a shift of power is overdue. In less than a century, many problems have plagued Japan: famines, a bad earthquake, the flood that washed away the Sanjo Bridge and drowned hundreds of people, the Great Fire of Meireki that destroyed most of Edo, and two major fires here in Miyako. Such calamities are signs that the government is out of harmony with the cosmos. Only by transferring leadership to a worthier ruler can we avoid future disasters. Who better than a wise, capable member of the Imperial Court?”
Sano had begun to think that nothing Jokyōden said could surprise him anymore, but her declaration stunned him. She’d not only implied that she blamed the Tokugawa for Japan’s bad luck, but that she considered herself qualified to take over the government! Was she responsible for the restoration conspiracy? Had she quarreled with Konoe over a love affair gone bad, or because he’d discovered the plot and meant to report her to the metsuke?
Or was this another move in some bizarre game of which she alone knew the objectives?
More baffled than ever, Sano said, “Have you already taken steps toward restoring harmony to the cosmos?”
“Perhaps… perhaps not.”
Either she realized she was on dangerous ground, or she sought to confuse him further. Losing patience, Sano ventured a countermove: “It might interest you to know that a certain house in the cloth dyers’ district was raided yesterday.”
“Why should that concern me?” Jokyōden asked.
Sano couldn’t tell whether his news disturbed her, or if she knew what it meant, but the atmosphere in the chapel seethed with Jokyōden’s unspoken thoughts. He said, “Would you happen to know what’s become of the weapons that were in that house two days ago?”
Jokyōden set the last dish on an altar. Standing, she faced Sano with an enigmatic smile. “Weapons are not always necessary for the overthrow of a regime. The murders in the palace prove that there is a force stronger than any army. You samurai call it kiai and think that you invented it, but the power to take life by an act of will developed before the Way of the Warrior. When your ancestors were primitive tribal chieftains squabbling in the dirt, the Imperial Court had an advanced culture handed down to us by the gods. We command the magic of the universe, and within the palace walls, ancient traditions continue.”
A strange intensity lit Jokyōden’s narrow eyes. As she glided out through the open doors, her layered silk robes fluttered in the wind. Curious, Sano followed, not knowing what to expect. An eerie disquiet infused the air. Above the garden, clouds and smoke drifted across the sky. Tiny waves rippled the pond; irises swayed; distant thunder boomed in the hills.
Jokyōden stood perfectly still on the veranda. She closed her eyes; her lips parted.
Moments passed. Sano waited, watching Jokyōden. Suddenly the boughs of a nearby pine tree rustled. From them dropped a small gray object, which landed on the gravel path with a soft thud. It was a squirrel with curled claws and a furry tail. For an instant the animal lay motionless. Jokyōden released her breath. The squirrel scrambled up and ran across the garden.
“Never underestimate your adversary’s power, sōsakan-sama,” Lady Jokyōden said.
Sano stared at her. Arms folded, she gave him a triumphant smile. Thoughts jumbled in his mind. Had the force of Jokyōden’s will really felled the squirrel? Nature is full of small dramas; wait long enough, and something inevitably happens. Jokyōden’s performance reminded Sano of magic tricks that depend on the belief of the audience. But the palace harbored an ancient evil. Suddenly Sano was afraid of Jokyōden. If she did have the power of kiai, she’d already murdered two men. She could kill him in an instant.
Backing into the chapel, away from her, Sano said, “Well, thank you for your time.” His instincts warned against staying with Jokyōden a moment longer.
He thought he saw a flicker of relief in her tranquil gaze. As with Right Minister Ichijo, he had the sense of hidden secrets. Once more he wondered whether Chamberlain Yanagisawa had been entirely frank with him.
“Honorable Lady Jokyōden, you’ve given me a lot of evidence against yourself,” Sano said, pausing at the door. “1 could charge you with murder-and treason-on the strength of it.”
She just smiled. “But you won’t, will you?”
Now Sano understood that she’d accurately read his character, while hers remained a mystery to him. She knew she could play her bizarre, dangerous game with him because he wouldn’t make another arrest without solid proof. He’d lost control over the interview at the start.
Exasperated, Sano burst out, “Why are you doing this? To make me think that your candor means you must be innocent? Do you want me to believe that you’re guilty and you deliberately helped my wife find evidence against you? Or are you encouraging my suspicion to protect someone else?”
Jokyōden laughed; her humor further mystified Sano. “You are the detective. It is up to you to answer those questions.”
27
Alone in the chapel after the sōsakan-sama left her, Lady Jokyōden resumed her preparations for Obon. As she opened a box of incense, her hands began to shake, and she had to set down the box so it wouldn’t spill. The tremors spread through her whole body. Her vision darkened around the edges; the room spun in dizzying rhythm. She knelt, buried her face in her trembling hands, and succumbed to the delayed reaction to Sano’s visit.
Jokyōden had known Sano would come to question her regarding the second murder, and she’d employed against him a strategy designed to risk some dangers and avert more serious ones. She’d thought she knew how far she could lead him and still avoid harm, but some of his questions had caught her badly unprepared. Now aware of perils whose existence she’d never suspected, she feared she would regret what she’d told Sano.
Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Jokyōden willed anxiety away. At last the tremors and faintness subsided, but she desperately needed advice on how to prevent the destruction of her son, herself, and the entire court. Jokyōden rose and walked to the main altar, took one of the candles that burned before the Buddha statue, then knelt at an alcove in the corner and placed the candle in a stand on the table there. She opened the door of the butsudan. The little cabinet, made of teak that had darkened with age, contained a wooden tablet bearing characters that read, “Wu Tse-tien.”