Disappointment is the mother of creativity, Wu Tse-tien had counseled. Reassess your objectives. Circumvent the problem.
At last Jokyōden found a new direction for her life. It was daring, unwomanly, and violated both tradition and law. She loved it. But unfortunately, her new venture coincided with another circumstance: Left Minister Konoe’s appearance as her suitor.
Never allow yourself to fall under the power of a man! Wu Tse-tien warned. Men are a woman’s downfall!
But the left minister had awakened needs that Jokyōden had suppressed in pursuit of her dreams. He made her realize how much she craved affection; his lovemaking taught her that sex had other benefits besides procreation. She’d fallen in love with him. Carried away by romance, she had confided in him, and he had betrayed her.
“You were right,” Jokyōden said now to Wu Tse-tien. “I never should have trusted the left minister.”
Never waste time on regretting the past, Wu Tse-tien said sternly. Her eyes, the ornaments in her hair, and the dragons on her robe glittered in the flame that surrounded her. Concentrate on the present and the future. Hasn’t the death of the left minister solved your problem?
Once Jokyōden had believed that Konoe’s murder had saved her from exposure, scandal, and punishment while protecting her great venture. Then Sano had revived the danger. “I thought Konoe had died before he could use the power he held over me, but he was involved in things I never guessed. The sōsakan-sama survived the attack, and his investigation continues. I didn’t anticipate the direction it would take, or the stakes involved.” She added regretfully, “I was a fool to help Lady Reiko, but I could not have guessed what would come of taking her to the left minister’s secret house.”
That was a grave mistake, said Wu Tse-tien. Now there is only one way to protect yourself and your son. You must cease your activities so that the shogun’s detective will not discover them. Until he is gone from Miyako, you must have patience.
Wu Tse-tien had shown Jokyōden the value of patience. The Chinese empress had waited forty-one years to found her new dynasty, until Emperor Kao-tsung and her strongest opponents were dead. She’d accumulated power over a lifetime, gradually replacing the old bureaucracy with men loyal to her. Yet Jokyōden couldn’t accept Wu Tse-tien’s advice.
“I can’t stop now,” she said. “This is a critical time. I’ve invested all my effort and capital and hope in this venture. Unless I move forward, I risk utter failure.”
Bitterness hardened Wu Tse-tien’s expression, because she had suffered defeat in the end. At eighty-three, she’d been forced to abdicate by one of her sons, who dissolved her regime and reestablished the old Tang dynasty. This was the one example from her mentor’s life that Jokyōden must not emulate.
“I shall continue as I began,” decided Jokyōden. Then she asked humbly, “May I have your blessing?”
My blessing, yes: my approval, no, Wu Tse-tien said peevishly. Even from the grave she liked to be in control.
“May I ask what the future holds for me?”
The Chinese empress spread her hands in a mocking gesture of resignation. Yours is a perilous path, which you have chosen to walk without my guidance. The future is uncertain; good and evil are equally possible. I wish you luck, because you are on your own now. Good-bye until we meet again in the afterlife.
“Wait,” Jokyōden cried. But Wu Tse-tien’s image vanished; the candle had burned out. Jokyōden sadly closed the butsudan. The world had changed since Wu Tse-tien’s day. Jokyōden must go where Wu Tse-tien couldn’t guide her. It was her destiny.
She prayed that her destiny would not lead to execution for murder and treason.
28
The news came just as Chamberlain Yanagisawa was preparing to attend Yoriki Hoshina’s execution.
Hearing a knock at the door of his private quarters at Nijō Castle, Yanagisawa called, “Come in.”
The guard captain entered, bowing. “Excuse me, Honorable Chamberlain, but there’s a problem that I must bring to your attention. Yoriki Hoshina is gone.”
A wave of shock hit Yanagisawa; his heart began to hammer. “What do you mean, gone? Hoshina was locked up at police headquarters. He’s supposed to die this morning.”
“The sōsakan-sama had Hoshina moved last night,” the guard captain said. “Two doshin took him to a secret hiding place. They were ordered to guard him, but they’re both subordinates and friends of his, and he persuaded them to let him go.”
“Why hasn’t he been caught?”
“There are troops out looking for him now, but he made the doshin promise to wait until sunrise before reporting his escape. So he’s got a head start on us.”
Yanagisawa turned away, trying to sort out his emotions. Hoshina’s flight enraged him. With his knowledge of Yanagisawa’s sabotage against an investigation ordered by the shogun, Hoshina alive and free was a lethal danger. Yet even in the throes of anger and fear, Yanagisawa felt relief. If Hoshina got away, he need not die. Perhaps they would meet again someday. But Yanagisawa wanted Hoshina back now, even if only to see him one last time on the execution ground.
Turning on the guard captain, Yanagisawa said, “I want those doshin executed for dereliction of duty!”
“They’re already dead,” said the captain. “They just walked into the shoshidai’s office, confessed that they’d set Hoshina free, then committed seppuku.”
“I want troops combing the city, nonstop, until Hoshina is found,” Yanagisawa said.
“Yes, Honorable Chamberlain.”
After the captain left, Yanagisawa leaned against the wall, shaken. Then he forced himself to forget Hoshina. He still had to solve the murder case and triumph over Sano. They’d arranged to meet here at the hour of the rooster to share their findings, and until then, he would let the shoshidai’s troops continue the search for the outlaws while he followed the leads he’d kept to himself when he and Sano had agreed to work together.
Yanagisawa hastily shed his black ceremonial robes and donned the faded indigo cotton kimono, blue trousers, and straw sandals he wore for martial arts practice. The clothes were right, but he looked too clean. Going outside to the garden, he rubbed dirt on his garments. And he needed something to conceal his face. Then he noticed a gardener staring at him in puzzlement. The gardener wore a frayed wicker hat, bleached by the sun.
“Give me your hat,” Yanagisawa ordered.
The gardener obeyed. Yanagisawa put on the hat, went back into his room, fastened his swords at his waist, and stood in front of the mirror. He gave his reflection a sardonic smile. With his battered face and raffish costume, he looked like a disreputable rōnin.
“Perfect,” he murmured.
He slipped out the back gate of Nijō Castle. His pulse quickened with the same thrill he’d experienced during the raid on Lord Ibe’s house yesterday, which had whetted his appetite for detective work.
Once out in the street, however, Yanagisawa began to doubt the wisdom of his venture. He felt small and defenseless without his entourage. Passing samurai gave him disdainful glances. Commoners made way for him, but no one offered the lavish displays of respect usually accorded him.
“Clear the road! Clear the road!”
The tramp of hooves and marching feet accompanied the shouted orders. Pedestrians scurried to the roadside. Yanagisawa looked down Marutamachi Avenue and saw a procession coming toward him. Soldiers and mounted officials escorted Shoshidai Matsudaira, who rode a black steed.
“Get out of the way! What’s the matter, are you deaf?”
A soldier pushed Yanagisawa aside. As the procession passed, angry consternation filled him. That the troops of a subordinate should treat him so rudely! And the shoshidai hadn’t even noticed him. His disguise negated his rank and power. Chastened, he hurried on his way, hoping he wouldn’t encounter anyone else he knew.