“I don’t believe you.” Determined to implicate Kozeri in another crime, Reiko said, “Have you ever been to Lord Ibe’s house in the cloth dyers’ district? Do you know the outlaws who’ve been living there? Where are they now? Where have they taken the weapons?”
While her mouth soundlessly formed the words outlaws and weapons, Kozeri looked at Reiko as if she’d gone mad. But Reiko conjectured that she’d befriended the outlaws during her travels through the city and joined their cause as a way to gain power against her former husband. What if she’d learned that Konoe had discovered the plot and decided to kill him before he could report it to the bakufu? She could have contacted Konoe, pretended she wanted a reconciliation, and arranged the secret meeting in the Pond Garden.
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand.” Fists clenched, Reiko shouted into Kozeri’s terrified face, “Where are the weapons? What are the outlaws planning?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Kozeri cried. Her eyes darted; she leaned away from Reiko, then blurted, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell your husband. Something that will help his investigation.” When Reiko only stared at her in speechless fury, she said, “As I was leaving the Pond Garden after the left minister died, I saw a man hiding in the shadows. It was Right Minister Ichijo.”
Did Kozeri think her gullible enough to fall for another trick? Reiko felt angry blood suffuse her face.
Obviously daunted by Reiko’s expression, Kozeri began to babble: “He didn’t see me, but I recognized him from when I lived in the palace.” Her eager smile didn’t erase the fear in her eyes. “Don’t you see what that means? There was somebody else in the garden besides me. Ichijo must have killed my former husband.”
Reiko’s emotions exploded. “I don’t want to hear any more of your lies!” she shouted. “Ichijo wasn’t there. Only you.”
“I’m not lying,” Kozeri protested.
Reiko grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her; Kozeri’s head snapped back and forth. “You’re part of the rebel conspiracy. You killed Konoe. Admit it!”
“Stop. You’re hurting me.”
Limp and unresisting, Kozeri began to sob. Reiko understood how Konoe’s love for her had turned to murderous rage. So meek yet so contrary, she was weak despite her magic powers, pitiful but exasperating.
Was this what Sano wanted in a woman?
Reiko had an impulse to strike Kozeri until she confessed and begged for mercy. So much did she want Kozeri to be guilty and die for the crimes, she didn’t care whether Kozeri could kill her with a scream.
The drums ceased with a burst of applause: The Obon dance had ended. Reiko heard Sano calling, “Reiko-san! Where are you?” She froze, immobilized by contrary urges. She wanted to run to her husband, but she dreaded facing him after what had just happened. She couldn’t bear for Sano to find her and Kozeri like this, and she longed to flee, but not if that meant leaving him alone with Kozeri.
Then Kozeri said in a plaintive voice, “I can see why you think I’m guilty, but why do you hate me so much? Is it because you think your husband loves me?”
That her jealousy was so obvious humiliated Reiko. She turned and stumbled away, not wanting to hear more.
“I tried to get him to make love to me because I wanted him, not just to trick him,” Kozeri called after her. “But he wouldn’t. Now that I’ve met you, I understand why. He loves you. He wanted me, but he couldn’t betray you.”
Reiko halted in her tracks. How she longed to believe that! But many men did commit adultery; while she’d thought Sano was different from other husbands, perhaps her trust in him had been naïve. Besides, Kozeri had lied and deceived too often. Didn’t her claim that she and Sano hadn’t coupled indicate that in fact they had?
Then Reiko was running blindly. The speed of her flight chilled the tears that streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to think or do. Nor did she know whether to believe Kozeri’s story about seeing Ichijo at the scene of Konoe’s murder.
31
At the hour of the boar, business had ceased on Kawaramachi Avenue, except in a few teahouses. The wide avenue, which ran north and south past Miyako’s main commercial district, resembled a long tunnel, with the high earthen wall of the Great Rampart on the east, rows of shops and houses lit by Obon lanterns on the west, and the purple-black night sky above. Gates in the rampart provided access to the Kamo River. At intersections, guards manned neighborhood gates. Although some residents already slumbered on mattresses spread on balconies to catch the river breezes, others sat in doorways, talking and smoking, while pedestrians drifted home from cemetery visits.
Through the thinning crowds walked Right Minister Ichijo, a solitary figure dressed in a modest gray kimono and wicker hat instead of his usual court costume. Leaning on his ebony cane, Ichijo maintained a brisk pace for a man his age, looking neither right nor left nor behind him. His elegant profile and stooped shoulders inclined forward as if he were impatient to reach his destination.
Chamberlain Yanagisawa followed at a discreet distance behind the right minister. Again he wore the garb of a rōnin. After chasing Lady Jokyōden’s messenger, pursuing Ichijo was easy. Either the right minister didn’t think anyone would follow him, or he didn’t care if they did. Instead of weaving through alleys, he marched right down the middle of the street. He certainly didn’t act like a man on a secret mission, but Yanagisawa believed that appearances lied.
His spies had turned up the interesting fact that Ichijo had told his staff he was going out alone tonight, without disclosing his plans. Did this herald one of the mysterious trips that Yoriki Hoshina had mentioned? Yanagisawa still yearned to believe that Hoshina had honestly tried to help him by unearthing genuine clues. He especially needed evidence against Ichijo because of what his spies had reported about Lady Jokyōden.
Servants claimed to have seen Jokyōden in her office shortly before hearing the scream that had killed Aisu. She’d also been there when the imperial watchmen went to inform her about the second murder. No one had seen her elsewhere. Although Yanagisawa didn’t know why she’d refused to admit this to Sano, it seemed unlikely that she’d sneaked outside, killed Aisu, and gotten back to her office without anyone noticing her. If she hadn’t murdered Aisu, then the probability that she’d murdered the left minister decreased; the messenger and the Daikoku Bank might have nothing to do with the conspiracy. Therefore, Ichijo was the prime suspect, now that Sano had broken his alibi for Konoe’s murder. Yanagisawa hadn’t told Sano about Ichijo’s trips. If they revealed a connection between Ichijo and the rebels, Yanagisawa wanted to be the hero who arrested the killer and averted a civil war.
At the Gojo Avenue intersection, Ichijo stopped at a gate in the Great Rampart. Yanagisawa took cover in a doorway and watched Ichijo speak to the sentry, who opened the gate. The right minister vanished through it. Yanagisawa hurried over.
“Let me out,” he ordered the sentry. “Quickly!”
“State your name and your business.” The sentry regarded Yanagisawa’s humble appearance with scorn.
This time Yanagisawa was prepared for encounters with officialdom. From his waist pouch he took a small scroll that gave his name and rank. He showed it to the sentry. The man was probably illiterate, but he recognized the shogun’s personal seal on the document. He hastily let Yanagisawa through the gate.
Outside the Great Rampart, Yanagisawa spied Ichijo walking down the stretch of Gojo Avenue that sloped toward a flight of stone steps leading down to the river. Together yet far apart, Ichijo and Yanagisawa descended these, then crossed the Gojo Bridge. Beneath it the Kamo rippled, faintly luminous. Lights twinkled on the opposite bank; bonfires smoldered. The smell of smoke, the laughter of couples strolling the embankment, music drifting from teahouses, and the warm night all evoked in Yanagisawa the memory of his night with Hoshina. A wave of longing swept through him.