“We thank you for your cooperation,” said Yanagisawa, “and regret that we must depart so soon.”
Sano offered his own thanks and regrets, but he guessed that their polite speeches fooled no one.
“I grant you my blessing for a safe journey back to Edo,” said Emperor Tomohito.
All the arrogance had deserted him; his chastened expression lent him a new maturity. Sano predicted a long, peaceful reign for the young sovereign, who had finally learned his place in the world.
While priests chanted an invocation, Sano perceived a vacancy in the palace; there was a quietude formerly broken by hoots, yelps, and frenetic motion. The air seemed charged with the absence of Prince Momozono. Yesterday Sano had issued orders for the prince’s cremation and burial. Perhaps his spirit would find peace at last.
The ceremony drew to a close, and Sano pondered the most dramatic effect wrought by the murder case: the change in Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Yanagisawa had offered no explanation for saving Sano’s life, but Sano hadn’t needed one. The chamberlain had brought Yoriki Hoshina with him when he’d rescued Sano. While Yanagisawa had described the discovery that had sped him to the temple, joy had lit his face as if he’d swallowed the sun. The investigation had made a detective out of him; the battle had turned him into a samurai. Love had redeemed his spirit.
Now the procession exited the courtyard. As Sano and Yanagisawa walked through the narrow streets of the kuge district for the last time, Right Minister Ichijo joined them.
“A private word, if I may?” Ichijo said.
Sano and Yanagisawa dropped behind their entourage and walked with the right minister. Ichijo said, “We all know that your investigation is not quite complete.”
“True,” said Yanagisawa.
“I will explain what you saw when you followed me to the Ear Mound,” said Ichijo, “if you will keep the information confidential.”
Yanagisawa raised an eyebrow at Sano, who smiled. Some things never changed. Ichijo was still a consummate politician. Loath to tarry in Miyako, Yanagisawa and Sano had agreed that they would return to Edo, leaving Detective Fukida behind to tie up loose ends. But perhaps Fukida needn’t worry about this one.
“Very well,” Yanagisawa said.
“I have a secret mistress and daughter in the village of Kusatsu,” Ichijo said quietly. “I visit them whenever I can. I also send them money through intermediaries. That’s what I was doing at the Ear Mound. I hired those two rōnin to protect my family from bandit raids and convey cash to them.”
Sano said, “That’s not illegal. Why the need for secrecy?”
“The woman is a peasant,” Ichijo said. “For a man in my position, an affair outside the noble class is unseemly. It would have damaged my career. I was passing through the Pond Garden on my way to Kusatsu when Left Minister Konoe was murdered. I didn’t want to be caught at the scene, so I continued on my trip.” He added, “Konoe knew my secret. He was blackmailing me.”
The procession reached the palace gate. “Thank you for the information,” Sano said, glad to have a mystery solved.
“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.