Taeko crawled under the boughs and dropped her stack of quilts. “Are you hurt?”
Holding her hand over her eye, the girl sat up. Her oval face was lovely despite the tears that blotched her ivory skin, the ragged kerchief. Taeko would have liked to draw her someday.
“What are you doing here?” The girl’s voice was a fearful whimper.
“I came to help you,” Taeko said.
The girl’s smooth brow wrinkled. She seemed puzzled by the idea that anyone should want to help her. “You’d better go back to work, or you’ll get in trouble.”
She also seemed more concerned about Taeko than herself. Taeko warmed to her. “It’s all right. Let me look at your eye.”
The girl slowly lowered her hand. Her eye was red, swollen.
“Can you see out of it?” Taeko asked. The girl nodded. Relieved, Taeko noticed that her cheek had taken the worst of the blow. It was bruised around broken skin. “Your face is bleeding.” Taeko dabbed her sleeve against the girl’s cheek.
“I haven’t seen you before,” the girl said. “Are you new?”
“I started working in the laundry yesterday. My name is Taeko. What’s yours?”
“Emi.”
“Does that lady hit you often?”
Emi nodded sadly. “They all do.”
“Well, they shouldn’t. They’re mean and stupid.” Taeko knew that some ladies didn’t like servants who were prettier than themselves. “And jealous.”
Emi smiled. It was like the sun coming out after the rain. “You’re the only person here who’s ever been kind to me. If there’s anything I can do for you…”
Taeko didn’t like to take advantage of a poor, lonely, picked-on girl, but she needed help. “Maybe there is. I’m looking for a witness. Can you tell me where to find one?”
Confusion pursed Emi’s delicate mouth. “A witness to what?”
“I don’t know,” Taeko confessed. “I don’t even know what a witness is.”
“I think it’s someone who saw or heard something,” Emi said. “There were two samurai here yesterday. They were asking questions. I heard Lord Tsunanori’s men say they were looking for witnesses.”
The two samurai must have been Masahiro’s father and Detective Marume, Taeko realized. They’d come to investigate the murder of the shogun’s daughter, who’d been Lord Tsunanori’s wife. A witness must be a person who knew something about the murder. That was what Masahiro wanted!
“Do you know anything about Lord Tsunanori’s wife?” Taeko asked hopefully.
Apprehension clouded Emi’s lovely features. “We’re not supposed to talk about the mistress.”
Taeko felt a stir of excitement. She sensed that Emi knew something important. “I promise not to tell.”
Emi peeked through the willow branches to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It was the night before Lady Tsuruhime got sick. She gave me a coin and a folded piece of paper and told me to take them to a pharmacy shop the next morning. She said to give them to the man there and bring her back what he gave me. I was surprised because I didn’t usually work for her. Whenever she wanted something, she usually asked her own maids. And she ordered me not to tell anybody.”
This didn’t sound related to murder, but Taeko liked secrets and she wanted to hear the rest of the story. “Did you do what she asked?”
“Yes. I went to the shop. There was an old man. I gave him the paper and the coin. He gave me a bag of herbs.”
“What were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was on the paper?”
Emi shook her head. “I can’t read.”
“What happened to it?”
“The man threw it away.”
“What else happened?”
“I took the bag home. But when I got here, the women were all upset because Lady Tsuruhime had smallpox. Nobody was allowed to go near her except her nurse. So I couldn’t give her the bag. And I couldn’t give it to anybody else because it was supposed to be a secret.”
“Where is the bag now?” Taeko scarcely dared to hope.
Emi chewed her lip, torn between obedience and her desire to help Taeko.
“Tsuruhime is dead,” Taeko said. “It doesn’t matter to her.”
Sighing, Emi reached inside her kimono and pulled out a small cloth pouch that had been tied around her waist with a string. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I was afraid to throw it away.”
Taeko extended her open hand. Emi dropped the bag in it, seeming glad to pass it to someone she trusted. She frowned as if she had another secret she wondered whether to share.
“What is it?” Taeko asked eagerly.
The willow boughs rustled. Kiku thrust her head between them. Emi gasped. Taeko shoved the herb bag inside her kimono.
“Hah, there you are!” Kiku said to Taeko. “Come out!”
Taeko and Emi scrambled from beneath the willow. Kiku said, “What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” Taeko said.
“Hiding from work, is more like it,” Kiku said. “I’m going to tell the housekeeper. You’re going to get in trouble.”
“It’s my fault,” Emi said. “I hurt my eye. She was just trying to help me.”
Kiku pointed at the front of Taeko’s kimono. “What have you got in there?”
“Nothing.” Taeko folded her arms.
“You’re lying.” Kiku thrust her open hand at Taeko. “Give it to me.”
Taeko ran. Kiku chased her and shouted, “When I catch you, you’re going to be sorry!”
* * *
By sundown Sano had conducted twelve more trials. He’d condemned two more men, sentenced seven to beatings, imposed hefty fines on three, and acquitted none. His close view of the rampant corruption outraged him, yet he deplored his own role as a judge who served up death and suffering along with justice. By the time he and Marume rode up to Edo Castle, he was as exhausted as if he’d fought a battle all day, and he still had urgent business to do.
Sano knew where to find the shogun; therefore, he also knew where to find Yoshisato, who rarely left the shogun’s side. After leaving Marume and his horse at home, he walked to the martial arts practice ground. A tournament had been scheduled. The tournaments were designed to give the warrior class a reprieve from earthquake problems, vent their frustration, and raise morale. They ran until after dark. The shogun never missed one.
On the practice ground, shadows cloaked the archery targets and horse-racing track. A pond for water battles reflected the orange light of the setting sun. Lanterns hanging from strings tied between poles illuminated a crowd of cheering, clapping men who sat in wooden stands. Sano walked between the stands, to the edge of the arena.
In the middle, two men armed with wooden swords, dressed in white jackets and trousers, circled each other. One was Yoshisato, the other an instructor from the Tokugawa army. The men lunged and slashed, their blades clacking. Yoshisato was athletic, graceful, and well trained. Sano knew the instructor was going easy on him-no one in his right mind would risk injuring the shogun’s heir-but Yoshisato fought hard. The match ended with his blade against his opponent’s neck. The spectators applauded. The shogun laughed in vicarious delight, cheering his heir. As Yoshisato walked off the field, Sano moved toward him. A palace guard intercepted Sano and said, “Don’t get any closer.”
“It’s all right,” Yoshisato said. The guard retreated. Sano knew without looking that Yanagisawa was absent. If he were here, he’d have rushed to separate Sano and Yoshisato.
“What do you want?” Yoshisato said, his tone carefully neutral. He sounded just like Yanagisawa when Yanagisawa was plotting mayhem. Either he really was Yanagisawa’s son, or he’d taken to imitating his adoptive father.