“She didn’t tell me,” Lady Nobuko said weakly, while Korika massaged her temples. “She confided in me about everything … except that.”
“Merciful gods,” Korika whispered. “The grandchild the shogun had always hoped for. It died with our poor Tsuruhime.”
Lady Nobuko looked up at Sano, angling her neck and moving her eyes carefully to avoid worse pain. “How do you know she was pregnant?”
Sano told her about the maid, the herbs, and Tsuruhime’s romance with the soldier.
Lady Nobuko closed her eyes; tears spilled. “I had no idea about this affair. But I do know that Tsuruhime was terribly afraid of childbirth. When she was eight, her nursemaid became pregnant out of wedlock. The maid hid her condition until she went into labor in the room where she slept beside Tsuruhime’s bed. Tsuruhime was awakened by screams in the night. The maid’s bed was drenched with blood. The servants took Tsuruhime away, but not before she’d seen the baby’s arm sticking out from between the maid’s legs. The baby was dead. The physician cut it out of the maid. She screamed all the while. Then she bled to death. The story was all over the women’s quarters the next day. Little girls have big ears.”
Sano could only imagine the horror of what Tsuruhime had seen. It was indeed a reason for her to have wanted to avoid having a baby, regardless of who the father was, no matter that it was the grandchild of the shogun.
Recovered from her shock, Lady Nobuko pushed herself upright. “As much as your news hurts me, I see some good in it. Tsuruhime’s pregnancy is evidence that Yanagisawa murdered her. He would have wanted to prevent her from bearing the child, to ensure that the shogun wouldn’t choose it as his heir instead of Yoshisato. Killing her was the only way.”
“If he knew about her pregnancy,” Sano said. “I haven’t had a chance to determine whether he did.”
“Oh, he must have known. Once you prove it, you can destroy him.” Lady Nobuko’s eyes shone with unholy glee. “But destroying Yanagisawa isn’t enough. You must destroy his bastard, too.” Her hatred of Yanagisawa spilled over onto Yoshisato. “You have to prove they both murdered Tsuruhime.”
Conflict wrenched Sano’s innards. His new liking for Yoshisato vied with his obligation to Lady Nobuko. “If they’re both guilty, I’ll prove it and make them pay.” Before he’d met Yoshisato he’d looked forward to destroying Yanagisawa’s pawn. Now he said, “If Yoshisato isn’t guilty, I won’t take him down along with Yanagisawa.”
“You must!” Lady Nobuko clutched Sano’s arm. Her hand was a gnarled claw that dug into his flesh. “I don’t want Yanagisawa’s bastard inheriting the regime.” She was so intent on taking revenge on Yanagisawa that she didn’t care whether an innocent young man suffered.
“When I agreed to investigate Tsuruhime’s death, I told you that I would be looking for the truth. If the truth is that Yoshisato is innocent, then he shouldn’t be punished for the murder.” Sano firmly withdrew from her grasp.
“But if Yoshisato lives to become the next shogun, Yanagisawa will win!” The spasm in Lady Nobuko’s face tightened. Groaning in pain, she lay down again.
That was a dilemma for Sano. Meeting Yoshisato hadn’t only put him at odds with Reiko, Masahiro, and Lady Nobuko; it was interfering with his quest for revenge on Yanagisawa.
“Please, you’d better go,” Korika said to Sano.
As he stepped off the veranda stairs into the fresh air and darkness of the garden, Korika came running after him, calling, “Wait!”
She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light within. “Can’t you give Lady Nobuko what she wants?” Her voice was pleading, anxious. “She’s an old, sick woman. It would mean so much to her.”
“I understand,” Sano said with honest sympathy. “And I commend your devotion to her.” Korika seemed to love her mistress even though waiting on Lady Nobuko must be a chore. “But I can’t frame someone who’s innocent.”
“Yoshisato doesn’t deserve to be shogun!” Korika wrung her hands. “He’s a fraud!”
Sano remembered Yoshisato asking him to join a coalition for the good of Japan. “I won’t destroy him just to make Lady Nobuko happy.”
Or to fulfill his own duty to prevent a fraud from inheriting the regime.
Meeting Yoshisato had also put Sano at odds with his own honor.
Korika’s plump bosom swelled, then deflated as she sighed. She turned and went into the house. Before the door closed, the light gilded her profile. Her expression was so hard that for a moment Sano thought he was looking at a stranger.
20
The sun rose over Zōjō Temple like a red pearl dissolving in milk. Crimson light bled onto the roofs of worship halls, shrines, and pagodas. Hammering and sawing announced the day’s construction work. The temple was no haven from the rebuilding boom. Gongs tolled. Monks, priests, and nuns headed for town, a parade of people with heads shaved and begging bowls in hands, the nuns and monks in plain hemp robes, the priests in brilliant saffron.
Hirata crouched under the bridge that spanned the Sakuragawa Canal. The parade crossed the bridge with a soft thunder of straw sandals on wood planks. When the echo of the last footstep faded, he scrambled up the bank and followed the parade. Far ahead, up the highway that ran between wooded hills, Deguchi walked with his brethren. His aura made him as obvious to Hirata as if a giant red arrow were pointing down at him. Hirata hoped Deguchi wouldn’t notice he was being followed, recognize Hirata, and perceive his intentions.
Hirata meant to kill Deguchi.
Everything in him abhorred the idea. Murder was against his code of honor. He didn’t want to be a slave to a ghost. But unless he did General Otani’s bidding, Otani would kill him the next time the secret society forced him into a trance. And Hirata had promised Sano that he would make things right. The only way he could think of to dissolve the secret society was to kill the other members. He might as well start with Deguchi.
The nuns, monks, and priests entered the Nihonbashi merchant district. They fanned out through the alleys, begging alms at the shops that were open, at the market stalls. Deguchi walked east, alone. Hirata kept a safe distance from him and watched for an opportunity to kill him. It had to be someplace where no one would see. It had to be fast. One try was all Hirata would get.
Deguchi kept to the main streets, which were filled with people. He looked straight ahead; he didn’t seem to notice that he was being followed. He didn’t stop to beg. Hirata wondered where he was going.
They reached the Sumida River. The water was leaden beneath an overcast sky. Deguchi climbed into a ferryboat. Hirata stood on the embankment until Deguchi was halfway across the river. Then he hired another ferryman to row him to the opposite shore. There, he tracked Deguchi’s aura through the crowds in the Honjo entertainment district. Deguchi hurried through the quarter where townspeople were building new houses along canals. His aura crackled with impatient energy. Hirata caught up with him in an enclave where samurai officials lived in suburban villas. Deguchi slowed his pace, holding out his begging bowl to officials in palanquins and troops on horseback. Hirata followed him past estates under construction. Deguchi came to one that appeared to be finished. He circled the estate twice, not looking directly at it. The second time he neared the gate, he crossed the street. The villa there was enclosed by two-story barracks, its gate open. Trees overhung the repaired buildings to the left of the gate. Carpenters were installing new roof beams on the barracks to the right. Deguchi strolled in through the gate. Hirata waited a few moments, then followed.
Inside the estate, more carpenters were busy at work on a villa. Hirata hid behind a pile of timber and watched Deguchi stroll up to the barracks. Deguchi stood gazing up at the rooftop near the gate. Its eaves were at least twice as high as he was tall. He set his bowl on the ground, raised his arms, flexed his knees, and jumped. His fingers caught the eaves. He pulled himself up, climbed the slope of the roof, and disappeared into the trees. Hirata ran alongside the barracks and stopped some twenty paces past the spot where Deguchi had jumped. He performed the same move, less expertly. As he pulled himself onto the roof, he made loud, scuffling sounds. Crawling up it, he kicked a tile loose. It fell and shattered. Hammering covered the noise. When he was safe under the tree branches, he knelt and looked to his left.