He abruptly turned away from the mirror as Detective Marume entered the room and said, “Lord Ienobu is here.”
Less than an hour had passed since Sano had sent Marume to ask Ienobu to visit him. “That was fast.” Sano was surprised that his voice sounded so normal when nothing else about him was.
“I didn’t have to go to his house. I met him inside the castle as I was leaving.”
Walking toward the reception room, Sano tried to chart his conversation with Ienobu, but his thoughts kept raging around the shogun, like a storm around its eye. He felt like a broken jar that had been put back together without glue. A slight tap could shatter him and let out the storm.
In the reception room, Ienobu’s hunchbacked figure knelt by the alcove. When he saw Sano, his eyes bulged with shock.
“Thank you for coming, Honorable Lord Ienobu.” Sano knelt and bowed.
“My heavens,” Ienobu said. “Does it feel as bad as it looks?”
“More or less.” Sano forced himself to think of his family, to discipline his emotions for their sake. Ienobu seemed plump with contentment, like a maggot that had just fed. “Are you as happy as you look?”
“Oh, not happy at all.” Ienobu put on a reproachful expression. “It’s terrible, what happened to Yoshisato.”
Sano wasn’t deceived. Ienobu was obviously thrilled that Yoshisato was dead. “Have you seen the shogun today?”
“Yes, I just went to the wake.”
“How is he?” Sano knew he should feel compassion for the shogun, but he hoped the shogun was drowning in misery.
“Oh, he’s devastated by Yoshisato’s death.” Ienobu couldn’t control the grin that peeled his lips farther back from his teeth. “He begged me to move into the palace with him. I was just going to my house to fetch my belongings when your man gave me your invitation.”
“So Yoshisato has been dead less than a day, and you’re already back in the shogun’s good graces.”
Ienobu shrugged off Sano’s hint that he’d capitalized on Yoshisato’s death. “The shogun needs comfort and counsel, which I’m certainly glad to provide.”
“He also needs a new heir,” Sano said. “You must be glad to provide that, too.”
“Someone has to plan for the future.”
“A future in which you’re at the head of the regime?”
“I was the shogun’s heir apparent five months ago. I’m now the heir apparent again.” Ienobu spoke as if Yoshisato’s rise and his own fall from favor were but a brief kink in his schemes. “Nothing could be more natural.”
“Nothing could be more natural than enjoying the murder of one’s rival,” Sano said.
Hostility hooded Ienobu’s eyes. “Why did you want to see me?”
Sano hated to grovel to Ienobu, but he must, for his family’s sake. “A few days ago you made me an offer. Is it still good?”
“That’s what I thought you wanted to ask. Things have changed. You need me to help you fend off the murder charge that Yanagisawa has slapped on you. But I no longer need your help. An alliance with you could only hurt me. Therefore, I’m rescinding my offer.”
This was what Sano had expected, but he argued, “You’re in no position to turn down help. Yanagisawa is still your enemy.”
“He’s finished,” Ienobu said disdainfully.
“Don’t underestimate him. If you think he’ll lie down and let you inherit the dictatorship, think again. I’ve survived his schemes before. I’ll survive this one.” Sano spoke with more conviction than he felt. “And when I do, you’ll want me on your side.”
Pity tinged Ienobu’s disdain. “I don’t see you surviving.”
Sano saw his port in the storm close; he was more alone in the cold than ever. His rage toward the shogun spilled over onto the shogun’s nephew. “You knew I would mention your offer, and you knew you were going to rescind it. So why did you come?”
“To see how you were.”
Sano pictured Ienobu poking a dead snake with a stick, to test if it was really dead. “Well, I’m glad you came. Because there’s something else I want to ask you. Did you have Yoshisato’s house set on fire?”
“Certainly not.” Vexation disrupted Ienobu’s complacence. “Your question is not only ludicrous, it’s insulting.”
Sano hadn’t expected Ienobu to confess to the murder, but an overemphatic denial was often an indicator of guilt. “What’s so ludicrous? You’re the one who benefited the most from Yoshisato’s death. He was blocking your path to becoming the next shogun. Now he’s gone. Your path is clear.”
“I beg to differ, Sano-san. You set the fire because you wanted to destroy Yanagisawa and Yoshisato. I only benefited from your actions.” Ienobu added smugly, “I’m not the one who was caught holding the rags, the kerosene jar, and the smoking basket.”
Sano recalled Masahiro asking if Yoshisato’s and Tsuruhime’s murders could be connected. Now he saw reason to think so. “Did you have the shogun’s daughter infected with smallpox?”
Ienobu laughed his dry, wheezy laugh. “Really, Sano-san, you’re the most single-minded man I know. First you accuse me of murdering Yoshisato. Then Tsuruhime. But you may as well give up. Nobody is going to believe your irrational allegations.”
“What’s so irrational about the idea that you killed Tsuruhime? Yoshisato wasn’t the only one who could have prevented you from becoming the next shogun. So could she have.”
“How?” Scorn rasped in Ienobu’s tone. “As a woman she wasn’t eligible to inherit the dictatorship.”
“A son of hers would have been. More eligible than you, in fact. He would have been the shogun’s direct descendant.”
“He didn’t exist,” Ienobu said impatiently.
“Tsuruhime was pregnant when she took ill.”
“Pregnant?” Ienobu looked as startled as when he’d seen Sano’s face. But Sano wondered if he’d anticipated that the subject of her pregnancy would arise and prepared his reaction. “How do you know?”
“That’s not important.” Sano knew how flimsy the evidence sounded, a pouch of herbs and a servant girl’s story. He wasn’t going to give Ienobu a chance to poke holes in it. “What matters is whether you knew. Did you?”
“No. Because you’re making it up.” Ienobu clamped his lips shut between his teeth.
Sano tried to read Ienobu’s thoughts. Had Ienobu known Tsuruhime was pregnant? Was he uncertain as to whether Sano was bluffing?
“What’s the matter?” Sano asked. “Are you worried that other people will hear about her pregnancy and realize that you benefited from her death as well as Yoshisato’s?”
“My uncle must have hit you hard enough to jar your wits loose, Sano-san. You’ve mixed up the timing of events.” Ienobu sounded cautious, as if groping through unmapped terrain. “When Tsuruhime got smallpox, Yoshisato was alive and well and set to become the shogun’s heir. Killing her wouldn’t have put me first in line for the succession.”
“Perhaps not right then. But I think you decided that she and Yoshisato both had to go before you could feel secure about inheriting the dictatorship.” Sano groped his own way toward a new theory of why Tsuruhime had been murdered. “It was only a matter of which to kill first. And you’ve admitted to having friends in her house.”
Ienobu’s face grew uglier with rage. “How dare you even think I’m capable of such cold-blooded calculation?”
“You waited decades for the best time to make your appearance at court. It was after Yanagisawa had gone into seclusion, after the earthquake. The shogun’s usual attendants were busy working to restore the city. He needed company. And there you were.” Sano warmed to his own theory. “You’re the kind of man who would take the precaution of eliminating Tsuruhime even though she wasn’t an immediate threat. And now that Yoshisato is dead, you can relax because she’s already been dispatched.”
“Is this how you intend to defend yourself? By splashing mud on me?” Ienobu’s voice vibrated with fear that the shogun might be convinced that Ienobu had murdered his children.
“You once asked me if I was willing to fight dirty,” Sano said. “I am.”