Fright spurred Reiko down the passage. She drew a breath to cry, That’s my son! Let me through! Then she saw troops in the procession, among them men assigned to guard her family. They massed below the tower, shouting at Masahiro and Korika. They apparently didn’t want to risk climbing up what was left of the collapsed wall, and the wall on the other side of the tower was too high. If they saw Reiko, they would arrest her. She turned and ran in the opposite direction. She must find a way to make Korika surrender, to save Masahiro.
A strong contraction cramped her belly. Wincing, she followed the passage around the hill to a plank gate set in a partially restored wall. This was one of several temporary shortcuts through the castle, which the workers used during the construction. Reiko pushed open the gate. She limped down a flight of wooden stairs that led between trees and rocks. Through another plank gate she entered a passage on the lower level. A painful twisting, sinking sensation in her belly frightened her. She had to stop and rest; her heart was beating so hard. She was so weak, she fell through the gate to the official district.
Trudging along the main street, past new mansions and some half built, past closed gates and empty guardhouses, Reiko met no one. Everybody had gone to the funeral. The wall on the hillside above her came into view. The section to her left was tall, clad with stone, intact. The section to her right was a spill of earth topped by a rim of stones. Above the rim Reiko saw the heads of people standing in the passage. The tower base rose between the intact and collapsed walls. Its wooden framework resembled a giant birdcage. Masahiro and Korika stood at the edge of the base. He extended his hands to her while she gazed down at the ground. The tower was even higher than Reiko had thought.
Lungs heaving, heart pounding, Reiko held her belly while she trudged toward the tower. A contraction came upon her, more painful than the last. She bent over, moaning.
* * *
“Please don’t jump!” Masahiro begged.
“Why not?” Korika sobbed. “It wouldn’t hurt as much as burning.”
Not only did Masahiro need her to confess to the shogun, but his impulse was to save her even though she was a murderess. He had to keep her too busy talking to jump. “How do you know it won’t hurt as much?”
Korika shook her head. She wiped her hand across her wet eyes. She gazed longingly at the street below. “It would be quicker.”
Unable to dispute that, Masahiro said, “If you come with me and talk to the shogun, I’ll tell him you didn’t really mean to hurt Yoshisato, you set the fire by mistake. He’ll pardon you.”
His words sounded unconvincing to himself. Korika’s woeful glance said she didn’t believe them, either. Desperate, Masahiro appealed to her mercy. “Unless you talk to the shogun, I’ll be burned to death. So will my father, and my mother, and my little sister.”
The thought of Akiko screaming while she went up in flames upset Masahiro more than the thought of his own death. “Please!” he said, extending clasped hands to Korika. “We’ll all die unless you help us!”
“I don’t care.” Korika stepped so close to the edge that the toes of her white socks and thong sandals hung over the drop.
* * *
Outside the mausoleum, Lord Tsunanori brandished his sword at the soldiers. They drew their swords. The people in the crowd gasped. Sano shouted, “Lord Tsunanori! Put down your weapon!”
Lord Tsunanori and the soldiers sprang into frenzied motion. Their yells were drowned out by screams from the crowd. It was so swift, Sano couldn’t tell who’d attacked first.
An instant later the soldiers stepped back, looking stunned. Lord Tsunanori lay bleeding from cuts all over his body, the largest on his midsection. His sword was by his hand, its blade clean. His eyelids stretched so wide that his pupils looked like black dots painted on round white pebbles. His mouth gaped in a wordless howl.
The audience moaned. The shogun turned, ran from the gory sight, bent over, and spewed vomit. Yanagisawa and Ienobu rushed to his aid. Ladies fainted. Servants fussed over them. Sano rushed to Lord Tsunanori. Kneeling, he pressed his hands against the daimyo’s stomach, trying to stanch the flow of blood. His fingers slid into a cut so deep that he felt hot, slippery innards. The wound was beyond repair, mortal.
“What else do you want to say?” Sano asked urgently. Neither Lord Tsunanori nor he had long to live. He grabbed Lord Tsunanori’s hand.
It was cold from shock and blood loss, but the fingers clenched Sano’s with fierce strength. Lord Tsunanori gurgled as he breathed. His eyes communicated his agony and terror. His face was already white. His lips, grayish blue, moved in a wordless plea.
“I can’t help you, I’m sorry.” Sano didn’t like to pressure a dying man, but he wanted the whole truth about the crime. “This is your last chance to finish your confession.”
Lord Tsunanori wrung out his voice between gurgles. “Wouldn’t have … thought of it … myself.”
“Thought of what?”
“Smallpox.” Lord Tsunanori grimaced; his body stiffened in a spasm of pain.
“Who gave you the idea, then?”
Lord Tsunanori moaned. His robes and the ground under Sano’s knees were soaked with blood, which still poured from his gut. “Ienobu.”
Shocked, Sano looked toward Ienobu. The man hovered by the shogun. The crowd assailed the gate, trying to flee the carnage. Yanagisawa shouted angrily. Troops ran about, trying to restore order. Nobody was listening to Sano and Lord Tsunanori.
“Ienobu gave you the idea of infecting your wife with smallpox?” Sano asked.
The grip on Sano’s hand loosened. Lord Tsunanori whispered, “He knew about Namiji. He said she could do it and not get sick. He said … if Tsuruhime were to die of smallpox, nobody would ask questions. Once he gave me the idea, it wouldn’t go away, it sounded so good.” His eyes burned briefly with indignation as he gazed up at Sano. “Nobody was supposed to know!”
Just as Sano had suspected earlier, Ienobu had been involved in Tsuruhime’s death. He’d exercised his strange effect on Lord Tsunanori. Although Ienobu hadn’t touched the smallpox-infested sheet, he was just as guilty as Lord Tsunanori and Namiji. Now Sano understood the true scope and monstrousness of Ienobu’s crime.
In order to clear his path to the head of the dictatorship, Ienobu had had Tsuruhime murdered. It wasn’t much of a mental stretch for Sano to believe Ienobu was also responsible for the fire that had killed Yoshisato. He’d eliminated Tsuruhime first, because although he’d perceived her as less of a threat, she’d been the easier target. Ienobu had engineered each death, benefited from both, and done the dirty work for neither.
Lord Tsunanori’s face relaxed. His eyelids half closed.
“You can’t die yet!” Sano cried. “You have to tell the shogun that his nephew killed his daughter and his heir!”
Lord Tsunanori was also Sano’s only chance at exoneration.
One last spasm wracked Lord Tsunanori. He emitted one last, weak moan, one last gout of blood. Sano felt the animating spirit fade from his body.
“Come back!” Sano dropped Lord Tsunanori’s hand, shook him, and pounded his chest in a futile attempt to revive him. But Lord Tsunanori was gone.
No one except Sano had heard his last testimony.
Drenched in blood, Sano rose. Yanagisawa pointed at him, shouting, “Arrest him!” Soldiers rushed in his direction. Sano’s reprieve was over, the machinery that would destroy him set in motion again. Hopelessly seeking an escape, he heard a roar of voices outside the walls. It came from a great distance and grew louder, like a tidal wave coming. The flow of talk along the funeral procession had reversed direction. The roar burst into the mausoleum compound.