Bundori: A Novel of Japan (23 page)

“You forced my father to send me, as a young girl of fourteen, to spy on and ruin your rivals. You force me to spend my life in enslavement. For me to abandon this duty, which you so despise, would bring death to my people. And for my effort to protect my family-as you would yours-you call me dirty. Dishonorable.”

Sano shook his head as his perception shifted. Never before had he considered what his class and hers had in common. The Tokugawa had subjugated them both. The ninja served less willingly, because at greater personal cost for fewer rewards. They reaped no glory for their deeds. But there was honor in Aoi’s courage, her devotion to her family, her stoic acceptance of suffering. And there was good in her character: She’d saved his life.

“I’m sorry,” Sano said, meaning the apology as an expression of forgiveness and understanding as well.

When he took her hand, her fingers stiffened, then curled around his for a moment before withdrawing. Her gaze dropped, but his gesture and her acceptance of it affirmed a love that knew no class barriers, observed no conventions, withheld no intimacy. This, Sano thought with a passionate, joyful certainty, was what he wanted with a woman.

Bitter irony tinged Aoi’s husky laugh. “What would Chamberlain Yanagisawa say if he could see us together now-his agent, and the man he seeks to destroy?”

Leaden dismay settled in Sano’s stomach. “So it was the chamberlain who ordered you to ruin my investigation. More evidence of his guilt.”

“Chamberlain Yanagisawa is a murder suspect?”

Aoi’s sharp query startled Sano out of his gloom. “Yes,” he admitted, explaining how he’d reached that conclusion. Though he still didn’t trust her, it couldn’t hurt to tell her what Yanagisawa already knew.

When he finished, Aoi sat perfectly still, but with an intensity to her gaze that belied her calm demeanor.

“Then… if the chamberlain is guilty… he’ll be executed?” Dawning hope hushed her voice.

Sano knew what she was thinking: If Yanagisawa died, she would be free to go home, without threat of punishment from a government too busy reorganizing itself to care what happened to the dead chamberlain’s spies. His heart contracted as he sensed the vast difference in understanding that separated them. She didn’t know what Yanagisawa’s guilt would mean he must do. And, knowing the hold Yanagisawa had on her, he couldn’t tell her and risk the news of his plan reaching the chamberlain.

“Yes,” Sano said finally. “If Chamberlain Yanagisawa is guilty, he will die.”

Aoi’s luminous eyes shone as she leaned forward and grasped his hands. “I can help you prove his guilt. So that neither of us, nor my people, need suffer his cruelty any longer.”

Sano inwardly shrank from her eagerness to incriminate Yanagisawa. The embers of his anger began to smolder again when he remembered how she’d “helped” him before.

“What can you do?” Suddenly suspicious, he extricated his hands from hers. Her visions had revealed truths, but also lies. This woman he loved was by birth and profession a trickster, no matter how noble her basic character.

She frowned, hurt by his rejection, but drew herself proudly upright, palms against her knees. “Yes, I tricked you, the way my people have always tricked yours,” she said, again demonstrating her uncanny ability to read his mind. “I can’t foretell the future or communicate directly with the dead. But I can sometimes hear the thoughts of the living, as I heard yours. And the dead do speak- through the possessions they leave behind. Objects speak of the people who’ve owned them. And I can understand their language.”

Moving closer, she stroked his chest and smiled eagerly into his eyes, bringing to bear upon his resistance the full persuasive force of her beauty, and her love. “If Chamberlain Yanagisawa is the Bundori Killer, I can use my powers to help you bring him to justice. To do good instead of evil, for once in my life. Please, let’s work together to destroy our common enemy!”

Aghast, Sano stared at Aoi. How could he let her endanger herself and her family by plotting against the master who commanded her obedience? And he didn’t want more proof of Yanagisawa’s guilt. Yet he must accept any help he could get, no matter how bizarre and unwelcome. Only three days remained until the shogun’s deadline. His duty to his father and his lord demanded his best effort to catch the Bundori Killer, no matter what the cost to himself or others.

Besides, he knew exactly what task he should ask Aoi to undertake for him.

With a sigh, Sano gathered her into his arms, laying his face against her hair so she couldn’t see his unhappiness. “All right, Aoi. Thank you. We’ll work together.”

And be together, for whatever time remained to them.

O-tama, General Fujiwara’s female descendant and Sano’s last suspect, lived in the Hibiya district south of the castle. Sano knew it well from his days as a police commander, but now, the morning after his night with Aoi, he rode through the familiar streets as through a world created anew.

After he’d told Aoi how she could help with his investigation, she’d prepared more medicines and treated his wounds. Then they’d talked of their families, childhoods, and schooling, their preferences in food, entertainment, people, and places-such things as new lovers find so fascinating to share. While he’d lain motionless with remedies over his wounds, the desire strengthened their bond. It was still with him when he awoke alone, with the sun streaming in the windows, already yearning for night, when they would meet again.

And now, as he embarked on the next stage of his investigation, he realized what Aoi had given him. Not the least were his life and health. Her skillful treatment had dramatically reduced his pain; his wounds had stopped throbbing, and the dizziness had passed. He’d eaten his morning meal with good appetite and could ride and walk without agony. But even this miracle couldn’t compare to the vast improvement in his spirits.

For the first time, Sano experienced the exhilarating sense of power that love bestows. A bemused smile hovered on his lips as he beheld the city with an altered vision. The teeming streets belonged to him, as did the houses, shops, mansions and castle, the distant green hills, swelling brown river, and boundless sky. The warm sunshine, scudding clouds, fresh, blustery wind, and the blooming cherry trees mirrored the new spring season of his soul. Fear and doubt clouded his thoughts no more than the thin veil of smoke that lay over Nihonbashi, where a minor fire that must have started last night still burned. Owning everything, he could bend the world to his will. He could command the investigation’s outcome and free Edo from the grip of terror. He would exonerate Yanagisawa and incriminate Matsui, Chūgo-or O-tama, whom he would soon meet. He would fulfill his promise to his father. And he would find a way for him and Aoi to be together, despite their opposing loyalties.

Already his luck had turned. A message from Hirata, received that morning, had read:

Matsui went straight home last night. But I have a new lead. Meet me at the police compound at noon.

As he neared his destination, Sano put aside his thoughts of Aoi and speculations about Hirata’s discovery while his curiosity about the final suspect began to stir. O-tama. Once a
yuna
-a courtesan in one of Edo’s many bathhouses, where prostitution flourished despite laws that officially confined it to the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter-she had been the most notorious beauty at the Water Lily, known for its lovely women and prominent clientele. She’d also been the subject of a famous scandal that had rocked Edo ten years ago.

The then-eighteen-year-old O-tama had become the object of men’s obsession, her affairs with countless merchants, samurai, and clergymen the subject of popular songs. A ripe yet dainty girl with a saucy smile, she’d reached the peak of her celebrity when she won the patronage of wealthy Highway Commissioner Mimaki Teinosuke, thirty-two years her senior.

The public had followed the affair’s progress with great zest. Everyone talked of the gifts Mimaki lavished upon her; his poetic love letters; his neglect of wife, family, and work while he spent hours in the Water Lily’s private rooms with O-tama; and the huge sums he paid for the privilege. Their great love for each other had been so sure to end in tragedy, as forbidden romance always must, amid rumors of a government crackdown on bathhouse prostitution.

Sano reached Mimaki’s house, a large office-mansion with an unusually high wall that concealed all but the tip of its tile roof. He gave his name and title to the guard at the gate and said, “I wish an official audience with Mistress O-tama.”

The guard opened the gate, spoke to someone inside, and closed it again. “Please wait while your request is forwarded to Master Mimaki,” he told Sano.

As Sano dismounted and waited, he recalled how the story of Mimaki and O-tama had ended. The crackdown on bathhouse prostitution had proved unnecessary, as had the public’s sympathy for the doomed lovers. A fire had destroyed the Water Lily. Mimaki had sent his family to live in the country and taken O-tama into his home as his concubine. There, the gossips reported, he treated her like an empress, giving her everything she wanted. She did no work; servants waited on her hand and foot. Jealous of her beauty, wanting her all to himself, Mimaki shunned society. If an unavoidable visitor came, he placed a screen before her to hide her from view. The great love story having ended happily, the public’s interest moved on to other matters. Sano had heard nothing of O-tama in years. He wondered what she was like now, and pondered the strangeness of having her resurface as a murder suspect. And who would have thought that the blood of a great warrior like General Fujiwara flowed in her veins?

The gate opened. A middle-aged female servant, probably the housekeeper, bowed to Sano. “Please come with me.”

Sano followed her into the entryway to leave his swords. But instead of ushering him through the mansion’s public rooms, she led the way down a path alongside the house, through another gate, and into the most unusual garden Sano had ever seen. Gravel paths wound around the usual boulders, pines, and flowering cherries, but other less typical features dominated. From the delicate gray boughs of lilac trees, purple blossoms exuded a sweet perfume. Jasmine and honeysuckle vines draped the fence and veranda. Countless wind chimes tinkled from the branches of a red maple; birds twittered in wooden houses in the plum trees. Red carp splashed in a small pond, near which stood an odd seat, like ones Sano had seen in pictures of the Dutch traders’ quarters on Deshima, only with wooden wheels attached to its legs. Beside a bed of pungent mint knelt a gray-haired samurai in black kimono, weeding with a small spade.

The housekeeper led Sano to him. “Master Mimaki, here is
Sōsakan
Sano.”

Mimaki rose. As they exchanged bows, Sano noted with surprise that Mimaki, at sixty, looked not at all like the impetuous lover of a courtesan young enough to be his daughter. He was stout and ordinary-looking, with eyes that drooped at the corners and a narrow mouth tucked tightly between fleshy cheeks and chin. His tanned skin and muddy hands gave him a peasantlike appearance despite his shaven crown and high rank.

“I understand you wish to see O-tama on official business,” Mimaki said. His grave manner showed no jealousy.

“That’s correct.”

“Alone?”

Sano nodded. “I would prefer it, yes.”

Now Mimaki’s suspicious scrutiny, plus the fact that he was working in his garden instead of in his office, matched Sano’s expectation of a man preoccupied with his private life, into which he welcomed no intruders. But then Mimaki nodded, perhaps dismissing Sano as a rival.

“Very well.” He turned to the housekeeper. “Prepare Mistress O-tama for a visitor.”

The housekeeper hurried into the house. Mimaki and Sano followed more slowly.

“You may address O-tama under the following conditions,” Mimaki said as they walked down the corridor. “You will stay no less than ten paces from the screen. If you try to move the screen or step behind it, I’ll kill you. Is that clear?”

Shocked at this threat, delivered with no change of expression, Sano could only nod.

A door opened as they reached it, and the housekeeper slipped out, bowing them into a room that was bare except for a large wooden screen with thin mullions framing diamond-shaped paper panels. Light from the windows silhouetted a shadowy figure behind it.

Sano knelt in his designated place. Mimaki stepped behind the screen. Now two shadows appeared on its translucent paper, and Sano heard whispered conversation. Then Mimaki emerged, his face transformed almost beyond recognition. His eyes glowed; his mouth had relaxed into a smile at once joyful, sensual, and secretive. When he turned to Sano, his former gravity returned.

“Remember what I said.” Then Mimaki left the room.

Sano, uneasy about interrogating a suspect he couldn’t see, hesitated before speaking. How would he know if O-tama was telling the truth?

From behind the screen, she spoke! “It’s an honor and a pleasure to meet you,
sōsakan-sama
.”

Hers was one of the loveliest voices Sano had ever heard. High and sweet, it lilted and sang, tickled and warmed the inside of his chest. Sano smiled, despite the seriousness of this interview. Even so fresh from Aoi and so sure about his feelings for her, he couldn’t remain immune to O-tama’s charm. Many a man must have fallen in love with her voice alone.

“The pleasure is mine,” Sano replied, meaning it.

A maid appeared and set tea and cakes before him. “Do make yourself comfortable,” O-tama said. “And don’t let Mimaki-
san
’s rules bother you. He doesn’t mean to insult you; he’s just very protective of me. And I can tell from your voice that you’re an honorable, decent man.”

Her manner, though flirtatious, as, Sano suspected it would be toward any male, showed genuine affection for her master. Mimaki needn’t fear losing her, and probably for this reason had allowed the interview. So then why the screen, the threat?

“If you hadn’t come today, I would have invited you,” O-tama continued. “Because I’ve heard of your great talents, of course, but also because I have important information for you.”

“You do?” Sano said, taken aback by this reception, so unlike those he’d received from the other suspects. To give himself time to think, he lifted his tea bowl and drank, letting her continue.

“I like peace and privacy, and usually ignore the world,” O-tama said. “My dear
Mimaki-san
is my life. But I’ve followed these terrible murders with great concern. After the first and second, I guessed what was happening, and with the priest’s murder, the pattern became obvious to me. Yet still you, of whom I’ve heard tales of great courage and ability, hadn’t caught the killer. I decided I must come forth and tell you what I know.

“
Sōsakan-sama
, forgive my unwomanly boldness. I can’t name the Bundori Killer, but I can tell you why he kills-and why he must be one of three men.”

“Who are they?” Sano stalled, suppressing his eagerness. For a murder suspect, she seemed too forthcoming. Was this a bluff, designed to divert his suspicion? If only he could see her!

He peered through the screen, but could discern only the silhouette of her head, hair piled on top, rising above what looked to be heaped cushions. Age had probably filled out her face and figure, perhaps coarsened her skin and hair, but her voice suggested that she’d retained youth’s fresh vitality. Certainly her master’s continuing possessiveness meant she must be lovely still. Sano regretted more than just his inability to assess her honesty.

“These men are bound to me by our common history,” O-tama explained. “I know their motives as no one else can. Because they’re my cousins: Chūgo Gichin, Matsui Minoru, and Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu.” O-tama’s lilting voice danced over the names. “You’ve met them?”

“I have,” Sano said warily.

“You’re not surprised, so I believe you already suspect my cousins. How clever of you! But you’ve made no arrest. Does this mean you don’t have any evidence against them, and that’s why you came to me?”

The former
yuna
was intelligent as well as charming. Sano saw no use in denying the obvious, or pretending another reason for the call.

“Yes,” he conceded. After his experiences with Chūgo, Matsui, and Yanagisawa, he knew how little he could expect to gain from direct interrogation. All the suspects were on their guard now. With O-tama, he decided to let the conversation go where she led it and hope she betrayed some sign of guilt or innocence.

O-tama’s bubbly laugh evoked images of flowing water and sensuous frolic. “Then I’d be most delighted to give you at least part of the evidence you need to deliver the Bundori Killer to the execution ground. Shall I begin?”

Sano, awed by the contrast between her gaiety and the grim promise she offered, let his silence give his assent.

“The roots of the murders lie in events that took place more than one hundred years ago,” O-tama began.

At last, a confirmation of his theory, albeit from a questionable source-a onetime prostitute, Fujiwara descendant, and murder suspect. “You mean General Fujiwara’s attacks on the Araki and Endō clans,” he prompted.

But O-tama’s shadow shook its head. “No,
sōsakan-sama
. I’m speaking of Oda Nobunaga’s murder.”

Confused, Sano said, “I know the attacks occurred after Oda’s death. But there’s nothing in the archives to suggest that this was anything but a coincidence.”

O-tama laughed again. “
Sōsakan-sama
, a man of your intelligence must know that much of history is never recorded. What I tell you comes not from moldy old scrolls, but from this secret legend handed down from General Fujiwara through our family: The general attacked Araki and Endō because he sought revenge on them for their part in Oda Nobunaga’s murder.”

A sense of incredulity provoked Sano’s immediate protest. “But Araki and Endō didn’t kill Oda; Akechi Mitsuhide did. The facts are documented and undisputed.” Was this remarkable woman claiming that her family myths superseded the official historical record?

Evidently she was. “Our legend says that Akechi didn’t act alone. Araki and Endō conspired with him to murder Oda so that their lords, Tokugawa Ieyasu and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, could seize power.

“Ah, I sense your doubt,
sōsakan-sama
. But even in the records, there are facts that support the legend. Such as this: Why was Oda alone in a temple on the night he died, with only a handful of men?”

“His allies, Hideyoshi and Ieyasu, were away at the time,” Sano said impatiently, thinking this visit a waste of time. She wasn’t the Bundori Killer, she knew nothing of the murders or the motive behind them, and he hadn’t come to debate historical points with her. “There’s no evidence of their complicity. Ieyasu was on holiday at Sakai. Hideyoshi was fighting the Mori clan at Takamatsu Castle. He’d asked Oda for reinforcement troops, which Oda sent… ”