Cloud of Sparrows (28 page)

“Amusing, perhaps.” Heiko hoped Shigeru was not seriously considering placing Genji’s fate in Sohaku’s hands. This morning, before dawn brightened the hour of the hare, her maid, Sachiko, had observed a messenger slip out of the compound. He had come from Sohaku’s quarters. Sachiko had followed him long enough to determine his likely destination. Edo Castle. “Lonely, without a doubt.”

“Lonely? Will we not be sufficient company for each other?”

“We would if we were together,” Heiko said, “but surely it will be necessary for me to accompany the false Lord Genji. If I did not, the deception would most likely fail at the outset.”

Genji laughed. “Nonsense. We will both disguise ourselves, and a false Heiko will go with the false Genji. It will be great fun.” He was thoroughly enjoying playing with the ridiculous notion. At some point, either Shigeru or Saiki would overrule them, so there was no danger that the plan would actually be carried out. “You do a fair imitation of a farm woman. A maid’s guise should be well within your abilities.”

“Thank you, lord.” Genji’s reminder revived her irritation at her earlier embarrassment. “Please excuse me. I will begin preparations by cutting my hair.” She bowed and began to withdraw from the room. She hoped Genji would come to his senses before she actually did any cutting.

“Lady Heiko, please remain with us,” Saiki said. He had found the obvious flaw in Sohaku’s suggestion, thanks to Heiko’s words. “It would be a sin against heaven for you to mar your beauty in furtherance of such a ridiculous plan.”

“To succeed in this difficult time,” Sohaku said, “we must not be afraid to think outside the usual boundaries. It is not helpful to denigrate as ‘ridiculous’ every idea that does not come directly from
The Art of War
.” The prize was on the verge of falling into his hands. All he needed to do was to deflect this rigid old fool.

Genji said, “I must confess, I see no flaw in the Reverend Abbot’s plan. Do you?”

“None,” Saiki said, “so long as Lady Heiko herself actually accompanies your impostor.”

“That won’t do,” Genji said. “The fun in it is we can pretend to be other than who we really are. In our daily lives, such pretense is completely beyond us.” Despite the obvious irony of his statement, Genji saw no revealing expressions pass across any of the faces in the room. The self-control of samurai was great, indeed. “An impostor can take her place as well.”

Saiki said, “My lord, perhaps it is possible for you to disguise yourself as a low-ranking man at arms. Perhaps, too, Lady Heiko can use her arts to conceal her identity and pose as a household attendant. Perhaps one of our men can pretend to be you. But who can convincingly pass herself off as Lady Heiko?”

All the men in the room looked in her direction.

Heiko bowed humbly. “I am sure a substitute can easily be found.”

Sohaku stared at her. The long eyes, sleepy and alert at the same time. The perfect line of her nose and chin. The seductive shape of her tiny mouth. Her delicate and graceful hands. The way her body so correctly displayed the flowing lines of the kimono. His heart sank. It was true. No imitation of Heiko was possible.

“Saiki is right,” Sohaku said. “A glance, even from a distance, will reveal the truth. If Lady Heiko does not accompany the false Genji, the plan will not work.”

“Lady Heiko will accompany no one but the real me,” Genji said. “I will not spend three weeks in the wilderness without her. What would I do then? Hunt?”

“No, my lord,” Saiki said, relieved to have avoided disaster. “We are well aware hunting is not among your favorite pastimes.”

“Are we agreed?” Shigeru said.

The assembly bowed in assent.

Shigeru’s rage had passed. The Sparrow’s Talons would stay in their scabbards until a more appropriate occasion. May the gods soon bring it forth.

Kawakami, the Shogun’s Sticky Eye, was experiencing the euphoria that always came over him when he knew what others didn’t. Since, by the very nature of his occupation, his knowledge never failed to exceed that of others, it could be said he was to some degree in a permanent state of bliss. Be that as it may, he felt exceptionally joyful this morning. He had just spoken with his second messenger of the day, and the sun had not yet risen. Sohaku, abbot of Mushindo and former commander of the Okumichi clan’s cavalry, urgently sought a meeting. “Under the most discreet circumstances,” according to the messenger. That signaled only one possibility. Sohaku was ready to betray his lord. He did not yet know whether Kudo and Saiki, the other two senior commanders, were part of the conspiracy. It didn’t matter. Sohaku would never move without having taken them into account. Either Kudo and Saiki were with him, or he had made plans to dispose of them.

“My lord.” His adjutant, Mukai, was at the door.

“Enter.”

“The messenger still won’t answer our questions.”

Mukai was talking about the first messenger, not the emissary from Sohaku. This one was presently a resident of an interrogation chamber, from whence he would shortly go to a nameless grave. He had been intercepted attempting to leave Edo shortly after the bombardment. Kawakami knew him to be a member of Saiki’s staff.

“Perhaps you are not asking him urgently enough,” Kawakami said.

“We have broken the major bones in his arms and legs, my lord, and we have cut off—”

“Good,” Kawakami said, quickly preventing a fuller description. “I will speak with him again. He may be amenable to a more normal conversation by now. Make him presentable.”

“It has already been done, my lord.”

Kawakami nodded. In many ways, Mukai was the perfect assistant. He was intelligent enough to anticipate Kawakami’s needs, without being intelligent enough to plot against him. He was of sufficiently high birth to complement Kawakami’s status, but not high enough to aspire to replace him. He was related to Kawakami by marriage, being the husband of his sister’s husband’s stepaunt’s daughter. Furthermore, his family had been direct hereditary vassals of the Kawakami clan for nearly three hundred years. And then there were the intangible, personal factors. Mukai was a physically powerful man, but one who emitted not the dimmest ray of personality. He always dressed appropriately, yet clothing which would have been manly and correctly conservative on another appeared positively dull draped over Mukai. This may have been a consequence of his face, which was singularly homely, with a big, round nose, tiny eyes set too close together, a large mouth with extremely thin lips, and a receding chin. It was his appearance more than any other single factor that gave Kawakami the most confidence in his loyalty. A man like Mukai needed someone like Kawakami to serve, a samurai possessed of fine appearance, sophistication, charm, and a charismatic nature, in order to enjoy the inner light he could not generate on his own.

“Thank you, Mukai. You have done well, as always.” It did not cost him anything to compliment the man, and the response never failed to gratify.

“I am unworthy of such praise, my lord.” Mukai bowed deeply.

They walked to the interrogation chamber in silence. As usual, Kawakami’s mind was filled with vivid thoughts of a self-congratulatory nature. Who could blame him? His future prospects appeared even more excellent than he had dared hope. He wondered if the man beside him was thinking anything at all. Not that he really wanted to know. Often, as now, he seemed merely to be present in a dull, inactive sort of way. Only the gods and Buddhas knew what was in his mind, if they cared to look, which they probably did not. How unfortunate to be such a nonentity. At least he was blessed in terms of employers.

All obvious evidence of violence was gone. The messenger, a middle-aged samurai named Gojiro, was dressed neatly in the clothing he had been wearing when he was apprehended. He sat on a cushion on the floor in the usual position, with his legs folded under him. A wooden brace was placed behind him for support. Since his legs were broken, it would otherwise have been impossible for him to maintain his position. His face was contorted with pain, his breath came in short gasps, sweat dripped profusely from his face. Almost against his will, Kawakami looked at the man’s hands, expecting to see missing fingers. All the digits of both hands were still there, however. Something else had been cut off.

“There is no point in maintaining your silence,” Kawakami said. “We know what your mission was. To mobilize the army of Akaoka Domain. We merely ask you to confirm it.”

“What you know concerns me not at all,” Gojiro said.

“It should,” Kawakami said, “for my knowledge will lead to the death of your lord, the abolition of his house, and the death or enslavement of every member of your family.”

Gojiro’s body began to shake. His face contorted. A strangled, choking sound made its tortured way from his throat. Kawakami thought he was suffering a seizure of some kind before realizing the man was laughing.

“You are the Sticky Eye,” Gojiro said. “Everything everyone knows, you can know. Everything except what is most important.”

“Which is?”

“The future,” Gojiro said, “known to only one man. Lord Genji.”

“Idiot!” Kawakami controlled himself. It would not do to strike a crippled captive. “You are willing to die in agony for a fairy tale?”

“I will die here, Sticky Eye, yes. But my sons live to serve the same prescient lord. They will piss on your rotting corpse.” He laughed again, though at an obvious cost in pain. “It is you who are truly doomed.”

Kawakami stood and left the chamber without another word. He was too angry to trust himself to speak. Mukai hurried after him.

“Shall I put him to death, my lord?”

“No. Not yet. Continue questioning him.”

“He will not speak, my lord. I am certain of it.”

“Continue nevertheless. Proceed in great detail, so no possibility is left unexplored.”

Mukai bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Kawakami departed for his teahouse.

Mukai returned to the interrogation chamber. As he predicted, Gojiro would divulge no information, even as external parts of his body were broken, crushed, and removed, and various of his inner organs were exposed to his sight. He screamed and wept. Not even a hero could do otherwise. But he said nothing.

It was in the darkest depths of the hour of the ox before his lungs collapsed for the last time. Mukai bowed to the corpse and silently asked forgiveness. Gojiro’s spirit would surely grant it. They were both samurai. Each served his lord as he must. Mukai gave instructions for the respectful, though secret, disposal of the remains.

When he left the chamber, he headed in the direction of his quarters, but he did not go there. As soon as he was certain he was not being observed, he slipped through a hidden doorway. Within minutes, he was outside the walls of Edo Castle and walking briskly in the direction of the Great Lords’ palaces in the Tsukiji district.

The chamberlain said, “If virtue is inborn, then training will avail us naught. If it is acquired, then an outcast can become the equal of a samurai.”

Lord Takanori said, “The virtuous shit. The unvirtuous shit.”

The chamberlain bowed respectfully and withdrew.

Lord Takanori returned his full attention to the scene before him and continued painting
A View of Trees Obscuring Lady Shinku’s Bath.

“Yes?”

“Forgive me for disturbing you. A visitor insists on seeing you immediately.”

“Who is it?”

“He conceals his identity. But he gave me a token he said you would recognize.”

“Show it to me.”

The door slid back and Hidé entered on his knees. He bowed in the darkness, shuffled forward on his knees, and handed Genji a flat, circular metal object about the diameter of a large plum. It was an ancient sword guard depicting a flock of sparrows flitting over waves.

“I will receive him. After an appropriate interval, show him in.”

Hidé hesitated. “Would it not be prudent to require him to unmask first?”

“Prudent, but unnecessary.”

“Yes, lord.” Hidé backed out, still on his knees, and drew the door closed behind him.

Heiko pulled her underkimono around herself and slipped out of the bed. “I will withdraw.”

“Where to?”

Heiko remembered. They were in the maids’ quarters, the only remaining undamaged wing of the palace. She and Genji occupied the main room. All the others each had several occupants. There was no spare room to which she could go.

“I will wait outside.”

“It’s far too cold. Besides, I prefer your presence.”

“My lord, I am hardly in any condition to appear before anyone other than yourself.” Her hair flowed unbound over her shoulders to her hips. She was practically naked. No makeup remained on her face. Genji had lately taken a fancy to seeing her without it. It would take at least an hour to become minimally presentable, and then only with Sachiko’s help.

“These are extraordinary times. Normal rules do not apply. Prepare yourself as best you can.”

Heiko arranged her hair in a fair semblance of the ancient Heian style, a middle parting with the long tresses loosely bound with a single ribbon. Several layers of inner kimono, deftly arranged, mimicked the loose robes of those times. Powder and rouge were so lightly applied, she appeared to wear none at all, yet they vivified the brightness of her eyes and the smile implied by the shape of her lips.

“You amaze me,” Genji said when she reentered, tea tray in hand.

“How so, my lord?”

“You look as if you have just stepped from a painting of the Era of the Shining Prince.” He gestured at his own hastily tied kimono. “In contrast, I appear to be exactly what I am. A man just roused from sleep.”

She was saved from making modest protestations by the guest’s arrival. He was a large man cloaked from head to foot. There was an awkwardness to his movements that seemed faintly familiar to her. She had seen him before. Where?

Hidé and Shimoda stayed close to him, behind and on either side. The slightest suspicious move would cost him his life. The man’s clear, gradual movements showed he understood this very well. Even his bow was slow and deliberate.

“Forgive my untimely intrusion, Lord Genji.”

A portion of his cloak masked his face, revealing only his eyes. Tiny as they were, they displayed obvious surprise when he saw Heiko.

“I am prepared to speak in your presence only.”

Genji gestured at Hidé and Shimoda. The look of concern on both men’s faces deepened. Neither made a move to leave.

“You may wait outside,” Genji said.

“Yes, lord.” Hidé and Shimoda bowed without taking their attention from the possible assassin. Their eyes remained on him as they backed out of the room.

After the door closed, Genji could still visualize them as clearly as if he could see through wood and paper. They were poised on the other side, hands on their swords, ready to burst through the door within a heartbeat.

The man looked at Heiko once again. “We are still not alone, my lord.”

Genji said, “If you cannot trust Lady Heiko, then I cannot trust you.” He motioned to her. She bowed and moved forward with the tea.

Now Mukai was faced with a genuine and unexpected dilemma. In order to drink the tea, he would have to unmask. If he refused the tea and remained cloaked, the conversation would not take place. Since Genji already knew who he was—this was their second meeting—there could be only one purpose in requiring him to identify himself to Heiko. To test their reaction to each other. Did that mean he suspected her? Or him? Or both of them? Or was it just a game he was playing with the geisha he thought her to be? There was an even greater problem, of course. If he unmasked, Heiko was sure to report the visit to Kawakami. Then Mukai would follow Gojiro into the interrogation chamber, and soon thereafter into the very same disposal pit. Unless he denounced Heiko now as a spy and assassin. No, that would not work. Genji would never believe it without proof, and Mukai had none to offer. He cursed himself for not considering the possibility of Heiko’s presence. Because of the bombardment, he did not think she would be at the palace. Mentally exhausted by the myriad of uncomplementary possibilities, he gave up trying to find a way out. He uncloaked and took the offered tea.

Heiko displayed no surprise, no hint of recognition. This was because she had recognized Mukai a moment earlier by his tiny, closely set eyes and the bulbous lump of nose beneath the cloth that covered the rest of his face. She assumed he had been sent by Kawakami in some devious misdirection strategy. Mukai was an odd choice for such a move. A natural dullard, through and through.

Genji saw no reaction from Heiko, which meant nothing. He knew her self-control was remarkable. Mukai’s flitting eyes answered one question, at least. Heiko and Mukai were acquainted. That meant betrayal was a near certainty. Whose betrayal and by whom was not yet established.

Mukai bowed low to Genji. “I regret to inform you your messenger, Gojiro, was captured by the Shogun’s agents on his way out of Edo.”

“That is indeed unfortunate,” Genji said. “Did he respond to questioning?”

“No, my lord, he did not.”

Genji said, “I will honor his loyalty and courage by raising all three of his sons in rank. Is there any possibility of recovering his body?”

“No, my lord. That is impossible.”

Apart from his sorrow at the death of a trusted old retainer, Genji wasn’t especially concerned about Gojiro’s failure to leave Edo. He had volunteered knowing that capture, torture, and death were his likely fate. Saiki had sent another messenger at the same time, one that had probably already reached Akaoka.

“Thank you for your valuable report.”

“There is more. Your other messenger was also captured.”

“Are you sure?” Genji chose his words with care. He didn’t want to give Mukai information he didn’t already have. It was always possible his apparent betrayal of Kawakami was a ruse engineered by the Sticky Eye himself.

“Falconers are stationed at strategic intervals between Edo and Akaoka. Lord Kawakami is well aware of your late grandfather’s enthusiasm for carrier pigeons and suspected you would employ them as well. Your army will not receive the order to mobilize.”

“Then our situation is grave, indeed.” Now help could not come until Saiki reached Akaoka. If he reached it.

“Might not one of your commanders at home order mobilization on his own initiative?”

“My commanders are Japanese,” Genji said, “not outsiders. Initiative is a deadly foreign impulse, don’t you know? They will await their orders, as they have been instructed to do.”

“You must leave Edo nevertheless, my lord. Even if Lord Kawakami does not order your assassination, antiforeign elements are very likely to take action. The bombardment has inflamed emotions to dangerous heights.” Mukai paused. He took a deep breath to fortify himself before speaking again. “Though my family is a hereditary vassal of the Kawakami clan, our castle lies in relative isolation in the snow country, on a high cliff above the Sea of Japan. In ancient times, it never fell to siege, not even when Oda Nobunaga himself led an army against it. No one will expect you to strike out in that direction. It may be your best alternative. In the meantime, other messengers can be sent to Akaoka. Eventually one will get through. Until then, I believe I can ensure your safety.”

“Your generosity astounds me,” Genji said, truly astounded. “Such an act would put you in open rebellion, not only against the Kawakamis, but the Shogun as well.”

“I am prepared for the consequences, my lord.”

“I will consider your offer,” Genji said, intending no such thing. “I must advise you, however, the safest course of action for you would be to return to your former allegiance.”

“Never,” Mukai said, his voice full of uncharacteristic vigor. “As my ancestors stood with yours at Sekigahara, so will I stand with you now.”

“Even if the result is the same?”

“It will not be,” Mukai said. “Every portent shows you have the gods’ favor.”

Mukai was an extremely serious person who would not understand laughter now, so Genji did not laugh, despite the strength of the impulse to do so. Everyone who believed in his prophetic ability saw omens everywhere. Yet he himself saw only uncertainty.

Genji returned the sword guard to Mukai. He would present it again should the need arise.

“So your family has secretly kept this for all these years?”

“Yes, my lord.” Mukai bowed low and respectfully took the oval of filigreed steel with both hands. “Ever since the battle. To remind us where our true loyalties lie.”

Would they ever escape Sekigahara? Even if the Tokugawas were overthrown, wouldn’t they and their supporters then wait their turn to fight yet another “decisive battle”? One hundred years from now, after the outsiders have conquered Japan along with all the rest of the world, if such was the future, will we at last have forgotten Sekigahara?

After Mukai departed, Genji idly asked that very question of Heiko.

“I don’t know, my lord. I do know that Sekigahara has nothing to do with that gentleman’s adherence to you.”

“Of course it does,” Genji said. “What other motive could he have?”

“Love,” Heiko said.

“Love?” Genji was surprised. He had noticed no telling look or gesture pass between Heiko and Mukai. “You mean he, too, is in love with you?”

“No, my lord.” Heiko couldn’t keep herself from smiling. “Not with me.”

Twenty-five samurai walked away from the old abandoned hunter’s shack in the Kanto foothills. None was equipped for hunting. One of the two men at the head of the group turned to the other.

“The meeting settled nothing.”

“Was that unexpected?”

“No, it was not. But I had hoped for better.”

“The fact that the meeting took place at all could be considered a triumph.” He turned and gestured at the men following along the trail back toward Edo. “Look at us. Twenty-five men wearing the crests of a dozen lords. In another time, not so long ago, it would have been unthinkable to see such mingling of those with different clan loyalties. We are transcending ancient limitations, my friend. We are of the generation that will create a new ideal. By our sincere determination, we will bring forth the virtuous rebirth of the Japanese Nation.”

The first man who had spoken regarded his companion with undisguised admiration. He felt his chest filling with the righteousness of their cause. Truly, they were Men of Virtue.

Others in the group engaged in more idle conversation.

“Did you hear about the kimono Heiko wore two weeks ago?”

“I did more than hear about it. I saw it.”

“No!”

“Yes. Her garments were covered with embroidered images of grotesque and gaudy foreign roses. Worse yet, they were of the kind some fools call the American Beauty Rose, as if ‘American’ and ‘beauty’ can make sense together.”

“Have we degenerated so far that even in the realm of roses, we must admire alien blossoms?”

“For these outsider-worshipping traitors, our own roses are beneath notice.”

“All roses are foreign,” yet another man said. “The ones we have came from Korea and China in olden times.”

“Once we have a science of our own, we can know which flowers are truly Japanese, and admire only those.”

“Science is an outsider abomination.”

“Not necessarily. A gun can shoot in any direction. So, too, science can be a tool in our hands as well as in theirs. Science can be used to strengthen Japan, so I have made it my mission to understand science. This cannot be unpatriotic.”

“Indeed, it is most laudable that you are willing to make such a sacrifice, to risk pollution in order to strengthen our cause. I bow to you in gratitude.”

“Surely the chrysanthemum is Japanese.”

“Of course. That is beyond question.”

The chrysanthemum was a sacred symbol of the Imperial Family. To doubt its lineage was in itself an unvirtuous act.

“With science, we can prove it was the original Japanese flower.”

One of the leaders held up a cautioning hand. “Quickly. Into the woods.”

A few moments later, a horseman appeared in the near distance, ascending the same trail the twenty-five samurai were using to descend. Behind him were five more horsemen—or more accurately, three horsemen and two traveling companions of the gentler gender.