Cloud of Sparrows (8 page)

Solitude.

It was a rarity in a place like Edo, filled with nearly two million people, and for a man like Kawakami, a Great Lord himself, usually surrounded by a small crowd of attendants of various ranks and kinds. Indeed, a key motivation for becoming the Shogun’s chief spy was that it gave him an excuse to be alone. Whenever he needed relief from the suffocating weight of social responsibilities, he could always invoke the need for secrecy and disappear. At first, he had done so mainly to get away from his wife and concubines and visit his various mistresses. Later, it allowed him to avoid his mistresses as well. Eventually, he warmed to the task of freely prying into private lives. Now he truly had little time for wives, concubines, mistresses, or any other of the frivolous pursuits he had once enjoyed.

It was the waiting that was now so precious. A rare time to be alone with the small fire, the boiling water, the scent of tea, the feel of the heated cup in his hands. But today, the water had barely begun to boil when there was a familiar voice at the door.

“Lord, it is I.”

“Enter,” Kawakami said.

The door slid open.

Heiko departed from the palace immediately after Genji did. She was accompanied only by her maid, Sachiko. Great Lords could go nowhere without a troop of bodyguards. The most fearsome men in the land, they were also the most fearful. They dealt out death as freely as a happy child offered laughter. So by the Buddha’s law of inescapable karma, death they also received. Unlike the powerful warlords, courtesans were feared by no one. Weakness, in fact, was what they so artfully embodied with the exquisite fragility of their beauty, their grace, their youth. Thus, they could go where they wished without fear. This, too, followed the Buddha’s law.

“Lady Heiko,” Sachiko whispered, “we are being followed.”

“Ignore him,” Heiko said. The lane through which they passed was lined with cherry trees. In the spring, they would be full of the blossoms so celebrated in paintings and poems throughout the ages. Now these trees were black and barren. Yet were they not as beautiful? She paused to admire a single bare branch that caught her eye. The light dusting of morning snow had nearly melted completely away, leaving icy water drops. Only a few flakes remained in the shadowed crook of the branch. In a moment, she would continue on her way. Sunlight would reach into this shadow. Well before she arrived at her destination, these snowflakes would be gone. The thought tightened her chest. Unwelcome tears welled in her eyes. Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu. Veneration to the Compassionate Buddha, who saves all sufferers. Heiko breathed from deep within her center and kept her tears from falling. It was truly a terrible thing to be in love.

“We should not tarry,” Sachiko said. “You are expected in the hour of the snake.”

“I should not make appointments so early,” Heiko said. “It is unsoothing to begin the day in a rush.”

“True, true,” Sachiko said. “Yet what can a woman do? She is told, and she obeys.” Sachiko was nineteen, the same age as Heiko, but acted as if much older. In an important sense, that was her job. By taking on all the practical considerations, she freed Heiko from the mundane burdens of daily life.

The two women resumed walking. It was Kudo who followed them. He fancied himself an expert in surveillance. How he had acquired that conceit, Heiko couldn’t guess. Like most samurai, Kudo was impatient. His entire training taught him to seek the single decisive moment that determined life or death. A lightning slash with his sword. Blood and life running out onto the earth. It almost didn’t matter who was vanquished and who was victorious. The decisive moment. That’s what counted. Following two women who strolled so leisurely, and who stopped so often to admire a tree, or examine goods, or simply to rest, this was extreme duress for him. So of course, Heiko made sure she took even slower steps than usual, and made more than the normal number of stops, and engaged in the most unhurried of conversations. By the time they reached the Tsukiji district’s main shopping area, Kudo was scurrying around like a trapped rat.

“Now,” Heiko said. Several neighborhood women passed by, temporarily shielding her from Kudo. She walked beside them to a shop across the street, while Sachiko simply squatted down and devoted her full attention to a basket of dried squid. She watched from an alleyway as Kudo came running up. He looked frantically here and there, not even noticing Heiko’s maid at his feet. When his back was turned, Heiko recrossed the street and stood behind him. She acted surprised when he nearly walked into her.

“Kudo-sama. What a coincidence. Are you shopping for silk scarves, too?” Throughout their brief conversation, Heiko had to struggle mightily not to break down in laughter. When Kudo was gone, angrily striding toward Hamacho, Heiko summoned a rickshaw. The hour of the dragon had already yielded to the hour of the snake. She no longer had time to proceed on foot.

Kawakami Eichi, Great Lord of Hino, Presiding Inspector of the Office of Shogunate Internal Regulations, awaited his visitor’s entry into the cottage. He cloaked himself with the weighty dignity appropriate to his importance and his titles.

Which evaporated as soon as the door slid open. Though he thought he was prepared, in fact he was not. He was never prepared. He should know that by now. There was an elusive quality to her. Whenever she was out of sight, the details of her face and form blurred, as if neither mind nor eye had the strength to hold a vivid image of such awesome beauty.

He saw her and gasped, a sigh in reverse.

To regain some illusion of composure, he admonished her.

“You are late, Heiko.”

“My apologies, Lord Kawakami.” Heiko bowed, naturally exposing the fine curve of her neck. Again she heard Kawakami’s sharp intake of breath. She kept all expression from her face. “I was being watched. I thought it prudent not to let him know I saw him.”

“Surely you didn’t let him follow you here?”

“No, lord.” She smiled, amused at what she recalled. “I allowed him to blunder into me. After that, he could no longer follow.”

“Well done,” Kawakami said. “Was it Kudo again?”

“Yes.” Heiko removed the kettle from the fire. Kawakami had let the water boil too long. If it was poured over the tea now, all subtleties of flavor would be ruined. It would have to cool to the proper temperature.

“He is their best man at this sort of thing,” Kawakami said. “Perhaps you have caused questions to arise in Lord Genji’s mind.”

“That is doubtful. I am quite certain Kudo is acting on his own initiative. Lord Genji is not of a suspicious nature.”

“All lords are of a suspicious nature,” Kawakami said. “Suspicion and survival cannot be separated.”

“I wonder,” Heiko said, tilting her head at an angle Kawakami found quite fetching. “If he can see the future, then he has no need of precautions. He knows what will happen, and when. Suspicion becomes quite meaningless.”

Kawakami snorted. “Preposterous. His family has traded on that ridiculous pretense for generations. If any one of them could ever have seen the future, the Okumichi would be the foremost clan in the Empire, not the Tokugawa, and Genji today would be Shogun instead of the keeper of a backwater domain like Akaoka.”

“No doubt you are right, lord.”

“You seem uncertain. Have you discovered any evidence of this reputed mystical gift?”

“No, lord. At least, not directly.”

“Not directly.” Kawakami grimaced as if the words tasted sour.

“Once, when Kudo and Saiki were discussing Lord Genji, I overheard mention of
Suzume-no-kumo
.”

“Suzume-no-kumo is the name of the main castle of Akaoka Domain.”

“Yes, lord, but it was not a castle of which they were speaking. It was a secret text.”

Kawakami was having difficulty paying attention to Heiko’s report. The more Kawakami looked at her, the more he wished for sake to drink instead of tea. The time of day as well as the circumstances made that highly inadvisable. It was just as well. The social distance appropriate between master and servant had to be maintained. He felt himself growing irritated. Was it because he couldn’t do what he wanted to do with Heiko? Certainly not. He was a samurai of ancient lineage. His base desires did not control him. What, then? The issue of knowing more than others knew. That was it. Kawakami was the one who saw, the one who knew, with vision based on reports from a network of a thousand spies. Yet in the popular mind Genji was endowed with the ability to see even further than Kawakami. He was believed to possess the gift of prophecy.

“It is not uncommon for clans to have so-called secret teachings,” Kawakami said. “Usually, they are books of strategy, often simply plagiarized from Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War
.”

“This one is said to contain the visions of every prescient Lord of Akaoka since the days of Hironobu, six hundred years ago.”

“Such rumors have long swirled around the Okumichi family. Supposedly, one in every generation is born a prophet.”

“Yes, lord. So it is said.” Heiko bowed. “With your permission.” She poured the hot water into the teapot. Fragrant vapor rose into the air.

“And you believe it?” Kawakami’s anger caused him to take the tea too quickly into his mouth. He swallowed without letting the pain show on his face. The hot liquid seared his throat on the way down.

“I merely believe that if such things are said, perhaps truth of some kind lies behind the rumors. Not necessarily prophecy, lord.”

“Just because something is said doesn’t make it so. If I believed everything I heard, I would have to execute half the population of Edo and imprison the rest.”

This was as close to wit as Kawakami could get. Heiko giggled politely, covering her mouth with a sleeve of her kimono. She made a playful mock bow of deep reverence.

“Not including myself, I hope.”

“No, of course not yourself,” Kawakami said, somewhat mollified. “About Mayonaka no Heiko only the highest praise is ever heard.”

Again, Heiko giggled. “Unfortunately, just because something is said doesn’t make it so.”

“I will try to remember that.” Kawakami smiled broadly, gratified to hear himself quoted so soon and so playfully by a woman of such grace and charm.

Heiko never ceased to marvel at how easy it was to deflect men. All it took was a little show of silliness. They heard giggles, they saw smiles, they inhaled soft scents rising from the folds of silken cloth, and they never noticed the hard glint in the eyes behind the girlishly fluttering lids. This was true even of Kawakami, who of all people should know better. He was the one who had created Mayonaka no Heiko. Yet here he was, as vulnerable as all the others. All the others, that is, except Genji.

“Lord Genji’s grandfather, the late Lord Kiyori, was also said to have cognition of future events.” Kawakami accepted more tea from Heiko. This time, he sipped more carefully. “Yet he died suddenly, three weeks ago, the probable victim of poisoning. Shouldn’t he have foreseen that, and avoided the fatal dose?”

“Perhaps not everything can be foreseen, lord.”

“A convenient excuse,” Kawakami said, once again growing heated. “It helps keep the myth alive. All of it is empty propaganda put out by the Okumichi clan. We Japanese are a hopelessly superstitious and gullible lot. The Okumichi cleverly exploit this. Because of these children’s tales about prophecy, they are treated with an importance they do not deserve.”

“Is it certain that poison was the cause of Lord Kiyori’s death?”

“If you are asking me whether I ordered it, the answer is no.”

Heiko dropped herself to the floor in a full bow. “I would not dare be so presumptuous, Lord Kawakami.” Her tone and manner were completely serious. “Forgive me for having given you the wrong impression.” The man was a buffoon, but a dangerous and clever one. In her eagerness to know what he might have in store for Genji, she had pushed too far. Unless she was more careful, he might sense that her interest was going beyond the bounds of duty.

“Oh, get up, get up,” Kawakami said expansively. “I take no offense. You are my trusted retainer.” Women, of course, could not have that status. But it was just a word. It cost him nothing to say it.

“You honor me beyond my worth.”

“Nonsense. You must know what I am doing so you can act in accordance. I was not fond of Lord Kiyori, it is true, but he did not lack for enemies. His friendliness toward outsiders, especially the Americans, angered many. And many more were angered by his interest in Christianity. He did not enjoy enthusiastic support even within his own clan. You yourself reported to me that Saiki and Tanaka, two of his most senior vassals, both strenuously objected to the presence of missionaries in the fief. Indeed, Tanaka was so upset, he resigned his office and retired to the Mushindo Monastery six months ago.”

“Yes, lord, that is so. He has taken the Buddhist precepts, and the believer name Sohaku.”

“Religious fanaticism can be deadlier than the political variety. Tanaka, or Sohaku if you prefer, is the likeliest assassin, in my opinion.”

“How tragic,” Heiko said, “to be struck down in old age by one so close.”

“Those who are close are the most dangerous,” Kawakami said, watching Heiko for her reaction, “because we too often neglect to truly see them. You share Lord Genji’s bed, for example, yet at any moment, you might slit his throat. Is this not so?”