Shinju (11 page)

Mischief lit Cherry Eater's eyes as he counted on his fingers. “Noriyoshi was with me six … seven years.”

Long enough for them to know each other well, Sano thought. “What kind of man was he?”

“Much like any other. He had two eyes, a nose …”

Sano's annoyance grew. He glared at Cherry Eater, touching his sword to underscore the threat.

Cherry Eater's insectile eyes goggled; his smile vanished. Obviously realizing that he'd gone too far, he amended quickly, “Oh, Noriyoshi was a very capable artist. Very prolific. His work sold well. I'll miss him.”

Sano said patiently, “No, I mean what was he like as a person? Friendly? Popular?”

Cherry Eater grinned. “Oh, not very popular. But he did have many friends, I would say.” He gestured toward the street. “All over the quarter.”

“Tell me their names.” Except for having to accommodate the proprietor's irritating nature, this was going better than Sano had expected.

Cherry Eater mentioned several, all men who worked as artists or in Yoshiwara's teahouses or restaurants.

Sano committed each name to memory. “No women?” he asked.

“No, sir, none that I know of. Except for the young lady who died with him.”

A movement caught Sano's eye. He looked down. Although Cherry Eater's expression hadn't changed, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. This, along with the unexpected straight answer, told Sano that the art dealer was lying. His body and manner were betraying him.

To throw Cherry Eater off guard, Sano changed the subject. “Did Noriyoshi have any family in town?”

The feet stopped shifting. “No, sir. But plenty in the spirit world. He told me they all perished in the Great Fire.”

“Who were Noriyoshi's enemies?”

“He had no enemies,
yoriki
,” Cherry Eater answered blandly. “He was very well liked.”

Sano waited for a wisecrack; it never came. He watched the art dealer's shifting feet. “You may as well tell me,” he said. “If you don't, I'll find out from someone else. Are you so sure you can trust your friend—” he recited the list of names Cherry Eater had given him “—not to talk?”

“I am most sorry to say that I don't know what you're talking about, sir.” Shift, shift. The floorboards creaked under Cherry Eater.

“Who is Noriyoshi's woman friend?”

Cherry Eater folded his arms across his concave chest. “With
all due respect,
yoriki
, I do not like the way you are addressing me. You're calling me a liar.” Evidently his decision to bluff had calmed him; his feet stood firm. “Either arrest me and take me before the magistrate, or else please leave my shop!”

Sano closed his eyes briefly. Self-disgust withered him. Inexperienced as he was, he'd mishandled the interview. Cherry Eater wouldn't tell him anything now. He could hardly arrest the man for refusing to answer questions about what was officially a suicide, and he didn't even dare arrest him for selling contraband artwork or insulting a police officer. Magistrate Ogyu had already made it clear that he didn't want his
yoriki
doing
doshin
's work. Besides, he couldn't let Ogyu learn that he was investigating the deaths of Noriyoshi and Yukiko until he could prove they were murders.

“I didn't intend any offense,” he said, hating to offer apologies in return for insults and teasing, but hoping to placate Cherry Eater enough to let him see where Noriyoshi had lived. He wanted to get some feeling for the man and an idea about what could have driven someone to kill him. “I didn't come to arrest you or demean your character. I only want information for my records, and you've been most cooperative. Now I ask you to grant me a small request. May I see Noriyoshi's living quarters?”

“Of course, sir.” Cherry Eater seemed glad for an excuse to stop talking about Noriyoshi's women and enemies. He slid open a section of the wall to reveal a dim passageway. “This way.”

Sano followed him down the passage and out into a narrow dirt courtyard. One side was bounded by the wall of the shop next door. Along the other ran a flimsy shedlike building with a narrow veranda. At the back, a privy, a woodpile, and a row of ceramic storage urns stood against a bamboo fence. The bitter, acrid smell of ink overlaid the more familiar odors of sewage and sawdust. Cherry Eater led him past the shed. Through its open doors, Sano could see three identical cubicles. In each, an artist knelt at a sloping desk. One was cutting lines in a block of wood with a metal gouge. A second inked a finished block and pressed it against a
sheet of white paper. The other was adding color to a finished print.

Cherry Eater stopped before the closed door of a fourth cubicle. “Noriyoshi's,” he said, sliding it open.

Sano entered, stepping around the two pairs of wooden sandals on the veranda. His head grazed the low ceiling. Like the others, the room was very small; the desk against one wall took up much of the floor and left just enough space for a man to sleep. Frayed, sawdust-strewn mats covered the floor. Beside the desk a wooden toolbox lay open, revealing a collection of knives, picks, and gouges. A fresh block of wood sat on the desk. Next to it was an ink sketch, and a pot of crusty, dried wheat paste with a brush stuck in it. Noriyoshi had evidently been preparing to transfer the drawing to the woodblock for carving. Sano did a double take when he looked at the sketch. It was a
shunga
piece, in the same style as those in the shop, but featuring two men.

“A special edition for a special client, heh, heh.” Cherry Eater hovered at Sano's elbow, grinning and rubbing his hands together. “Samurai often have an interest in such things, no?”

Sano ignored the hint. Although he had never practiced manly love, nor wanted to, he shared the prevailing opinion of this and other sexual matters: whatever people do in private is all right as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. Besides, he was tired of the art dealer's innuendos and didn't much care what Cherry Eater thought of him or his class. He turned to a battered wooden cabinet that stood against the wall opposite the desk.

The mended garments, worn bedding, chipped crockery, and collection of inks, brushes, charcoal sticks, and sketches he found inside told him nothing he didn't already know: that Noriyoshi had been an artist of some talent and limited income. Sano was finishing a cursory inspection of some cotton kimonos when his hand touched something hard. He pulled out a small drawstring pouch. Its weight surprised him—until he opened it and saw the gold
koban
inside. There must have been at least thirty of the shiny oval
coins, enough to keep a large family in comfort for a year. Surely too much for a poor artist to possess, or to earn by legitimate means.

“Do you know where this came from?” Sano asked Cherry Eater.

With amazing swiftness, Cherry Eater's hand flicked out and snatched the pouch. He tucked it into his coat, saying, “It's mine. Noriyoshi sometimes collected payments for me.”

Sano looked from the proprietor's innocent face to his feet. Frustration mounted as he watched them shift: Cherry Eater was lying again. Sano resisted the impulse to beat the truth out of the man. His better instincts told him to have patience and seek another path to knowledge. If he didn't find it, he could always come back to the shop.

“Thank you for your kind cooperation,” he said. “May I have a word with your employees now?” Maybe they could tell him more about Noriyoshi's activities.

A short time later, Sano walked back through the passage to the shopfront more frustrated than ever. The three artists, all at least twenty years younger than Noriyoshi, had not known their colleague well. They'd only worked there for a year since coming to Edo from the provinces, they said; he hadn't spent much time with them, and they didn't know where he went or with whom he associated during his leisure hours. Sano questioned each man alone, and he thought they were telling the truth. If Noriyoshi's friends proved as close-mouthed as Cherry Eater, he would have to canvass the whole quarter in search of someone who could and would give him more information. Maybe Tsunehiko could help, he thought without much hope. He wondered where the boy was.

When he reached the shop, he found Cherry Eater talking to a frail, bald man who stood outside in the street. The man carried a long staff in one hand and a wooden flute in the other. Their voices were low, urgent.

Cherry Eater, seeing Sano, abruptly stopped talking. He said to the man, “Go now. We'll talk again later.”

But the man reached out a hand to Sano. “Master samurai! I am Healing Hands, the best blind masseur in Edo! Do you have pains, or nervous complaints? Allow me to relieve them for you! My skills are legendary, my price low.” He cast his sightless eyes up at Sano. Cloudy and pale, they resembled those of a dead fish.

Sano wondered how the blind man knew he was a samurai. Cherry Eater must have told him, or maybe Healing Hands had smelled his hair oil. The blind did have sharp noses.

“I can entertain you with stories while I work, master,” the masseur went on. “Would you like to hear an example?”

Without prompting, he launched into his narrative. “‘The Dog Shogun.'” His scratchy voice took on a sing-song quality. “Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, although an able ruler and a great man, has so far failed to produce an heir. His mother, the Lady Keishoin, sought the advice of the Buddhist priest Ryuko. He told her that in order for Tsunayoshi to father a son, he must first atone for the sins of his ancestors. Together Lady Keisho-in and Ryuko persuaded Tsunayoshi that since he was born in the Year of the Dog, he should do this by issuing an edict protecting dogs.

“Now stray dogs must be fed and cared for. Fighting dogs are separated not with blows, but with a splash of cold water. Those who injure dogs are imprisoned; anyone who kills a dog is executed. And we must treat all dogs with respect. Like this!”

Healing Hands hurried over to a dog that was trotting along the street in front of the shop. He must have smelled the animal, or heard its nails clicking against the hard earth. Bowing low, he cried, “Greetings, O
Inu-sama
, Honorable Dog!” Then he turned to Sano. “I know many other tales, master. Would you like to hear them while you enjoy a most beneficial massage?”

Sano smiled, wondering if Healing Hands's massages were any better than his stories. The one about the Dog Shogun was old
news; everyone had heard it when Tokugawa Tsunayoshi had issued his first Dog Protection Edict two years ago. The nation's shock and bewilderment had given way to unvoiced resentment of the money wasted on dog welfare, and the outrageous penalties inflicted on people who abused them.

“Not today,” he said. Then, on impulse, he asked, “Did you know Noriyoshi?”

Cherry Eater broke in before Healing Hands could answer. “
Yoriki
, my friend here has an urgent appointment soon.” To Healing Hands he said, “Had you not better hurry?” His feet began to shift, and his fluttering hands told Sano how anxious he was to have his friend gone.

Healing Hands ignored the hint and leaned comfortably on his staff. “Oh, yes, master,” he said. “Noriyoshi was a kind man. He sent much business my way. He knew everyone, you see—great lords, wealthy merchants.”

“Who was his lady friend?” Sano asked. Thanks to the masseur's garrulity, he might learn something today after all.

“Oh, you mean Wisteria? She works in the Palace of the Heavenly Garden, on Naka-no-cho. She—”

“Shut up, you fool! Say the wrong thing, and he'll have the
doshin
throw you in jail!”

At Cherry Eater's sharp outburst, the masseur fell silent. Sketching an apologetic gesture at Sano, he said uneasily, “I must go now, master.” He turned and shuffled off down the street, tootling on his wooden flute to attract customers.

Sano took his leave of Cherry Eater and hurried after Healing Hands. He asked about Noriyoshi's enemies, and if any rumors about his death had reached the masseur's ears.

But Healing Hands had taken Cherry Eater's warning to heart. “Go and see Wisteria,” was all he would say.

Sano gazed at the masseur's retreating back. This trip, while disappointing, hadn't been a total loss. He'd learned the names of Noriyoshi's associates and lady friend, that the artist had indeed
had enemies and had somehow come by a large amount of money. Any of these facts could lead to Noriyoshi's murderer. Sano and Tsunehiko would have to stay in Yoshiwara until nightfall, when the Palace of the Heavenly Garden and the other pleasure houses opened. They could catch the late ferry back to Edo.

Then Sano remembered. Tonight was to be his first visit to his family since he'd left home. At once the burden of obligation crushed him with all its suffocating pressure. He couldn't bear to postpone his inquiry just when it seemed most promising. Neither did he relish the thought of facing his parents while knowing he was defying his master's orders and risking the secure future they desired for him. To disappoint his parents—especially his father—was to fail in his duty as a son.

Sighing, he headed down the street to find Tsunehiko and tell him it was time to return to the city.