The Cloud Pavilion (15 page)

“I know he couldn’t have kidnapped the girl or the nun. Because he was with me on the days they were taken.” Gombei’s grin broadened. The gaps where his teeth had rotted out were black holes.

Hirata had expected Gombei to trot out a double alibi. “Which days were those?” He hadn’t said. If Gombei knew, that would mark him as the culprit.

“Every day,” Gombei said. “We work together.”

“There must have been times when you were out of each other’s sight. I can ask your boss if he ever sent you to different jobs.”

“Ask him, if you want,” Gombei said with brazen nonchalance.

“Then again,” Hirata said, “why should I bother? I can just ask Jinshichi. He’s right down the hall.”

“Go ahead. He’ll tell you the same thing: We were together.”

Hirata spied a new twist in the case. “Maybe you were in on the kidnapping together, too. That would have made it easier to grab the women and get them into the oxcart.” But Sano’s cousin Chiyo seemed to think she’d been raped by one man alone. “Did you take turns? He raped the little girl, you raped the nun?”

Anger erased the good cheer from Gombei’s expression. “We didn’t do it. I’ll vouch for him. He’ll vouch for me.”

“You’re pretty loyal to Jinshichi,” Hirata observed.

“Yes, indeed,” Gombei said. “Because I owe him my life. We were in the mountains, hauling wood, and my cart ran off the road. I was caught hanging by one hand over a cliff. Jinshichi pulled me up. He saved me.”

“That explains why you would want to protect him. Why should he care about protecting you?” Hirata added, “He can say that you kidnapped and raped those women, and walk out of here a free man, while you go to the execution ground.”

“He won’t. Because he owes me, too. A while back, we went swimming in the river. He got swept away by a current. I saved him.”
So there
, Gombei’s expression said.

“Old obligations can be easily put aside when new circumstances arise,” Hirata said. “You and Jinshichi each have a chance to tell tales on the other and save your own life. Who’ll be the smart one?”

Gombei shook his head. “Jinshichi and I always stick together. We always will.”

Hirata saw that they had a bond of loyalty as strong as that between a samurai and his master. What threat might change Gombei’s story? “I give up, then. I’ll let Jirocho decide which one of you is guilty or if both of you are.”

Gombei’s wary expression showed that he knew of the gangster boss. “What’s Jirocho got to do with this?”

“The little girl who was kidnapped is his daughter.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Gombei said, astonished. “Anybody who would touch anything that belonged to him is a fool.”

“Indeed. He’s looking to get revenge,” Hirata said. “Maybe I’ll turn you and your friend over to Jirocho. He’ll get the truth out of you. Then he’ll kill you both, no matter which of you actually raped his daughter and which of you was the accomplice.”

Gombei’s eyes sparkled with fear of what a gangster out for blood would do. But he shrugged, grinned, and said, “Whatever you want. We all have to die sometime.”

Sano, Marume, and Fukida met Hirata outside the dungeon. Jailers escorted new prisoners into the building and led inmates out to go to the court of justice or the execution ground. No one looked happy—not the jailers, prisoners, or Sano’s party.

“What did you get out of your suspect?” Sano asked Hirata.

“Gombei claims he’s innocent,” Hirata replied. “He also says he and Jinshichi are each other’s alibi.”

“Let me guess,” Sano said. “He refused to turn on his friend.”

“Right you are.”

“So did my suspect.” Frustration vexed Sano.

“Those men look like ordinary no-goods, but they’re tougher than the rest,” Marume commented.

Fukida asked Hirata, “Do you think yours is guilty?”

“Yes,” Hirata said, although he seemed uncertain.

“Same here,” Sano said. “But there’s no evidence. All we have is one witness who saw Jinshichi lurking outside the convent, and one who saw Gombei at Shinobazu Pond.”

“Neither man was placed at the scene of the kidnappings at the times they happened,” Hirata reminded everyone.

“Or seen in the vicinity when the victims were dumped.” Sano had had great hopes for solving the case today, but now the investigation had stalled. “And it doesn’t look as if any confessions will be forthcoming.”

“If you want confessions, just say the word,” Hirata said.

Sano remembered that Hirata knew ways of inflicting pain with or without permanent physical damage. There wasn’t a man on earth who could hold out. But Sano said, “No. I’m still opposed to torture. I know those men are guilty, but I won’t act on my judgment, or yours, without proof to back it up.”

That was part of his code of honor, which seemed particularly difficult to uphold today, when he wanted to punish someone for what had happened to Chiyo and the other women.

Hirata nodded. He shared Sano’s principles, if not to the same degree.

“Besides,” Sano said, “there’s a chance that we’re wrong about those men even though we don’t think so. If that’s the case, it would be a miscarriage of justice for Gombei and Jinshichi to die for the crimes while the real culprit goes free.”

“Then we’ll find proof.” Hirata sounded just as determined to solve the case as Sano was. “Shall I go back to Shinobazu Pond and look for other witnesses?”

Fukida said, “Marume-
san
and I could sniff around Z
j
Temple district.”

Sano supposed that he himself could go back to Asakusa, but there must be some other way to quicker results. Into his mind popped a strategy he’d never had reason to use before.

“Not just yet,” Sano said. “I have another plan.”

Along the Sumida River northwest of the castle, upstream from the ware houses and docks, stretched a wide embankment planted with cherry trees. It was popular in springtime, when the trees were in flower and the people of Edo flocked to picnic in the pavilions, drink in the teahouses along the path, float in pleasure boats on the river, and admire the pink blossoms.

But today the blossoms were long gone, the pavilions empty, the sky threatening more rain. The trees, in full summer leaf, shadowed the wet ground. Barges and ferries plied the river, which was brown and murky.

Yanagisawa and Yoritomo were among the few people strolling the embankment. They’d shed their rain capes and hats; they wore dark-colored silk robes without identifying crests. Their entourage waited behind them at a distance.

“What’s the matter?” Yanagisawa asked.

“You look ill.”

Yoritomo’s handsome face was pale and sweating; his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. “I’m just nervous.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never done this.”

They were about to embark upon a rite of passage that Yanagisawa had never subjected his son to before. Yanagisawa wondered if he should have scheduled a few practice runs to put Yoritomo at ease. He hoped Yoritomo wouldn’t make a bad impression.

“I don’t know how to act,” Yoritomo said, with shame, “I don’t have much experience with women.”

That was true. Yoritomo had been sheltered as a child, had lived in an isolated country villa with his mother. She was a distant cousin of the shogun, and Yoritomo the product of a brief liaison between her and Yanagisawa. During his boyhood, Yoritomo had encountered few women except her attendants. Later, his relationship with the shogun had precluded love affairs. Yanagisawa knew that Yoritomo had never experienced sex with a female, but that was, Yanagisawa hoped, about to change.

“Just be as respectful and dignified as you would on any other occasion,” Yanagisawa said.

“All right,” Yoritomo said, but Yanagisawa could see him trembling. Yanagisawa felt pity for his son, and guilt. Yoritomo’s life had been far from normal, and Yanagisawa was largely to blame. “But what should I say?”

“Don’t say anything unless somebody speaks to you. If you are spoken to, just try to sound like the polite, charming, intelligent person that you are.”

Yoritomo squared his shoulders, bearing up under the weight of responsibility. “Yes, Father,” he said bravely. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

Yanagisawa experienced a love for his son that was so strong his knees buckled. “I won’t let you down, either.”

Ahead, in the distance, three figures appeared. Yoritomo gulped and said, “Here they come!”

“Relax,” Yanagisawa said. “Don’t be afraid. We’re in this together.”

The figures drew closer. “Lady Setsu,” emaciated and stern, and “Lady Chocho,” her plump, babyish companion, walked on either side of a younger woman. She was unusually tall; she towered over them. They wore dark, modest, but sumptuous silk garments; she wore a robe patterned with green leaves and grasses in brighter tones, appropriate for a samurai lady who was some twenty-four years old. Yanagisawa thought her plain in the extreme. She was all awkward bones. Self-conscious about her height, she had bad posture. Her makeup didn’t camouflage her beaked nose or heavy eyelids. Her one claim to beauty was her hair, dressed in a thick knot, shiny and lushly black.

“Greetings,” Yanagisawa said as he and Yoritomo stopped face-to-face with the women.

“Why, hello!” Lady Chocho exclaimed. As bows were exchanged, she batted her eyes at Yanagisawa and giggled. “What a surprise to meet you here!”

“A wonderful coincidence,” Yanagisawa agreed.

They had to act as if this were a chance encounter. That was the custom for a
miai
, the first meeting between a prospective bride and groom and their relatives. If one side didn’t want to go any further, both sides could pretend the
miai
had never happened and save face.

Yanagisawa was determined to see this
miai
through to the marriage.

“What a fine place for walking on a day like this.” Lady Setsu lifted the water-stained hem of her robe off the ground. “But I suppose the inconvenience couldn’t be helped.”

They’d had to pick a location with few people to observe them, where they would be unlikely to meet anyone they knew.

“Will you introduce me to your companion?” Yanagisawa said to Lady Setsu.

She was looking at Yoritomo. The right side of her face wore an involuntary, pained wince. The eye on the normal left side scrutinized Yoritomo closely as she said, “May I present the Honorable Tsuruhime.”

The young woman stepped forward, graceless and shy. Eyes downcast, she murmured, “It is a privilege to make your acquaintance.”

“And this must be your son.” Lady Chocho minced over to Yoritomo, beheld him, and gasped. “You look just like your father! My, you’re handsome!”

Yoritomo ducked his head, clearly mortified. Lady Chocho exclaimed, “Isn’t that sweet, he’s blushing!” She tittered and pinched his cheek. “Oh, your skin is so soft! Just like a baby’s bottom! If I were younger, I would eat you up!”

Yoritomo cast a pleading glance at Yanagisawa, who sent him a look that warned him not to rebuff Lady Chocho or do anything else that would offend the women.

“Yes, this is my son Yoritomo,” he said.

Lady Setsu’s gaze registered shock as it moved from son to father. “ ‘Yoritomo’?” she repeated.

“Meet my daughter,” Lady Chocho said, and pushed Tsuruhime at Yoritomo.

They bowed to one another. Tsuruhime wore a sad, resigned expression. Yoritomo regarded her with the look of a man who has come upon a snake that he knows will bite him and wonders if it’s poisonous. Not one hint of attraction did Yanagisawa see. But attraction was unnecessary. Yoritomo and Tsuruhime would learn to love each other or not. Other considerations were more important in this marriage that Yanagisawa wanted.

“This boy is the one?” Lady Setsu said in disbelief. “
Him
?”

Yanagisawa realized that this
miai
wasn’t going as well as he’d expected. He said, “Why don’t we let our two young people go off by themselves and get acquainted.” That was allowed by custom, as long as the prospective bride and groom remained within their chaperones’ sight. “We can talk things over.”

Yoritomo shot Yanagisawa a glance filled with panic. Yanagisawa nodded encouragingly at him. Yoritomo and Tsuruhime set off down a path through the cherry trees. She went meekly. Yanagisawa had seen happier faces than his son’s on condemned men going to the execution ground.

Lady Chocho clasped her hand to her bosom and sighed. “Don’t they make a lovely couple?”

“Can you really mean to marry him to my stepdaughter?” Lady Setsu stared with shock at Yanagisawa.

“That’s why we’re here,” Yanagisawa said. Her reaction was far from flattering, but he hid the offense he felt. “What objection do you have to Tsuruhime marrying a son of mine?”

“I don’t,” Lady Chocho said, dimpling at him. “If you were to become my daughter’s new father-in-law, I would get to see you all the time.”

“No objection against your sons in general,” Lady Setsu said, “just that one.”

“Why?” Yanagisawa asked.

She laughed, a sour cackle. The muscles on the distorted side of her face tightened. “It should be obvious.”

It was, and Yanagisawa knew that if he were in her position, he would feel the same disapproval, but he said, “This marriage is a matter of survival—for Tsuruhime as well as you and Lady Chocho and me and my son.”

“Why not one of your other sons?” Lady Setsu said.

Yanagisawa didn’t love them as much as he did Yoritomo. They were inferior in looks, and their personalities were less malleable; he couldn’t control them the way he could his favorite son. Also, Yoritomo deserved compensation for being the shogun’s male concubine. But these reasons wouldn’t convince Lady Setsu; they didn’t matter in the political scheme of things.

“Because Yoritomo has the right bloodline,” Yanagisawa said. “The others don’t.”

Yoritomo’s mother was a Tokugawa clan member, which made Yoritomo eligible for the succession, even though he was far down the list of candidates.

Lady Setsu beheld Yanagisawa with such astonishment that both her eyes opened wide. “So it’s not just a rumor,” she said. “You do intend for your son to be the next shogun.”

Yanagisawa put his finger to his lips. Airing such an intention was dangerous. He glanced around to see if anyone was listening. He saw a few other people strolling the embankment, none close by. “If that happens, it would be the best protection you and your family could have.”

Lady Setsu watched Yoritomo and Tsuruhime march grimly side by side along the river, not speaking to each other. “If they marry, it would certainly move your son up in the ranks of the succession,” she said, her crisp voice turned acid.

“So we both stand to gain from their marriage,” Yanagisawa said. “Perhaps you and yours have even more at stake than me and mine. Do you remember the story of Toyotomi Hideyoshi?”

Some hundred years ago, that famous general had aspired to rule Japan but died before achieving his goal. He’d left behind a wife, and a son who should have inherited his rank, his troops, and his chance to be shogun. But his former ally, Tokugawa Ieyasu, had wanted to eliminate the widow and heir and clear the way for his own rise to power. Ieyasu had besieged their castle in Osaka. Hideyoshi’s widow and heir had committed suicide while the castle went up in flames.

“I know that story.” Lady Setsu’s voice had lost some of its crispness, and Yanagisawa knew he’d scored a point.

“I don’t,” Lady Chocho said. “How does it go?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Lady Setsu turned to Yanagisawa. “I suppose you would expect the marriage to be consummated?”

“Of course,” Yanagisawa said, although he wasn’t sure that Yoritomo was capable. “That’s the only way to produce an heir, which is the best guarantee for our future.”

“They would make such pretty babies,” Lady Chocho said.

Lady Setsu shook her head. “Your audacity takes my breath away.”

“Better audacious than dead,” Yanagisawa said.

“When should we have the wedding?” Lady Chocho asked eagerly.

“Don’t get excited,” Lady Setsu snapped at her. “The matter is not settled yet.”

“The dowry and other terms are negotiable, but this is the deal I’m offering,” Yanagisawa said. “Yoritomo marries Tsuruhime. Take it or leave it.”

Lady Setsu frowned, insulted by his peremptoriness. “I require some time to think.”

“We have to order Tsuruhime’s wedding clothes,” Lady Chocho said.

“I’ll expect your answer by tomorrow,” Yanagisawa said.

From his perch high in a cherry tree, Masahiro watched Yanagisawa and the three ladies walk off in opposite directions. The ladies climbed into palanquins. Yanagisawa and Yoritomo passed directly under the tree where Masahiro was hiding. He could have spit on their heads!

Masahiro almost laughed out loud at the thought. They hadn’t seemed to notice him following them from the castle or climbing the tree. If they’d seen him at all, they’d probably thought he was just a boy playing. He’d stowed his messenger’s flag and pouch in his saddlebag along the way, and tied a blue cotton kerchief around his head. Now he watched Yanagisawa and Yoritomo mount their horses and prepared to follow them some more. He couldn’t wait to tell Father and Mother what he’d seen. He hadn’t heard anything, but watching Yanagisawa and the ladies was good detective work, wasn’t it?

Masahiro scrambled down the tree and jumped to the ground. But as he hurried toward the pavilion where he’d tied his pony, a hand grabbed his arm. He yelped in surprise.

The hand belonged to a samurai who’d stepped out from behind another tree. His face, his tattered wicker hat, and his worn cotton kimono and leggings were dark with soaked-in grime. His other hand rested on the hilt of his long sword. Masahiro froze and went dumbstruck with terror.

This man was surely a
r
nin
bandit who meant to rob him or kill him, or both.

“Not so fast, Masahiro-
san
,” the
r
nin
said.