The Incense Game (25 page)

Sano looked up. Puzzled by the alarm he saw on Hirata’s face, he said, “It’s just a prayer tag. My daughter must have found it and slipped it under my sash, as a joke.”

But Hirata knew that Tahara had planted the tag on Sano, to demonstrate that he could get close enough to kill Sano whenever he wanted. Tahara had somehow arranged for Sano to discover the tag when Hirata was present, as a warning.

Sano tossed the tag on the floor. It landed with the picture of the red sword facing up. “Which will it be? Are you going to tell me, or do we part company?”

Hirata felt an anguish as painful as if his innards were being torn, by Sano in one direction, by the secret society in the other. “I can’t tell you.” He forced the words past the tears swelling in his throat.

Resignation settled over Sano; his eyes darkened with disappointment through which a spark of anger glinted. “Very well, then.”

“Does this mean you’re—?” Hirata couldn’t bear to ask whether Sano was casting him out to become a
r
ō
nin
, a masterless samurai. The thought of the disgrace, the loss of everything that mattered, was too terrible.

“Not yet,” Sano said. Hirata could see that he was reluctant to impose such a harsh punishment, even though he had every right as well as the responsibility to uphold the samurai code of honor. “I’m giving you one last chance to settle whatever business you have with these men. Take a leave of absence for as long as you need. If you can’t settle it and return your full attention to your duties…” Sano paused, then spoke with resolve as well as misgivings. “Your leave of absence will have to become permanent.”

26

REIKO CLIMBED THE
steep, crumbling steps to the Yushima Seid
ō
while her palanquin, bearers, and guards waited below. She carried a gift-wrapped package and a lacquer scroll container. Reaching the portals, she heard children’s tinkling laughter. In a courtyard surrounded by fallen buildings, a woman, a boy, and a girl held hands, dancing in a circle on the snow, as the children laughed and the woman chanted a song. The children looked to be seven or eight years old. The woman, Lady Ogyu, was in her twenties, thin and tall and sinewy in her padded, steel-blue silk coat. Long, lank black hair spilled from the scarf wrapped around her head. Her face was too rawboned for prettiness, but smiles carved dimples into her cheeks as she swung her children’s hands. Reiko smiled too.

Lady Ogyu saw Reiko. She stopped chanting and dancing; she gathered her children close. Her face had a naturally sad cast—eyes, brows, and mouth downturned.

“Good day, Lady Ogyu.” Reiko walked toward the family.

“Who are you?” Lady Ogyu looked as scared as if Reiko were a bandit. She pushed the boy and girl behind her. They clung to her skirts and peered out at Reiko, solemn and silent.

“I’m sorry for frightening you,” Reiko said. “I’ve come to visit. My name is Reiko.”

Lady Ogyu backed away, drawing the children with her. “Have we ever met?”

“No, but we have a relative in common. My grandmother is your great-aunt by marriage.”

Suspicion deepened the fear on Lady Ogyu’s face. She reminded Reiko of a deer, to whom all humans were hunters. The children’s eyes were huge; their lips trembled. Reiko wished she could leave them in peace, but she had to help Sano solve the crime, prevent a war, and protect her own family.

“Grandmother asked me to come and see you because she’s concerned about you. I have a letter from her.” Reiko proffered the scroll container to Lady Ogyu, who made no move to accept it. Reiko took out the letter and held it out to Lady Ogyu.

Lady Ogyu snatched the letter from Reiko’s hand, leery of even the briefest contact. As she read, her eyes darted back and forth between the letter and Reiko. Finished, she hesitated.

Reiko smiled at the children, said, “I’ve brought you something,” and offered them the package.

Tempted by the pretty red wrapping, they looked at their mother. She reluctantly nodded. The boy opened the package. When he and his sister saw the sweet-bean cakes inside, their eyes lit up. They began stuffing cakes in their mouths. They probably hadn’t eaten sweets since the earthquake. Reiko felt lucky that her cooks had saved some.

“Come inside,” Lady Ogyu said grudgingly. She sidled toward one of three tents pitched in the courtyard and held up the flap for Reiko to enter. “Play outside,” she told the children. “Don’t go too far.”

Daylight shining through the tent illuminated the small interior. Two layers of tatami padded the ground. Despite the burning charcoal brazier, it was so cold that Reiko hated to remove her shoes. Toys were jumbled in a corner—dolls, miniature swords, balls, and wooden soldiers. Folded clothes and bedding piled along the walls provided extra insulation. Lady Ogyu picked two cushions from a stack and tossed them on the floor. She handed Reiko a quilt and wrapped another around her shoulders. They knelt on the cushions. Lady Ogyu offered refreshments. Reiko demurred, was pressed, and finally accepted. Lady Ogyu lifted a water jug that sat on the brazier, sloshed water into a teapot, and threw in some loose tea from a jar. She kept her gaze averted from Reiko. They sat in silence as the tea steeped. Lady Ogyu poured two bowls, handed one to Reiko. Reiko sipped weak, lukewarm tea. Lady Ogyu made no attempt at conversation. Rarely had Reiko seen a less gracious hostess; but she was no friend to this woman.

“I heard that your house was destroyed. I’m sorry,” Reiko said.

“Yes, well,” Lady Ogyu murmured, her gaze fixed on the tea bowl she clutched.

“How about if I look for someplace more comfortable for you and your children to stay?” Reiko felt sorry for Lady Ogyu, guilty for deceiving her, and eager to atone.

Lady Ogyu stared at Reiko in horror. “I don’t want to go! Please don’t make me!”

Reiko was surprised by her distress. “Of course you needn’t go if you don’t want to.”

“My husband wants to stay here,” Lady Ogyu whispered. “I want to be near him.”

Reiko seized the chance to talk about Minister Ogyu. “You must love your husband.”

Lady Ogyu nodded, cringing.

“I love mine, too,” Reiko said. “I wouldn’t want to leave him even if we had to live on the street to be together.”

Lady Ogyu didn’t take the opportunity to exchange confidences. Gulping her tea, she retreated into her shell. Reiko tried to keep the conversation going. “How long have you been married?”

“Nine years.” Lady Ogyu glanced at the flap of the tent, as if she wished someone would come and take Reiko away.

“How old are your children?”

Reiko hoped that her interest in them would thaw Lady Ogyu’s reserve, but Lady Ogyu squirmed as if Reiko had poked her. “They’re both eight. They’re twins.”

“How nice. I have a boy who’s twelve and a girl who’s five.” She thought of the new baby inside her and smiled. “Where is your husband?”

“He went into town.” Lady Ogyu pressed her lips together as if afraid of leaking too much information.

“When will he be back?” Reiko wanted to know how much uninterrupted time she would have with Lady Ogyu before Minister Ogyu returned. He was a possible murderer, she’d promised Sano she would be careful, and she was more concerned than usual about her safety because she was pregnant.

“Soon, I think.” Lady Ogyu glanced at the tent flap again, obviously hoping her husband would rescue her from Reiko.

“He’s the director of the academy, isn’t he? A very important man?”

Lady Ogyu nodded. She set down her empty cup. She didn’t offer to refill Reiko’s.

“He must be busy. I know my husband is. I hardly ever see him. Tell me—is your husband the kind of man who works all the time? Or does he take time for pleasure?”

“He works hard,” Lady Ogyu blurted out, “but he likes to be with me and the children as much as possible.”

Reiko saw that here was a love-marriage as strong as hers with Sano. She didn’t want to discover that Minister Ogyu was the killer and end this couple’s happiness, but she forged ahead with her inquiries. “Is there anything special that you do together?” When Lady Ogyu didn’t answer, Reiko prompted, “How about incense lessons? They’re very popular, or at least they were before the earthquake.”

Lady Ogyu regarded Reiko with renewed suspicion. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Why do you care whether we take incense lessons?” Her eyes widened in dismay. “Wait—I know who you are.” She pointed at Reiko. “You’re the wife of Chamberlain Sano. I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen you at the castle. The chamberlain was here yesterday, asking my husband about his incense teacher who was murdered. I think you want to trick me into saying something the chamberlain can use against my husband.”

“No,” Reiko protested, but Lady Ogyu cut her off.

“Don’t bother to lie.” Anger at Reiko’s deceit made Lady Ogyu bold. “I’m not telling you anything else.” She stood, lifted the tent flap, and said, “Go home. Leave us alone.”

Reiko shamefacedly exited the tent. Descending the steps, she saw four samurai on horseback join her guards and bearers in the lower, outer precinct. The four dismounted. Reiko recognized one of them, from Sano’s description, as Minister Ogyu. He was stout, pudgy, and shorter than his attendants. He glanced curiously at Reiko’s escorts, who bowed to him. His attendants led the horses away. Minister Ogyu climbed the steps while Reiko continued down them. She was afraid to look directly at him, lest he ask who she was and what she was doing there. A covert glance showed her a round, youthful face with a faint mustache. When they passed, she bobbed a quick bow and cast her gaze modestly downward. She felt him turn to look at her. Reaching her palanquin, she looked over her shoulder and saw him disappear through the portals. She knew Lady Ogyu would tell him about their talk. How she wished she could hear his reaction and what it might reveal!

She looked around the precinct. The attendants were nowhere in sight. “Wait,” she told her bearers, and hurried up the steps. At the top she peeked into the courtyard. It was empty. From within the tent she heard Lady Ogyu’s voice, loud and agitated, and a lower, calmer voice. She stole into the courtyard and crouched outside the tent.

“—Chamberlain Sano’s wife,” Reiko heard Lady Ogyu say.

“What did she want?” asked the other voice, Minister Ogyu’s. It was deep for such a small man, with an oddly resonant quality.

“She asked me questions about you.” Lady Ogyu sounded on the verge of tears. “Oh, I wish you’d been here to chase her away before I had to talk to her. I was so afraid!”

“It’s all right. I’m here now. Nobody’s going to hurt you. What questions about me?”

Reiko heard a note of worry in his soothing tone. Lady Ogyu said, “She asked if you took incense lessons. That’s when I figured out who she was. Then I knew she was fishing for information that her husband can use to prove that you killed Madam Usugumo.” Lady Ogyu sobbed. “They’re out to get us!”

Minister Ogyu let out a short sigh as eloquent as a curse.

“What is it?” Fright hushed Lady Ogyu’s voice.

“I just saw Chamberlain Sano at the castle. He asked whether Madam Usugumo had been blackmailing me, and if I had any secrets. I said no, but I don’t think he believed me.”

Lady Ogyu moaned. “What if he finds out?”

Excitement filled Reiko. This was as good as an admission that Madam Usugumo had blackmailed Minister Ogyu, who did have a dangerous secret.

“He won’t.” Minister Ogyu sounded too adamant, as if he were trying to convince himself as well as his wife. “Madam Usugumo is dead. She can’t tell.”

But it wasn’t proof that Minister Ogyu had killed her. Maybe Priest Ryuko had, and Minister Ogyu had innocently benefited from the crime.

“Someone else might,” Lady Ogyu said.

“There’s no one else who knows,” Minister Ogyu said. “Except us.”

A long silence ensued. Reiko willed them to say what the secret was. She wished she could see through the opaque fabric of the tent and read it in their eyes.

“What about Kasane?” Lady Ogyu said.

“She must be a hundred years old. She’s probably forgotten.”

“She might remember.” Lady Ogyu sounded as if she wanted to believe her husband, but couldn’t.

“If she does, then she’ll also remember that she was sworn to secrecy,” Minister Ogyu said with a touch of impatience. “Besides, if she hasn’t told anyone yet, why would she ever?”

“If Chamberlain Sano should get hold of her—”

“Don’t worry. He doesn’t even know she exists.”

He soon would, Reiko thought.

“But what if he somehow finds out?” Lady Ogyu said, still fearful.

Another, longer silence fell. Reiko wordlessly exhorted the couple to say something that further identified the old woman and explained what bearing, if any, she had on the murders.

Light footsteps ran toward Reiko, then skidded to a halt. She turned and saw the Ogyus’ little boy, who stood a few paces from her. They beheld each other in alarm. Reiko put her finger to her lips.

“Mama! Papa!” the boy cried.

Reiko fled.

27

AFTER LEAVING HIRATA’S
estate, Sano met General Isogai, chief of the Tokugawa Army, in the street in the official quarter. General Isogai was a stout, middle-aged samurai with a thick neck and pugnacious expression. His belly strained the lacings of his armor tunic. The rim of his metal helmet indented his fleshy head.

“Folks have been looking high and low for you,” General Isogai said. His voice was hoarse from barking orders; his piggish eyes were bloodshot. He’d been working day and night, deploying his troops across the city and creating a semblance of order. “The shogun has called an emergency meeting.”

Countless emergency meetings had been called since the earthquake. “What’s this one about?” Sano asked.

“I guess we’re going to find out,” General Isogai said.

At the guesthouse Sano and General Isogai found the shogun and Ienobu seated on the dais with the four aged men of the Council of Elders. The floor below them was crowded with the council’s aides, the shogun’s guards, and palace officials. The audience overflowed out the open door; on the veranda, men stood three deep. The crowd buzzed with low, speculative conversation. The shogun beckoned Sano and General Isogai. As Sano knelt in his place at the shogun’s right, he saw Toda Ikkyu’s bandaged face in the front row of the audience. He noticed Masahiro kneeling in a corner. He remembered that Masahiro was now in charge of the shogun’s chambers, but this was the first time he’d seen Masahiro in an official role at such an important gathering. His son had a man’s job, at twelve years old. The earthquake had created strange circumstances indeed.