The Incense Game (9 page)

“No, you should,” Sano said. “We need to get to the truth about the murders.”

He wanted the truth even if it wasn’t what Lord Hosokawa wanted to hear. Reiko loved him for his honor. “I don’t suppose you would consider blaming the murders on Madam Usugumo or someone else who’s dead and won’t suffer any consequences?”

“I can’t say I haven’t thought of it.” Sano spoke with chagrin. “If one of the daughters is the killer, I’d much rather say it was Usugumo. But I promised Lord Hosokawa justice. That’s what I’ll give him if I can. And if I frame a scapegoat, the real killer would go free, possibly to kill again.”

“You’re right,” Reiko said. Masahiro nodded. “I’ll go to the Hosokawa estate tomorrow. What will you do?”

“Hirata-
san
and I will go back to the incense teacher’s house and look for what we would have looked for today if we’d known we would be investigating the murders.”

“It’s dinnertime,” Masahiro said. “Is there anything to eat?”

The household food supply was running low. “I’ll go and see,” Reiko said. As she left the room, her conscience pricked her, but she told herself that keeping her pregnancy a secret from Sano was for the best.

9

THE NEXT MORNING
was warmer but cloudy. As Sano rode through the ruined city with Hirata, Detective Marume, and his troops, it looked like a painting done in ink. Black crows flew from crumbling gray earthen walls into a gray sky. A gray dog detached itself from a gray pile of debris. Sano felt as if his eyes had lost their ability to see color. He had to glance at the red medallion design on his coat sleeve to reassure himself that they hadn’t.

He and his group arrived in the incense teacher’s neighborhood. The same townsmen they’d met yesterday were still searching for earthquake victims. Sano was glad to see the young, bristly haired Okura among them, apparently recovered. The headman named Jiro came to greet Sano.

Sano explained that he was curious about the murders; he didn’t mention that he was investigating them. “Are any of Madam Usugumo’s neighbors around? They might have seen or heard something that could indicate who poisoned her and her pupils.”

Jiro’s face saddened. “Most of the people from our block were killed. Others are missing. We’ll probably find them eventually.” He nodded toward the sunken houses. “I know of only three people besides myself who are alive. A papermaker and his wife, and a little girl from next door. They’re in a camp somewhere.”

Sano was disturbed to learn that so few potential witnesses existed, yet he’d expected that. “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Usugumo?”

“As a matter of fact, I thought of someone after you left yesterday.” Jiro brightened. “A man named Mizutani.”

“Who is he?”

“An incense master. Not just a teacher, but a big expert. He came to visit Usugumo a few times. They got into arguments. He would yell so loud, you could hear him all the way down the block. Once, he dragged Usugumo out of her house by her hair and started beating her up. I had to call the police. He wasn’t arrested, they just told him not to come back.”

“But maybe he did come back,” Hirata said.

“One more time, to slip poison into Usugumo’s incense.” Sano asked the headman, “Do you know if Mizutani is still alive?”

“Yes. He is. He came by a few days after the earthquake. When he saw what had happened to Usugumo’s house, he laughed.”

“Can you tell me where he is?”

“He’s probably at his house in Asakusa district. It’s still standing.”

“I’ll talk to Mizutani and the neighbors,” Sano told Hirata. “You take another look inside Usugumo’s house and see if you can find any clues.”

“All right,” Hirata said.

Sano hoped Hirata would prove to be more reliable than usual.

*   *   *

ACCOMPANIED BY GUARDS
on horseback, Reiko traveled in her palanquin along the southern highway, toward Lord Hosokawa’s estate. Mixed emotions beset her. She felt ecstatic about her pregnancy but guilty because she hadn’t told Sano. She was anxious about bringing a new child into the shambles that she saw through the windows of her palanquin, and frightened by the thought of what would happen if she and Sano couldn’t find out who had killed the Hosokawa daughters.

But even as she worried, Reiko had faith in Sano and her marriage, a faith that burned within her like a flame that never went out. They’d always prevailed in the past. Surely they would again. And she was invigorated by the sense of a mission they always shared during an investigation. She felt better than she had since the earthquake, and the new life growing inside her fueled her determination to succeed.

When she reached the samurai estates, she saw that they were hardly damaged at all. She couldn’t help envying people whose houses were in better condition than hers, but she knew the earthquake had touched everyone in some way, even if it didn’t show. Then Reiko saw the black cloth—the symbol of death—that draped Lord Hosokawa’s gate. The portals of almost every house in Edo that still stood had worn a black drape during the past month.

The sentries stepped out of a guardhouse to meet her party. Lieutenant Tanuma, her guard captain, told them, “This is Lady Reiko, wife of Chamberlain Sano. She’s here to offer her condolences to the Hosokawa clan.”

The gate opened. Her bearers carried Reiko into the courtyard. A maid came out on the veranda and bowed. She was an older woman, her face round, friendly, and creased with smile lines despite the tears that trickled down her cheeks. She ushered Reiko into the mansion. From down the corridor wafted a strong smell of incense. Reiko thought of the three women poisoned during an incense game, lying dead underground. She shuddered.

Drumbeats resonated, male voices chanted prayers, and women wept—sounds that were too familiar since the earthquake. Reiko followed the maid into a large chamber divided in half by sliding wooden doors. In the half that Reiko entered, people knelt near a table which held a wooden tablet that bore the name “Myobu,” a portrait of a young woman, lit candles, smoking incense burners, and offerings of rice, fruit, and sake. A priest in a saffron robe beat a gourd-shaped wooden drum as he chanted. A woman with gray hair, dressed in white—the color of mourning—knelt amid other women who dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs. Reiko supposed this was Lady Hosokawa. She had well proportioned features that must once have made her attractive although not beautiful. Her skin was sallow, her expression stoic, but when she looked up at Reiko, her eyes were so full of pain that Reiko shied away from her gaze.

The maid introduced Reiko. Reiko knelt and bowed, ill at ease. “Lady Hosokawa, my husband told me about your daughter.” She’d come under false pretenses, to take advantage of a grieving mother. “Please accept my sympathy.”

“Thank you.” Lady Hosokawa’s voice was hoarse from weeping. “You’re very kind.”

Even if solving the murder case would lead to justice for the Hosokawa clan, that didn’t assuage Reiko’s guilt. She looked away, through the open doors. In the other half of the chamber were another funeral altar, another chanting priest, another group of female mourners. The woman at that group’s center lay prostrated before the altar. She must be Tama, Lord Hosokawa’s concubine. Her companions tried to soothe her as she wailed.

Reiko remembered Sano mentioning that Lord Hosokawa’s wife and concubine didn’t get along. They must hate each other so much that they’d chosen to hold separate funerals for their daughters. Reiko was thankful that Sano had never taken a concubine. She would hate any woman who shared her husband.

Lady Hosokawa and her companions sat in silence while her priest chanted and drummed. Reiko ventured, “It’s so terrible, what happened.”

“Yes.” Lady Hosokawa seemed disinclined for conversation.

“Who would do such a thing?” Reiko asked, pretending mere curiosity.

“I don’t know.”

Forced to be bolder, Reiko said, “Is there anyone who was angry with your daughter or her sister and might have wanted to hurt them?”

Lady Hosokawa contemplated the portrait on the altar. Her daughter Myobu had been an ordinary-looking girl, her forehead low and her chin weak. “No.” She turned to Reiko, and her dry eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

Reiko flushed. She decided she owed the woman the truth rather than continue her subterfuge. “My husband is investigating the murders,” she began.

“I am aware of that,” Lady Hosokawa said crisply. “I am also aware that you often assist him with that sort of business. I assume that is what you are doing now.” She clearly disapproved of Reiko’s behavior. “If you and your husband expect to find out who killed my daughter, you should not be wasting your time here.”

Chagrined because she’d been so quickly dismissed, Reiko said, “My apologies for bothering you.” She bowed, then stood. “I’ll just pay my respects to Tama-
san
before I leave.” She felt Lady Hosokawa’s gaze on her as she walked to the other side of the room.

Tama sat up. Her face was a wet, shiny mess of tears, her dyed-black coiffure lopsided from her tearing at it, her white brocade kimono wrinkled. Even so, Reiko could see that she was prettier, and younger, than Lady Hosokawa. Reiko knelt, bowed, introduced herself, and offered condolences.

“I heard what
she
said to you.” Tama shot a bitter glance at Lady Hosokawa. “That mean, stiff-necked old crow!” she muttered, too quietly for Lady Hosokawa to hear. Her companions nodded. They were women her age, similarly overdressed. “I could have told you it’s no use talking to
her
.
She
doesn’t care about avenging our girls. All that matters to
her
is being proper and discreet.”

Reiko saw a chance to take advantage of the enmity between Lord Hosokawa’s concubine and wife. “Maybe you can help me find out who killed your daughter.”

Tama’s tearful gaze moved to her daughter’s portrait. Either the painter had flattered his subject or Kumoi had possessed the beauty that her older sister had lacked. Kumoi’s eyes were large and tilted in her oval face, their expression alluring, her lips delicate and sensuous.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Tama said. “Ask me anything you want.”

“Thank you,” Reiko said. “Who would have wanted to kill Kumoi?”

“Oh, that’s an easy question!” Tama glared at Lady Hosokawa.

“Tama.” Lady Hosokawa didn’t raise her voice, but its ominous force carried it across the room.

Tama choked on whatever words she’d planned to say. Fear hunched her shoulders. Her anger faded into sullenness. Her companions cringed. The maid walked over from Lady Hosokawa’s half of the chamber and said to Reiko, “Lady Hosokawa wants me to take you to the other room for refreshments.”

Reiko looked through the doors. Lady Hosokawa stared back. Reiko had no choice but to say “Many thanks,” and rise. She glanced at Tama as she left the chamber. The concubine wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Following the maid down the corridor, Reiko realized that what little she’d managed to learn was worse than nothing. Tama had seemed about to accuse Lady Hosokawa or her daughter. Here was the clue Reiko had dreaded finding, evidence which implicated a Hosokawa clan member in the crime. Fear brought on morning sickness as Reiko sat in a chamber where the maid poured tea and set food on a tray table before her. The smell of the sweet rice cakes was nauseating. She breathed deeply and sipped the bitter green tea; her stomach settled.

The maid knelt nearby. Her friendly smile broadened, revealing gaps between childlike teeth. She leaned toward Reiko, obviously bursting to talk. Here, perhaps, was the witness who would reveal the things that Reiko had failed to learn from Tama and Lady Hosokawa.

*   *   *

LYING IN BED,
Yanagisawa watched gray daylight brighten the open slit of his window. He turned restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position. Sleep was a quarry he’d been chasing all night and failed to catch. The order from the shogun had jarred him out of his lethargy. Anger at Ienobu rekindled the fire in him that Yoritomo’s death had extinguished. His blood raced, stimulating muscles and nerves, flushing the rust out of his brain, which teemed with thoughts and plans.

He was reviving in spite of himself. The threat had awakened some primitive, animal instinct that said he’d mourned enough. And there was a spark in him that had never gone out, his hatred toward Sano, who had brought about Yoritomo’s death. He couldn’t let Sano get away with it. Yanagisawa threw off the covers and stood up.

Queasiness and sore joints almost toppled him. Only fury and pride kept him vertical. He called his servants: “I want a bath.”

They scrubbed and poured water over him three times to remove the filth from his emaciated body. By the time he climbed into the tub, he was exhausted. He lay in the hot, steaming water and closed his eyes. This was the first pleasure he’d experienced since Yoritomo’s death. He steeled himself against it because Yoritomo would never feel pleasure again. His servants dried him and put a robe on him. His valet filed his nails and shaved off his scraggly beard and mustache. The mirror showed gaunt cheeks and pallid skin. But his large, liquid eyes still gleamed. Miraculously, he was still handsome.

His reflection smiled a ghost of his old, sardonic smile.

The valet shaved his crown, then trimmed his hair, oiled it with wintergreen oil, and tied it into a topknot. Dressed in opulent crimson and black silk robes, Yanagisawa ate his breakfast, rice gruel with dried fish and pickled vegetables. It tasted wonderful; he was actually hungry.

Kato returned while Yanagisawa was finishing his tea, and said, “Well, well, somebody’s feeling better. When I saw you yesterday, I was afraid you were done for.”

“Never underestimate me,” Yanagisawa said. “And you would be wise to address me with a little more respect from now on.”

“Yes, of course.” Kato hastily knelt opposite Yanagisawa and bowed. The slits of his eyes glinted with the fear that Yanagisawa had always inspired in friends and foes alike, but his narrow mouth smiled; he was glad Yanagisawa had risen from the dead. “I take it you’re not leaving Edo?”