The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria (7 page)

The men glanced at each other, then shook their heads. “We didn’t let her out,” the swarthy man said.

“We’ll swear to it on our lives,” said the other.

Their emphatic declarations didn’t hide their fear that they would be punished severely for the disappearance of a suspect in the murder. Hirata sympathized with them, for his own future was threatened. If he and Sano failed in their duty to catch the killer, he would be demoted, exiled, or forced to commit ritual suicide; he would never marry Midori. Hirata thought of their upcoming
miai
, and joy and apprehension entwined inside him.

He had fancied himself in love many times during his twenty-five years, but never felt such affection or longing for any woman until Midori. They had come to believe they’d been lovers in a former life, and their souls destined to reunite. And spiritual affinity engendered physical passion. Desire for each other made them all the more impatient for marriage. However, marriage wasn’t so easily accomplished as falling in love. Hirata hoped the meeting between his family and Midori’s would have happy results, and feared that the case would prevent his attending the
miai
.

Banishing personal worries, he concentrated on the problem at hand. Maybe Wisteria had turned invisible and spirited herself away; but Hirata favored simpler solutions. Whether she’d left the pleasure quarter alive or dead, someone must have devised a practical way to smuggle a courtesan out of Yoshiwara.

“Lady Wisteria was last seen by her
yarite
sometime after the hour of the boar,” Hirata said. “Who left Yoshiwara between then and the time Lord Mitsuyoshi’s murder was discovered?”

The guards’ postures stiffened. “No one did,” said the lean man. “The gates are locked after curfew at midnight. Everyone who’s inside Yoshiwara then has to stay until morning. It’s the law.”

“But not everyone stayed last night, did they?” Hirata said, for he knew that enough money could buy a passage out of Yoshiwara after curfew. Seeing the guards’ expressions turn fearful, he said, “I won’t punish you for taking bribes, so just tell me: Who left the quarter last night?”

The men exchanged leery glances; then the lean man said reluctantly, “There was Kinue the oil merchant, with some servants and friends.”

Hirata knew that the merchant owned a major shop in Nihonbashi. “Who else?”

“A group from the Mori clan, and their bodyguards,” said the swarthy man.

This news piqued Hirata’s interest: The Mori were powerful gangsters, associated with trouble of all kinds.

“And Nitta Monzaemon, the treasury minister,” said the lean guard, “with his retainers.”

Hirata frowned, disturbed by the idea that high
bakufu
officials might be involved in Wisteria’s disappearance and Lord Mitsuyoshi’s murder. “How did all these people travel?”

“Kinue’s party walked to and from the river ferries,” said the swarthy guard. “The Mori group rode the causeway.”

Because the law granted only samurai the right to travel on horseback, the merchant had gone on foot. The Mori, however, were
rōnin
—masterless samurai—and could therefore ride. It seemed unlikely to Hirata that Lady Wisteria had accompanied either party. Women didn’t ride, and if Wisteria had done so last night, she would have risked notice by patrolling soldiers. A woman walking with a group of men would have been just as conspicuous. But a desperate fugitive courtesan might have taken the risk, if she’d found willing accomplices.

“Treasury Minister Nitta’s retainers also rode,” said the lean guard. “But he had a palanquin waiting for him outside the quarter.”

Excitement warmed Hirata’s cold muscles. The palanquin made Nitta a more promising lead than the others. However Wisteria had gotten out of Yoshiwara, the palanquin could have afterward carried her off, in safety and privacy, to a destination known to the treasury minister. Hirata thanked the guards and trudged through the swirling snowflakes to find Sano.

The twenty other guests who’d attended last night’s party at the Owariya were high-ranking
bakufu
members and their retainers. During a lengthy search of Yoshiwara, Sano and his detectives located six of the men, as well as the courtesans who’d entertained them at the
ageya
, and learned that they’d stayed together during the time when the murder occurred. Apparently, none of these people had left the party to slip upstairs, and none had reason to kill the shogun’s heir. Sano then tracked down five more guests at the Tsutaya teahouse.

The Tsutaya occupied the ground floor of a building near the quarter’s rear wall. A cylindrical lantern over the doorway bore the characters of its name; light gleamed between the slats of the closed shutters across the front. Sano dusted snow off himself and entered. Inside the elegant room, an alcove held a porcelain vase of bare branches, and maids served drinks to the five men. Charcoal braziers emitted warmth, but when everyone turned to look at Sano, their unfriendly expressions chilled the atmosphere.

A man seated before the alcove spoke: “Greetings,
Sōsakan-sama
.” Sano knelt and bowed. “Greetings, Honorable Senior Elder Makino.” The senior elder was one of five officials who advised the Tokugawa on national policy and comprised the
bakufu
’s highest echelon. He had an emaciated body, and his bony skull showed through the tight skin of his face; a black kimono accentuated his deathlike pallor. His retainers, who doubled as secretaries and bodyguards, sat grouped around him.

“I suppose you’ve come to question me in connection with Lord Mitsuyoshi’s murder,” Makino said.

“If you’re willing.” Sano replied cautiously, because Makino was no friend of his. The powerful senior elder had once accused Sano of treason, thereby almost ruining him.

“I might be willing to provide information to you,” said Makino, “under certain conditions. Shall we drink?”

He gestured to a maid, who poured sake for him and Sano. They drained their cups, and Sano felt the heated liquor flush warmth through him. “What conditions?” he said. Survival in the
bakufu
required give-and-take, but Sano was wary of the terms Makino might offer.

“The other party guests can confirm that I was with them at the time of the murder.” Makino inhaled on his tobacco pipe, and blew smoke through his brown teeth. “So can the staff of the Owariya. Hence, I couldn’t have killed Mitsuyoshi. You’ll find no evidence that I was in any way involved in his death.”

Suspending judgment, Sano kept his expression neutral.

“I’m prepared to furnish evidence that might otherwise take you quite some time to find.” Makino gave an ugly grimace that passed for a smile. “And time is critical, is it not?”

It was indeed. “In exchange for what?” Sano said.

“For keeping me out of your investigation.”

The senior elder spoke calmly, but the sinews of his neck tightened like leather cords: He knew Sano could name him as a murder suspect and ruin him because he’d happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. For a moment Sano was tempted to take revenge for all the trouble Makino had caused him, but the impulse quickly passed. To use a murder investigation to further selfish interests would compromise his honor, and he was just as vulnerable to attack as Makino. Should he begin a campaign to advance himself at the expense of his enemies, the resulting bloodbath would probably destroy him. Besides, he needed all the information he could get.

“Very well,” Sano said, “but if I find out that you are involved in the murder, our agreement is terminated.”

Makino’s hollow eyes contemplated Sano with disdain, but his relief was palpable. He signaled the maid to pour another round of sake. After he and Sano drank, Makino said, “There are three guests from the party whom you won’t find in Yoshiwara.”

“Who would they be?” Sano asked.

“The Honorable Treasury Minister, Nitta Monzaemon. And his two top retainers.”

The treasury minister was the official charged with overseeing the collection of taxes on commerce, revenue from the landed estates of the daimyo—feudal lords who ruled Japan’s provinces—and other monetary tributes paid to the Tokugawa. This was an important post and its incumbent one of the shogun’s most trusted, powerful vassals.

“Where has Nitta-
san
gone?” Sano said, as he found himself facing the perils of an investigation that extended upward to the high levels of the
bakufu
.

“I’ve no idea, but he left the quarter with his men during the party.” Makino grimaced, clearly perceiving and relishing Sano’s discomposure.

“Why did he leave?”

“He was not in a festive mood.” Inhaling on his pipe, Makino seemed ready to make Sano probe for every fact.

“Why not?” Sano asked patiently.

“Because of Lady Wisteria. He’s her patron, and quite enamored of her.” Makino shook his head, scorning anyone unwise enough to fall in love with a prostitute. “He is her sole client, now that Lord Mitsuyoshi is gone. She’s very selective.”

By custom, a
taju
could pick and choose her clients, and her high price compensated for their small number.

“Nitta is so jealous that he reserves her services for every night. He pays her fee, whether he visits her or not, just so he knows she isn’t with anyone else. But he’d learned that on two recent occasions when business kept him away from Yoshiwara, Lord Mitsuyoshi had obtained appointments with Lady Wisteria. Nitta was furious. Then, when he came to Yoshiwara yesterday, expecting to spend the night with Lady Wisteria, the proprietor of the Owariya told him that Lord Mitsuyoshi had requested her, and asked him to yield.”

Yielding was the procedure by which one client preempted another’s appointment with a courtesan. When a client had engaged a courtesan, and a second client asked for her company on the same night, the
ageya
would, under certain circumstances, ask the first client to yield his appointment to the second. The imposition might displease the first client; however, the polite code of behavior required him to concede if the second client was a special customer of the courtesan, or of higher social position than the first.

“How do you know all this?” Sano asked Makino.

“I make it my business to know all about my colleagues.” In other words, Makino employed spies in the households of the treasury minister and other officials. “I also overheard Nitta arguing with the proprietor of the Owariya last night.”

“What did he say?”

“Nitta objected to giving up Wisteria,” said Makino, “especially since this was her third appointment with Lord Mitsuyoshi, and she would finally bed him. But Nitta didn’t dare offend the shogun’s heir apparent by refusing to yield. Instead, he consented, and he joined our party. He sat in a corner, drinking and sulking. When Wisteria arrived and met Lord Mitsuyoshi in the next room, Nitta watched them through a hole in the partition. When they went upstairs, he stormed out of the house. Obviously, he couldn’t bear to stay while Wisteria pleasured another man right above his head.”

“Did you see the treasury minister after that?” Sano said.

“No. I stayed at the party; he never returned.”

But Nitta might have sneaked back to the house, gone upstairs, then stabbed the man who’d done him out of a night with his beloved. “While you were at the party, did you hear any unusual sounds from upstairs?” Sano asked Makino.

“I heard nothing whatsoever. The music was loud, and so were my fellow guests.”

Sano wondered what had become of Wisteria. Was she also dead by the hand of her patron? The idea dismayed Sano, as did the possibility that he might soon find himself for the first time investigating the murder of a former lover.

“That ends my story,” Makino said. “May I ask when I and my fellow captives might be allowed to leave Yoshiwara?”

“As soon as my men have finished taking everyone’s names,” Sano said.

The senior elder eyed him with veiled expectancy. “I’ve handed you a possible culprit in the murder. I trust that is a fair reward for your discretion?”

“Your evidence doesn’t prove Treasury Minister Nitta’s guilt,” Sano said, "or explain how Lady Wisteria got out of Yoshiwara.”

The door of the teahouse opened, and Sano turned to see Hirata, ruddy-faced and windblown, standing on the threshold. “Excuse me,
Sōsakan-sama
,” Hirata said, bowing, —but I’ve discovered something of possible importance.”

Walking down the street together, Sano and Hirata compared the results of their inquiries. “Jealousy gives Treasury Minister Nitta a motive for wanting Lord Mitsuyoshi dead,” Sano said, “and his attachment to Lady Wisteria is a reason for him to remove her from Yoshiwara.”

Ahead, beyond the rows of teahouses and brothels, the guards had opened the gates. Men emerged from the buildings and streamed out of Yoshiwara. The sky resembled an ink-wash spreading across damp paper; blustering wind and veils of falling snow promised an arduous evening’s journey home.

“Nitta could have taken Lady Wisteria away in the palanquin,” Hirata said. “He seems as good a suspect as the
yarite
.”

Unless she confessed under torture, thought Sano. He wondered uneasily where Hoshina was. “We’ll interrogate Nitta tomorrow—if he hasn’t fled town with Wisteria.”

As they reached the gates, where Sano’s detectives awaited them, Sano noticed Hirata looking at him as if needing to speak, but reluctant to do so. “Was there something else?” Sano said.

“Oh, no,” Hirata said nervously. “It’s just that my
miai
is tomorrow…”

Caught up in the investigation, Sano had completely forgotten the
miai
, in which he, as Hirata’s go-between, must play a key role. Distress flooded him. “Hirata-
san
, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to —”

“That’s all right,” Hirata said staunchly. “The
miai
can be rescheduled after the investigation is over.”