The Ronin's Mistress (29 page)

Yanagisawa chuckled. “How? I’ve many talents, but I’m not a fortune-teller.”

“Drop the innocent act,” Sano said. “The answer is obvious.”

Both of Yanagisawa’s eyebrows rose, in mock astonishment. “Do you mean that you think I was behind the attack?”

“Were you?”

“That’s absurd.” Yanagisawa laughed, flashing his sharp, perfect teeth. “Why would I want to attack Magistrate Ueda?”

“Just answer the question.”

“If you insist.” Yanagisawa spoke with emphasis: “I am not responsible for the attack on Magistrate Ueda.” He looked Sano straight in the eye.

Sano couldn’t tell if he was lying. Yanagisawa was a consummate actor.

The sardonic humor vanished from Yanagisawa’s expression. The room turned cold with his hostility toward Sano. “Now you can answer my question: Why would I have wanted to attack Magistrate Ueda? That’s the very least you owe me after barging into my house.”

“If you insist,” Sano said. “You want the supreme court to condemn the forty-seven
r
ō
nin.
You knew that Magistrate Ueda is leading the faction that wants to pardon them, because you barged in on the court yesterday. You figured that if you killed him, you would shift the balance toward the verdict you want.” Sano felt the fever of his craving for battle. “My father-in-law was nothing to you but an inconvenience to eliminate!”

“I repeat, that’s absurd,” Yanagisawa said flatly. “In the first place, why do you think I want the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
condemned? I’ve never said so. I have no opinion on the issue.”

“Because you think it’s the verdict that would cause the most negative reaction and bring the shogun’s wrath down on me,” Sano hazarded.

“Rubbish. In the second place, I was at home last night. My retainers will confirm that.”

“Of course they will. They’re beholden to you. And you could have sent one of them.”

“In the third place,” Yanagisawa said, “if I want to influence the verdict, I can do it without resorting to murder. A little coercion from me, and the judges will rush to cooperate.”

Although Sano knew it was true, he still had reason to think Yanagisawa was guilty. “Even if you really don’t care which way the verdict goes, you see this case as a chance to get rid of me at last.”

Amusement colored Yanagisawa’s hostility. “You think everything is about you and me. You’re obsessed.”

“The obsession is yours, not mine,” Sano said coldly. “You’re the one who’s been fixated on destroying me. You’ve attacked me again and again, even though I did nothing to deserve it. So excuse me for thinking that the attack on Magistrate Ueda is more of the same.”

“Your mind is stuck in the past. I don’t need to attack you anymore. I’ve already beaten you.”

“Not quite. I’m still here.”

Yanagisawa smiled a thin, cruel smile. “Just barely. And not for long. The forty-seven
r
ō
nin
case will be the end of you, no matter which way the verdict goes.”

Sano was all too aware of that probability, but he said, “That’s what you’ve hoped about every other case I’ve investigated. And you’re forgetting that this case could take down other people besides me. You’re not immune to the consequences of a verdict that’s sure to be unpopular.”

He saw a flicker of apprehension on Yanagisawa’s face. But Yanagisawa retorted, “You’re forgetting something, too: Other people are far more incensed about the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
than I am. And I’m not the only one who knew where the judges stood as of yesterday.”

“Confidentiality is a joke,” Kato interjected.

“Fourteen judges equal fourteen holes in the court,” Ihara said. “Too many to plug.”

It had occurred to Sano that judges might have leaked the content of their discussion to persons outside the court. He would worry about that possibility later. “Don’t bother trying to deflect my suspicions. You knew, and I think you used what you heard to your own advantage.”

Yanagisawa’s eyes gleamed maliciously. “You knew, too. You were there.”

“Your friend Inspector General Nakae was nice enough to point that out to me already,” Sano said. “I suppose you’re going to follow his example and say I attacked my own father-in-law, then accuse me of trying to frame you.”

“That is a good theory,” Yanagisawa said. The elders nodded. “But I’ll grant you this: I don’t believe you tried to assassinate Magistrate Ueda. You’re not that ruthless.”

“Thank you.” Sarcasm edged Sano’s voice.

“However, one could argue that what happened to Magistrate Ueda is indeed your fault,” Yanagisawa said.

“What kind of smoke are you fanning up now?” Sano demanded.

“You’ve had numerous opportunities to kill me,” Yanagisawa said. “During your first investigation for the shogun, for example, when you got me and that mad killer out on a boat on the Sumida River. You could have drowned me, with nobody the wiser.”

Sano wondered where the conversation was going. “I couldn’t,” he said with regret. “You were my superior. I owed you the same loyalty as I owed the shogun.”

“That wasn’t the only time you could have eliminated me with no witnesses,” Yanagisawa said. “Twelve years ago, while we were in Miyako, you trapped me at swordpoint. Why didn’t you just cut my throat?”

“The same reason. Honor. Duty.” The principles of Bushido that governed Sano’s actions, that frequently opposed his desires. Sano often thought that Bushido was like an iron weight around the neck of a man swimming in a shark-infested sea.

“After I was exiled, you realized that I’d sneaked back to Edo,” Yanagisawa went on. “You could have found me and secretly killed me while everyone else thought I was still on Hachijo Island. It would have seemed as if I’d vanished into thin air.”

Had that idea occurred to him? Sano recalled that he’d concentrated on exposing Yanagisawa’s machinations while solving a murder case in which his mother was the primary suspect.

“It’s what I would have done,” Yanagisawa said.

“I’m not you,” Sano said, proud that he’d never stooped to such a tactic.

“Indeed you’re not.” Yanagisawa matched Sano’s pride. “You don’t have my imagination or foresight.”

“The gods be praised,” Sano said.

“But suppose—just suppose—that I was responsible for the attack on Magistrate Ueda. You could have prevented it if you’d seized one of your chances to kill me. I couldn’t have attacked him if I were dead, could I?” Yanagisawa pointed a finger at Sano. “If your theory that the attack was my doing is correct, then you’re ultimately to blame. Because you could have protected Magistrate Ueda by killing me a long time ago and you didn’t.”

“That’s the most convoluted logic I’ve ever heard,” Sano exclaimed.

“Your justifications for your actions are the most feeble excuses I’ve ever heard.” Yanagisawa moved out from behind his desk, stepped off the dais, and faced Sano. “You say it was loyalty and duty. I say you’re hiding behind Bushido. You’re afraid to do what a real samurai would, to seize the upper hand. You’re afraid of the consequences. You”—his finger jabbed Sano’s chest—“are nothing but a coward.”

Coward. Coward. Coward.
The worst insult that a samurai could receive echoed through Sano like the tolling of a bell. Rage exploded inside him with such force that at first he couldn’t speak. Caught in a firestorm of howling winds, leaping flames, and smoke laden with hot ash and stinging cinders, he choked while his heart thudded furiously. He saw Yanagisawa’s sneering face as if through the orange haze of the fire.

“How dare you?” was all he could manage to say.

“How dare I tell you the truth about yourself? How dare I humiliate you in front of our colleagues?” Yanagisawa laughed. “Oh, I dare. Because I’m not afraid. No matter what people think of me, no one would ever call me a coward.” He mimicked Sano’s words: “I’m not you.”

The firestorm of rage burned hotter, fueled by a voice that whispered in Sano’s mind,
Maybe Yanagisawa is right. Maybe I am a coward because I’ve endured insults and injuries for all these years instead of putting an end to it once and for all.

“Well, look at that, everyone!” Yanagisawa pointed at Sano’s hip. “Maybe he has some samurai courage after all.”

Sano looked down. He saw that his hand had moved involuntarily to his sword. His fingers gripped the hilt. The hot cyclone of his rage swirled around him, but a deadly quiet settled over his body, as if he stood in the eye of the firestorm.

“Here I am,” Yanagisawa said. “Do what you’ve been wanting to do all these years.” He flung his arms wide, offered himself as a target.

The temptation was so strong that Sano forgot the prohibition against drawing a sword inside Edo Castle. He forgot Bushido. His muscles tensed to draw the weapon.

“Go ahead,” Yanagisawa said with a tantalizing smile. “Prove that you’re a real samurai.”

Even as Sano felt the impulse to kill rise like a monster inside him, Yanagisawa, the room, and the other men in it faded from his vision. He was walking down the Corridor of Pines. Kajikawa, the keeper of the castle, appeared and spoke words that Sano didn’t hear. A door opened along the corridor between them. Out stepped Kira. Sano charged at Kira, drew his sword, gripped it in both hands, and swung.

Everything went black.

Then Sano was back in the office with Yanagisawa and the elders, who were eagerly waiting to see what he would do. Sano stood thunderstruck by his vision in which he’d been Lord Asano. The shock restored his wits. He realized that Yanagisawa was goading him into emulating Lord Asano. If he took the bait, he would be sentenced to death.

He would be one obstacle cleared from Yanagisawa’s path toward taking over Japan.

Reason dashed cold water onto the firestorm of rage. Sano let his hand drop from his sword. The elders’ faces sagged with disappointment and relief. Yanagisawa smirked; he opened his mouth to make another cutting remark.

Sano hauled back his fist and punched Yanagisawa on the nose. Yanagisawa yelped as the blow slammed his head backward. He lost his balance, fell, and lay on the floor. Blood gushed from his nostrils. He and everyone else regarded Sano with complete, stupid astonishment.

“You think you have so much foresight, but you didn’t see that coming, did you?” Sano’s fury gave way to humor.

Yanagisawa began to sputter.

“How dare I?” Sano mocked. “Oh, I dare. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find out who’s behind the attack on Magistrate Ueda. If it’s you, I won’t let you off with a bloody nose.” Sano strolled out of the room.

27

REIKO LEFT HER
father in the doctor’s care and went to the part of the mansion that housed the Court of Justice. Today it was empty; all court business had been postponed. Ikeda, the magistrate’s chief retainer, stood at the open door, facing out toward the courtyard which was usually crowded with police officers guarding criminals scheduled for trial. Today it contained only two men, who had the fashionable, well-fed look of prosperous merchants.

“The magistrate won’t be hearing any disputes for a while,” Ikeda told them.

“Why not?” asked one of the merchants.

“Because he’s on the supreme court for the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
case. And because he was seriously injured last night.”

“Well, I’m sorry he’s hurt,” the other merchant said, “but it’s not fair that everything should grind to a halt because of those criminals.”

“They’re not criminals, they’re heroes,” the first merchant said angrily. “They avenged their master’s death.”

“Go ask the other magistrate to settle your dispute.” Ikeda closed the door, turned, and saw Reiko. “How is your father?”

“He regained consciousness long enough to tell me something about the man who beat him.” Reiko described the tattoos on the man’s arm.

“Maybe he’s someone that your father convicted,” Ikeda said. “Maybe he had a grudge.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I want to search the court records for names of repeat offenders. Will you help me?”

“Certainly.” Ikeda accompanied Reiko to the magistrate’s office.

The office was dear to Reiko. When very young, she’d played with her toys and kept her father company while he worked. When she was older, she’d helped him copy his notes into the official records that filled ledgers and scrolls in fireproof iron trunks stacked to the ceiling. The unoccupied desk brought tears to Reiko’s eyes. She and Ikeda lifted down trunks and began sorting through the records. It was no quick task; her father had been magistrate for almost three decades, and he conducted hundreds of trials every year.

“I wish there were a faster way to weed out cases that involve defendants who obviously didn’t attack my father, like these female thieves and prostitutes,” Reiko said, as she and Ikeda skimmed pages of court proceedings.

“Your father’s clerks did make a note when a defendant had been previously convicted,” Ikeda said. “Here’s one—but this trial was for his third offense. That’s too many.”

After two hours, Reiko had made a list of the names of twelve male criminals who each had two convictions and were young enough and presumably able-bodied enough to have managed the attack on Magistrate Ueda. She’d also written down their places of residence.

“What are the chances that they’re still living there?” she said.

“Not very good,” Ikeda said. “Perpetual criminals move around a lot. And some of these may not be living at all. Their kind tends to die early.”

“At least we have some possible suspects.” Reiko tucked the list under her sash. “I’ll give this to my husband. Maybe it will help him catch the assassin.”