The Emperor's woman Read online

  Tora grinned. “Well, you should know. Will you look into it?

  Saburo nodded.

  They stood a while longer, watching the ducks and some boats on the river. Above them, the blue sky shimmered through the blossoms of the cherry tree. Then they parted, Tora to return home, and Saburo to begin his search.

  Saburo wanted to prove himself. His self-respect had suffered severely when he was dismissed. But he faced a dilemma with this case. In spite of his words to Tora, he was convinced the killer had been a trained shinobi, a shadow warrior, as he himself had been. He had no proof of this, except the reasons Tora had cited and a strong suspicion about his identity.

  Instead of going to the address Tora had given him, Saburo decided to talk to Shokichi first.

  Shokichi was at work at this hour. At the Sasaya. Steeling himself, Saburo walked to the Willow Quarter and the late Tokuzo’s brothel. His arrival there caused consternation. The customers sitting around drinking stared at him. Saburo called the waitress, a plain girl who turned pale and pretended not to have heard.

  “Hoh!” shouted Saburo again. “Service!”

  No reaction.

  “You there! Girl! Come here. What does a man have to do to get a drink in this place?”

  Tokuzo’s mother put her head through a door to see what the shouting was about. The girl finally came, but she avoided looking at him.

  “So,” sneered Saburo, “I’m not to your taste, am I?”

  She shuddered. “What can I bring your honor?”

  Saburo still smarted from her behavior. “How much for a night with you?”

  She started shaking. “Twenty coppers,” she murmured so softly he could barely hear her.

  “Too much for someone like you,” he sneered. “Where’s Shokichi?”

  The girl turned and ran to the back door where she told the old woman who gave a nod and disappeared. Soon, another girl appeared. She was older than the first and approached him calmly, sitting down across from him.

  “You asked for me, sir?” She found his good eye and smiled at him.

  Bad teeth and a few pockmarks, thought Saburo, but not unattractive. Still, he was not here for that. “You’re Shokichi?” he asked. “Ohiro’s friend?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  “I want to talk to you. Suppose we go upstairs?”

  “That will cost you twenty coppers.”

  He reached for the money. She bowed, rose, and took his hand, leading him to the backdoor, where the old woman waited. Shokichi passed her the coins. She counted, nodded, and disappeared into her room. Shokichi led him to the backyard and up the stairs to a room at the end.

  There she placed a couple of dirty cushions on the floor and gestured to the bedding rolls. “You’ve paid. Do you want to make love first?”

  “Thank you, no.” The offer pleased him. “You’re not frightened by my face?” he asked.

  “No. I’m sorry you were hurt.”

  Saburo did not know what to say. He had never met a woman who had offered herself to him in such a matter-of-fact manner. He looked at her silently and found her even more attractive, but he caught himself and said, “You’re back working here. Why? You tore up your contract like the others, didn’t you?”

  “I sold it back to the old woman. I needed the money, and she needed someone who knows the business. Things are better. I look after the women.”

  He said nothing to this. “I’m trying to help Genba and Ohiro. Tora told me about the two women who died. Miyagi’s parents are gone, and the house now belongs to strangers. Is there anything else you might recall?”

  “I didn’t know her family left. They were her grandparents. Her parents died. Miyagi loved her grandparents and went to see them often, taking them what money she could. I think after she died, they had nothing to live on. It’s sad. They were good people who’d come down in the world.” She looked angry.

  So Miyagi’s death had caused further misery. Perhaps the old people had also died because their only source of income was gone. “Was there anyone else?” he asked.

  “She had a brother. He was a soldier up north. When Tokuzo mistreated her and she cried, I used to tell her to write to him. Miyagi could read and write a little. I don’t know if she did, but she never got any letters, and no brother ever came.”

  “What was his name?”

  She looked away. “She must have told me, but I don’t remember it. Sorry.” When Saburo said nothing, she added, “I expect he died a long time ago in the fighting. Or else he took a wife up north and won’t come back.”

  Saburo looked at her steadily until she started fidgeting. “There must be someone else who killed Tokuzo,” she said nervously.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Thank you. You’ve been a lot of help.” He got to his feet.

  “Help? How?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “I don’t know yet.” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “Perhaps some day when you’re free, you’ll allow me to buy you a meal somewhere?”

  She blushed. “Maybe, but we’re not supposed to meet customers outside. You could come back here.”

  “No,” said Saburo, with a glance around. “You deserve better.”

  He left disappointed and strangely stirred by the encounter. She had told him what he wanted to know, even though she had not intended to do so. She had lied about not knowing the brother’s name, and he admired her for it.

  It was a bad situation all around.

  He went next to the city administration for the western wards. There he asked for the property lists of the ward where the Satake family had resided. He found them quickly: grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, two children. Father and mother had died the same year four years previously, perhaps during the epidemic. The grandparents had remained with the grandchildren: a boy, Narimitsu and a younger girl, Nariko. Nariko must be Miyagi’s real name. The property had changed hands last year, a few months after Miyagi died.

  So far, he was no closer. He had merely confirmed what Shokichi had told him. And yet he was certain she had lied about something else.

  What if the brother had returned to the capital after all, only to find his sister dead and the family home sold? It would surely make him a prime suspect in Tokuzo’s murder. But how was he to prove this? And where would he find the man?

  In Akitada’s household, Saburo had learned to be meticulous. He made another search, this time for the whereabouts of Miyagi’s grandparents. This produced nothing and suggested the old people had left the city. Since he did not know where they might have gone, consulting tax registers was pointless.

  It was time to change to another tack. Late that night, Saburo visited a small monastery in the northern foothills. He had to walk and did not reach his destination until well past the hour of the boar. He hoped to get his information and set out on the return journey in time to reach the capital at day break and steal a few hours sleep before reporting to his employer, the rice merchant.

  The monastery was too insignificant for elaborate walls and gates, and it did not bother to lock people out. There was nothing to steal here. The monks who lived in this small outpost had other gifts.

  As he passed between the wooden buildings, his steps mostly muffled by dewy grass, he looked for a light somewhere, a sign that one of the monks was awake even at this hour.

  Instead, the hair on the back of his head suddenly tingled, and he jumped aside. The jump caused him to slip on the wet grass and come down hard on one knee and a hand. A black figure loomed momentarily, blocking out the starry sky. Then its weight crashed down on him.

  Saburo grunted and struggled to free himself. In vain. The other man was bigger, younger, stronger. Giving up the unequal contest, he gasped, “Monkey on the roof.”

  The other relaxed his grip slightly. “Shinobi?” he asked.

  The voice was young. Feeling depressed by the difference between them, Saburo said, “Yes.”

  The other jumped up and gra
sped Saburo’s wrist to pull him upright. In the darkness they faced each other. Their features were shadowy, but Saburo saw that the other was much taller and broader than he and felt a bit better.

  His attacker reached for his face. “Mask?” he demanded.

  “Ouch! No.” Saburo slapped the other’s hand away. “Mind your manners,” he growled.

  “Sorry.” The young monk sounded contrite. “Didn’t know. What are you doing here?”

  “I need information.”

  “About what?”

  “Let me speak to the abbot. Is it still the Reverend Raishin?”

  “Yes. Come along then.”

  They walked past several shadowy buildings and came to a smaller hall. All was dark inside, but the young monk stepped up on the veranda and cleared his throat. After a moment, a voice from inside asked, “Yes, what is it?”

  “It’s Kangyo, Reverence. There’s a visitor here.”

  They heard the sound of a flint, and then a soft golden glow seeped through the cracks of the door and a shuttered window. “Come in.”

  Saburo followed the young monk through the door he held open. For a moment he blinked against the light, then he saw an elderly monk of astonishing size peering up at him. The abbot must easily be of Genba’s build, though in his case, his shoulders and chest bulged with muscles rather than fat.

  “It’s you!” the abbot said, his eyes widening.

  “It’s me,” Saburo agreed.

  “Leave us, Kangyo. He’s one of us.”

  “Yes, Reverence. So he said.” The young man hesitated, looking from the abbot to Saburo and back. “Will it be all right? Should I stay close?”

  Abbot Raishin frowned. “No, no. Get back to your rounds.”

  They waited until Kangyo had closed the door behind him. The abbot said, “Sit down, Saburo. You look tired. I’ve often wondered how you are managing.”

  “Thank you. I manage,” Saburo said drily.

  “But not easily, I bet. I grieved over what happened, but we had no choice.”

  “I know. Once people see my face, they remember.”

  “Yes. Why have you come?”

  “A friend of mine is in trouble because of something done by a shinobi. I came to get information about the man.”

  “You know I cannot give you information about our people.”

  “I think this man may not be one of ours.”

  “I see. That’s different. Tell me about it.”

  Saburo told Genba’s story from his encounter with the stranger and the dropped needle to his being arrested for Tokuzo’s murder. Then he waited.

  The abbot had listened with a lively interest. Now he smiled and said, “That was very careless of him.”

  “To be fair, he probably didn’t expect to collide with a wrestler,” said Saburo. “There’s more. I also encountered him. At least I assume it was the same man, because we both had taken an interest in Tokuzo’s place. I got there before him and took the women’s contracts. When I was leaving, he jumped me in the dark hallway. When I came to, the contracts and the needle were gone.”

  Abbot Raishin frowned. “It could have been another burglar.”

  “He found the needle, though I carried it in the seam of my jacket. Only someone in our business would know where to look.”

  “Perhaps. Still, it’s not proof. If this Tokuzo was as evil and as wealthy as you say, he could well have had several enemies.”

  Saburo’s heart sank. “It’s all I have, except that Genba remembers the man smelled as if he’d just come from a bathhouse.”

  Raishin sat up. “A bathhouse? Now I wonder. Needles. Hmm.”

  “Yes,” said Saburo, hope rising again. “It occurred to me also. I agree it’s far-fetched, but there’s a link.” He told the abbot how he had ended up in the beggars’ guild and how none of the beggars had wanted to answer his questions or Tora’s.

  The abbot nodded. “We have taken note of this person. He’s not been here long. The first reports reached us a few weeks ago. He received his training in the north. But I must tell you he doesn’t seem to be an assassin. A shinobi, yes, but he hasn’t killed anyone to our knowledge.”

  “Do you think it’s possible he killed Tokuzo?”

  The abbot spread his hands. “All things are possible. I wish I could be more helpful.”

  Saburo bowed. “Thank you, Reverence. I think I’ll take a closer look at him.”

  Raishin said, “It’s a difficult issue, this question of justice. I don’t envy you.”

  Saburo nodded and got to his feet. He was almost out of the room, when he heard the abbot say softly, “Most likely the killer has a very troubled conscience himself.”

  The Journal

  The ride to Koryu-ji had been more than Akitada should have undertaken so soon after his fall. When they reached his home, he slid from the saddle and clung to it while waves of pain washed over him. The worst of it was that he would not have been in condition to fight off another attack or protect his sister.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Akiko, sounding irritatingly chipper as she got down from her horse.

  “Nothing. I’ll be all right in a moment.”

  “Here comes help,” she said. “I’ll run in and see Tamako.”

  Tora appeared by his side, and then, to his surprise, Genba. They also wanted to know what was wrong. Akitada pushed himself away from the horse and took a deep breath.

  “It’s just some soreness from the fall. Genba? I’m so glad to see you, but what happened?”

  Genba regarded him with moist eyes. “Superintendent Kobe let us go, sir. I expect we owe you our thanks.” He bowed.

  “It wasn’t my doing. We haven’t found the killer yet. Saburo is working on it. Kobe must have decided his case against you wasn’t strong enough.” Akitada embraced Genba. “Welcome home,” he said, then stepped back to look him over.

  Genba wiped his eyes and smiled, speechless at this reception.

  “Well,” said Tora, clearly embarrassed by all this emotion, “I think it was high time the superintendent realized you’re innocent. And what about all those floggings?”

  Akitada said, “Yes, I’m sorry about all you’ve had to suffer. How are you?”

  Genba grinned. “It was nothing, sir. I’m very well. But what about you? Tora told me what happened.”

  “I’m also very well… now that you’re back,” Akitada said happily, patting Genba’s shoulder. “We really missed you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Let us help you into the house.”

  Akitada walked leaning on Genba’s strong arm. In his study, he got behind his desk. “Sit down, both of you. Genba, what about Ohiro? Is she free, too?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s gone to stay with Shokichi.” Genba shot Tora a glance.

  “But I thought you and she… I was under the impression…” Uncertain, Akitada stopped.

  “Well…” Genba looked to Tora for help.

  “Genba thinks it will be best if he visits her in the city.” Tora was clearly uncomfortable.

  “Oh.” Akitada looked from one to the other and frowned.

  Tora bit his lip. “We thought you wouldn’t want another woman from the amusement quarter under your roof.”

  “What nonsense! Another woman? You mean Hanae?” Tora nodded, and Akitada snapped, “You were wrong. Hanae is part of my family, as are both of you. You are like brothers to me. How could I deny either of you the joy of raising a family? My fortunes aren’t great and my future isn’t promising either, but if you’ll settle for what we can offer, Genba, and if you wish to take a wife, I will welcome her and your future children into my house. The same goes for Saburo. If I have given you a different impression in the past, I’m sorry. I tend to worry about the company you keep, but you’re both grown men, and I have no right to interfere in your lives as long as you respect my family.”

  They both gaped at him.

  When nobody said anything, Akitada smiled. “Are you happy here, Genba?”

&
nbsp; “Yes, sir, but… are you sure? Ohiro… I love her dearly and she’s a sweet and good woman, sir, but she did work in a brothel. Hanae never did.”

  “I’ve learned a few things lately about how young women end up in places they shouldn’t be, sold by their parents to men who mistreat them. Ohiro’s not to blame for what her life was like in the past, as long as she will be a devoted wife to you.” Seeing Tears well up in Genba’s eyes again, Akitada added quickly, “And now you two had better go and see about living quarters for Genba and his bride.”

  They left grinning, with Genba muttering his thanks over and over again.

  Having thus arranged his household to his entire satisfaction, Akitada stepped out on his veranda and stretched. The garden was peaceful in the afternoon sun. Sighing with pleasure, he drew Lady Masako’s journal from his sleeve and went back inside.

  It was tastefully bound in pale green brocade with a pattern of golden shells and white cherry blossoms. He undid the darker green silk ribbon and opened it. The paper was of the finest quality, and the lady’s brush strokes proved she had a good education. The journal was short and tended to skip days.

  He settled down at his desk and started reading.

  The entries were dated by the year and month, and it appeared she had started the diary soon after she had entered the palace. As was customary, she referred to herself in the third person and never by name. This device made the diary read like a tale about an imaginary character and was, no doubt, meant to protect the author’s identity.

  It occurred to Akitada that he had no proof this was Lady Masako’s journal except for Lady Hiroko’s word. He would have to read the entries carefully, looking for internal evidence of the author’s identity.

  The first pages described the season-it was spring, and the writer grieved at not seeing the cherry blossoms of her former home-but soon she mentioned incidents: visits from a father, then from a brother, court festivities, seasonal observations, more parental visits. Interjected poems began to suggest first melancholy, and then sadness: “Alas, each day brought deeper grief; each week another lament,” and “In sorrow her days passed without comfort.”