can she have gone?”
Reiko examined the walls and floor. Both were marred with holes and fissures, but none large enough for escape. The building seemed ancient, in disrepair, but solid. Soon Reiko was exhausted, panting, and sweaty despite the cold. She stood in the center of the room and gazed upward. The ceiling was twice as high as she was tall. Moonlight shone through crevices amid the rafters. Failure drained her energy; she sank to her knees.
A pitiful wail came from Midori: “What’s to become of us?”
Lady Keisho-in jumped up, trotted around the room, and pounded on the shutters. “Help!” she shouted. “Somebody help!”
“Don’t panic,” Reiko begged. “We must save our strength and ready our wits for when we get an opportunity to escape.”
“We’ll never escape,” Midori said as more sobs convulsed her. “We’ll all die!”
Her hysteria infected Keisho-in, who clawed the door with her fingernails. “I must leave this place now! I can’t stand this anymore!”
Though Reiko attempted to reason with and comfort her friends, they paid no attention.
“Hirata-san!” Midori called, as if her voice could carry across the distance to her husband.
Keisho-in hurled herself repeatedly against the door, uttering foul curses that revealed her peasant origin; Lady Yanagisawa whimpered. Reiko had never felt so useless. When news of the massacre and abduction reached Edo, the shogun would surely order Sano to investigate this serious crime. Here Reiko was at the center of what might be the biggest case of Sano’s career; but all her talent and experience mattered not, for this time she was a victim instead of a detective.
Frustration, physical malaise, and terror that she would never again see Sano or Masahiro nearly overwhelmed Reiko. Tears spilled from her eyes; yet her samurai spirit blazed with anger toward her kidnappers and spurned the notion of giving up without a fight. Somehow she must deliver herself and her friends to safety, and the criminals to justice.
“Hirata-san!” Midori called again and again.
Her friend’s desperation resonated through Reiko. As much as she craved action, there seemed nothing she could do at present except wait for whatever was to come.
5
At dawn, a sun like an immense drop of blood floated up from the eastern hills outside Edo and shimmered in the white haze that veiled the sky. The discordant peals of bells in temples called priests to morning rites and roused the townspeople from slumber. As birds shrilled in the trees within Edo Castle ’s stone walls, guards opened the massive ironclad gate. Out came Hirata with Detectives Fukida and Marume. Fukida was a brooding, serious samurai in his twenties; Marume, a decade older, had a jovial countenance and a powerful build. They and Hirata rode horses laden with saddlebags for their journey to the scene of the abduction. Disguised as ronin, they wore old cotton robes, wide wicker hats, and no sign of their rank, in the hope that they could blend with other travelers and secretly track down the kidnappers.
Instead of following the main boulevard west to the Tokaido, Hirata led his men along a road into the daimyo district south of the castle. “One quick stop may save us a long search,” he said.
The heat of day vanquished night’s fleeting coolness as the city awakened to life. Mounted samurai thronged the wide avenue of daimyo estates, mansions surrounded by barracks constructed of white plaster walls decorated with black tiles. Porters delivered bales of rice and produce to feed thousands of daimyo clan members and retainers. Hirata, Marume, and Fukida dismounted outside an estate that numbered among the largest. The gate boasted red beams and a multitiered roof; a white banner above the portals bore a dragonfly crest. Hirata approached a sentry stationed in one of the twin guardhouses.
“Is Lord Niu home?” Hirata said.
The guard glanced at Hirata’s shabby garments, sneered, and said, “Who’s asking?” Then he did a double take as he recognized Hirata. He leapt to his feet and bowed. “My apologies. Yes, the Honorable Lord Niu is in.”
“I want to see him,” Hirata said in a voice tight with controlled anger.
“Certainly,” the guard said, and opened the gate. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“Never mind. I’ll tell him myself.”
Hirata stalked through the gate; Fukida and Marume followed him into a courtyard. Here samurai patrolled and guardrooms contained an arsenal of swords, spears, and lances. As they entered another gate that led beyond the officers’ barracks, Hirata burned with ill will toward Lord Niu.
History had lain the foundations for their strife. Lord Niu was an “outside daimyo,” whose clan had been defeated by the Tokugawa faction during the Battle of Sekigahara and forced to swear allegiance to the victors almost a hundred years ago. Hirata came from a Tokugawa vassal family. Although most other daimyo accepted Tokugawa rule without rancor, Lord Niu hated the exorbitant taxes he had to pay, and the laws that required him to spend four months each year in Edo and his family to stay there as hostages to his good behavior while he was home in his province. He also hated anyone associated with the regime-including Hirata. The daimyo had opposed the match between Hirata and Midori, who hadn’t bowed to his wishes as tradition required. Their love for each other-and the child that was already on the way before the marriage negotiations began-had necessitated desperate action.
Hirata had tricked Lord Niu into consenting to the marriage, and the daimyo had never forgiven him. Lord Niu had vowed to separate the couple and sworn vengeance against Hirata. All Hirata’s attempts to placate Lord Niu had met with failure. And because of what Hirata had learned about Lord Niu since marriage joined their clans, he believed the daimyo to be the best suspect in the massacre and kidnapping.
He and his men entered the mansion, a labyrinthine complex of buildings connected by covered corridors and intersecting tile roofs and raised on granite foundations. They burst into Lord Niu’s private chamber.
Lord Niu, clad in a dressing gown, knelt on the tatami while a valet shaved his crown with a long razor. Near them sat the daimyo’s chief retainer, a dour, homely man named Okita. Guards stood by the walls. Everyone looked up at Hirata and the detectives in surprise.
“Where is she?” demanded Hirata.
Lord Niu demanded, “What are you doing here?”
He was a short man in his fifties, with swarthy skin and broad shoulders. His most remarkable feature was the asymmetry of his face. The right half was a distorted reflection of the other. The left eye focused on Hirata and blazed with hatred; the right contemplated distant space.
“I want to know where my wife is,” Hirata said, planting himself in front of his father-in-law, despite the creeping uneasiness that Lord Niu always inspired in him. Detectives Marume and Fukida stood behind Hirata.
“How should I know?” Lord Niu regarded Hirata with puzzlement and hostility. “You stole her from me. It’s up to you to keep track of her. Why do you come in here at this early hour, without my permission, to ask ridiculous questions?”
Had anyone else reacted this way, Hirata might have believed he was telling the truth, but Lord Niu was crafty and dishonest. “Midori, Lady Keisho-in, Lady Yanagisawa, and Lady Reiko were abducted yesterday,” Hirata said.
“What?” Lord Niu’s eyebrows shot up; he leaned forward. “How did this happen?”
As Hirata explained, he observed that Lord Niu’s shock appeared genuine. But if he’d arranged the ambush, he would have expected Hirata to come, and prepared to feign innocence. Hirata glanced at the daimyo’s men. The guards and Okita looked wary, and Hirata decided they hadn’t been aware of the crime. Their master often acted without their knowledge.
“Tell me what you did with the women,” Hirata said.
“You think I took them?” Lord Niu rose so fast that he almost knocked over his valet, who’d ceased trying to shave him. He faced Hirata with an incredulous stare.
“Yes,” Hirata said.
“Well, I didn’t,” Lord Niu declared. “Why would I do a thing like that?”
“You want to separate Midori from me and break the union between our clans,” Hirata said. “The Council of
