chased all the men away. She didn’t want to marry anyone except the young lord.”
“But she knew she couldn’t have him.”
“Well, she did have him, in a way. She was his concubine. She lived with him and Myobu, in their house in town. He still loved her. He barely paid any attention to Myobu.”
“I see,” Reiko said. The contentious relationship between Lady Hosokawa and Tama had been reenacted by their daughters.
“Where is Myobu’s husband?” Reiko asked. Sano would want to talk to him.
“In Higo Province. He helps take care of things there while Lord Hosokawa is in Edo. He’d been there four months. A message was sent to tell him that Myobu and Kumoi were missing. I don’t know if it got through.” The maid blinked away fresh tears and hugged the little boy. “He’ll have to be told they’re dead.”
His absence cleared him of any role in the crime except furnishing a possible reason for it. Reiko remembered Sano telling her that the sisters had sneaked out of the Hosokawa estate to go to their fatal incense lesson. “What were Myobu and Kumoi doing here on the day of the earthquake? Why weren’t they at their own home?”
“They lived here when Myobu’s husband was away. They couldn’t be alone together-without him to keep them under control, they’d have torn out each other’s throats.”
“What became of Kumoi’s baby?” Reiko expected to hear that it had been given to a family retainer to raise.
“He’s right here.” The maid bounced the little boy on her lap. He chortled. “Myobu adopted him. She got back at Kumoi for taking her husband, you see. She became the baby’s mother. When he got older, he would have been told that Kumoi was his aunt.”
What a cruel revenge! Reiko was appalled.
“Myobu didn’t do it just to be mean, though,” the maid went on. “She couldn’t have a child of her own, because her husband never touched her after their wedding night.” He’d have had relations with her then, to consummate the marriage and make it legal. “He needed an heir, the boy was his, and she wanted a baby. Adopting the boy was the best thing for everybody.”
Reiko tried to imagine a rival stealing her child. She felt a stabbing sensation in her womb. She felt antipathy toward Myobu but also pity for the wife, forced to witness the love between her husband and sister, doomed to barrenness. She also felt repugnance toward Kumoi for selfishly sabotaging her sister’s marriage. Reiko couldn’t imagine a scenario more likely to lead to murder.
A shadow darkened the threshold. There stood Lady Hosokawa, her expression disapproving. She must have guessed that the maid was giving Reiko a whiff of the family’s dirty linens. “There are other guests for you to attend to,” she told the maid. “Escort Lady Reiko out.”
Reiko soon found herself standing on the veranda in the cold. As she crossed the courtyard to her palanquin, she was elated to have gleaned so much information but troubled. Everything she’d heard placed the blame for the murders within the Hosokawa clan, and the logical culprit was either Myobu or Kumoi. She hoped Sano or Hirata would turn up evidence that implicated someone else.
11
Foul smoke from the crematoriums still lingered in the Asakusa Temple district when Sano and his troops arrived there. Once, pilgrims from all over Japan had flocked to Asakusa to worship and to patronize the shops, teahouses, and restaurants, but now people came to gawk at the ruined temples. Monks and priests guarded salvaged religious treasures from looters and lived in a tent camp that occupied the onetime marketplace inside the broken red torii gate.
Sano easily located Mizutani’s neighborhood, an enclave of houses that still stood. Throughout Edo, such enclaves poked up from the flattened ruins around them like anthills. Often there seemed no explicable reason why they’d survived when similar structures had collapsed. Here, two rows of houses faced each other across a narrow road. Their ground floors contained shops in which Sano saw empty bins and shelves. People in the living quarters on the upper stories peeked suspiciously at Sano’s party. Sano had heard that gangs had forced residents out of intact homes and taken them over. The police and army were spread too thin to stop it. In the new Edo, crime flourished.
A gaunt woman beseeched a man who stood outside a house at the center of one row. “Please, just a few coppers.” She held out a child wrapped in a torn quilt. “For my baby.”
The man was about sixty years of age, with the well-fed aspect of a rich merchant. His padded brown coat was made of cotton but looked new and warm. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“My baby is sick. He needs medicine.” The woman’s voice quavered. “Or he’ll die.”
Sano dismounted. He saw that the baby was emaciated, too weak to cry, its eyes bright with fever.
“If I give you my money, how am I going to live?” the merchant said. “Sorry.”
“But I’m your neighbor!” The woman burst into tears. “I took care of your wife when she was sick. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
The man shrugged. “Things are different now. It’s everybody for himself.”
Sano had witnessed similar scenes too many times. Although the earthquake had brought out the best in some people, who generously shared whatever they had with those less fortunate, others hoarded their goods. Perhaps the crisis only served to reinforce one’s natural character.
Weeping, the woman stumbled away. Sano sent his attendant to give her a few coins. She cried, “A thousand thanks, master! May the gods bless you!”
“That was a nice thing to do,” the merchant said. His face and hands had a soft, droopy texture that reminded Sano of a melting candle. A whiff of incense hovered around him. His shrewd eyes noted the Tokugawa crests on Sano’s garments. He seemed to realize he’d made a poor impression on a high government official and hurried to justify himself. “These people would take everything from me if I let them, and then where would I be? They already looted my shop.”
“I won’t criticize you.” Sano didn’t feel in a position to do so. No matter that he tried to help people in need; he, like this man, must look out for his own interests. He wasn’t only investigating the murders to serve justice or prevent a war; he had his family to protect. Sano introduced himself, then said, “I’m looking for Mizutani. Is that you?”
“None other.” The incense master’s smeared features arranged themselves in an expression of wariness combined with eagerness to please. “How may I be of service?”
“Tell me about you and Madam Usugumo.”
“What about her?” That Mizutani didn’t want to talk about her was obvious from the dismay in his eyes. “She’s dead.”
“How do you know?”
“I haven’t seen her since before the earthquake. Her house fell into a crack in the ground.” The concern in Mizutani’s voice didn’t hide his glee. “I assumed she was buried and crushed inside.”
Maybe he knew because he’d poisoned her incense and spied on her while she and her pupils breathed the smoke and died, Sano thought.
Mizutani regarded Sano with sudden apprehension. “She is dead, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Sano said, “but it wasn’t the earthquake that killed her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Let’s have this conversation indoors.” Sano wanted a look around Mizutani’s house.
Although leeriness molded his forehead into a frown, Mizutani ushered Sano inside the shop, which was empty but still smelled strongly of incense. “The looters took my stock and my equipment, you see,” Mizutani complained, leading Sano up the stairs. “Heaven knows what they thought they could do with it. Sell it, I guess. You can’t eat incense or mortars and pestles.” They entered the living quarters. “Please forgive me, it’s a little crowded. I’m storing the things I managed to save. Nobody wants incense lessons these days, but I’ve been lucky to sell incense for funerals.”
The room was jammed with iron trunks, ceramic urns and jars, and a workbench cluttered with tools, dishware, and scales. Small drawers in a cabinet overflowed with pellets and sticks of incense, barks, roots, and
