Onodera.
“I’ve never laid eyes on them, let alone seen them in action. But I’ve heard that they were Ozuno’s favorite disciples. Which means they have to be among the best martial artists who ever lived.”
Hirata felt a pang of jealousy. He’d thought he was Ozuno’s favorite. But he should have known better as soon as he’d met the three and learned Ozuno had been their mentor. “Is there anybody you know of who could tell me more?”
“A monk named Fuwa,” Onodera said. “He used to go around with them.”
“Where can I find him?” Hirata asked eagerly.
“Last I heard, he was living in Chiba.”
Hirata’s heart sank. The town of Chiba was a day’s journey from Edo. He could never make it there and back before the ritual.
Like every other neighborhood in town, the Hibiya administrative district, south of Edo Castle, had been severely damaged by the earthquake. Barriers made of logs, scrap wood, and piled stones enclosed the sites of the mansions where the city’s high officials had once lived and worked. Above the barriers Reiko could see the tops of tents that housed residents who had nowhere else to stay. Reiko called to her bearers to stop by a gate with shiny copper crests that looked incongruous remounted on beams made of cut logs. The sentries recognized her and let her in the gate. Walking toward the tents, Reiko heard muffled voices but saw no one.
“Grandmother?” she called.
A flap on one tent opened. A tiny old woman peered out. Bundled up from neck to toe, her body resembled a fat pile of quilts, but her head was as precisely modeled as that of a porcelain doll. Her silver hair was tied in a sleek knot, every hair oiled in place. Although she was past seventy, her skin was unlined; only her sagging jowls betrayed her age. She had the same delicate features and large, almond-shaped eyes as Reiko. Whenever Reiko saw her, she saw how she herself would look in the future, if she lived that long.
“What are you doing here?” her grandmother demanded. Her voice was hoarsened by the years but had nary a quaver.
“I came to see you, Grandmother,” Reiko said, bowing. She needed the old woman’s help with the investigation, but she was loath to ask.
“Dear me, is it New Year’s Day again?”
“Not yet.”
“And here I thought I was getting senile. New Year’s Day is the only time you ever come-when you bring your husband and children for your annual visit.”
Reiko felt the sting of rebuke, followed by the flare of temper that her grandmother never failed to provoke. “You’ve always made it clear that I’m not welcome.”
“Why would you be?” Disapproval crossed the old woman’s face. “You’re the most impertinent, unladylike creature I’ve had the misfortune to know.”
Their exchanges always went like this. Even when Reiko was a child, her grandmother never had a kind word for her, only criticism, scolding, and slaps, often for no apparent reason. At first Reiko had wept because her feelings were hurt and tried harder to please her grandmother. When she discovered that nothing she did was good enough, she’d decided to hate the mean old woman. Not until she was ten did she learn why her grandmother didn’t like her. She’d overheard a conversation between her grandmother and a visitor. Standing outside the room where they chatted, Reiko had listened to her grandmother say, “That brat killed her mother! I wish she’d never been born! If she hadn’t, my daughter would still be alive.”
Reiko had realized that her grandmother blamed her for her mother’s death during childbirth. How unfair that she would be hated for something that wasn’t her fault! The experience was one reason she was passionate about justice. She couldn’t bear to see innocent people wrongly condemned, or those guilty of harming others escape without punishment. She’d exercised her passion while observing the trials her father conducted and discussing them with him afterward, and while helping Sano with his investigations. But it seemed she could never set things right with the person who’d taught her the pain of injustice.
“Won’t you ever forgive me?” she asked.
“Forgive you for what?” Her grandmother feigned puzzlement. The hostility in her eyes said she knew exactly what Reiko meant. “For running wild when you were young, as if you were a boy instead of a girl? Riding horses and sword-fighting in the streets?” She snorted. “I can’t imagine what your father was thinking.”
He’d never held her mother’s death against her, Reiko knew. Magistrate Ueda had given her, his only child, so much love that she’d never missed having a mother. He’d rewarded her intelligence, strength, and courage with the education usually reserved for sons. Of course, her unconventional upbringing had worsened her relationship with her grandmother.
“That was a long time ago,” Reiko said.
“Oh, well, then. Should I forgive you for defying me when I tried to arrange a match for you?”
When Reiko had reached a marriageable age, her grandmother had obtained proposals from rich, important men. Reiko had refused them. Not only had she thought them too old, unattractive, and stuffy; she’d dreaded being trapped in the circumscribed existence of married women of her class. She’d held out until her father had insisted she attend the miai where she’d met Sano. She’d accepted Sano because he was young and handsome, and she’d heard of his exciting exploits. She’d gambled that he would be less conventional and more amenable to letting her do as she pleased than her other suitors, and she’d won.
“My husband is the shogun’s chamberlain,” Reiko said. “You couldn’t have asked for anyone higher than that.”
“I couldn’t have asked for anyone who gets in more trouble,” her grandmother retorted. Little that happened in the regime escaped her; she had sons, grandsons, and other relatives in high places, whom she badgered into telling her everything.
“We have two beautiful children,” Reiko said, because she hadn’t quite lost the habit of trying to show herself to her grandmother in a positive light. And another on the way.
“A pity, the way you’re raising them,” the old woman grumbled. “You’re too easy on them. I worry that they’ll go bad.”
Another reason that Reiko didn’t come more often was that her grandmother treated Masahiro and Akiko the same way she treated Reiko. Her temper ready to boil over, Reiko changed the subject. “Why are you still living in this tent, Grandmother?”
“Where else would I live?”
“I invited you to come and stay with me.” Although Reiko’s house was crowded, she could fit in one more person.
Her grandmother huffed. “I’m too old-fashioned for your modern home.” That was a dig at Reiko’s habit of leaving domesticity behind to do detective work for Sano. Her grandmother didn’t approve of women who meddled in men’s business. “I’d rather stay here. This is my home. Besides, who will keep an eye on things if I leave?”
Reiko watched the snow sift from the sky. She was freezing. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, all right.”
The tent was crammed with lacquer chests and iron trunks. Grandmother seated herself on a futon in the center. Reiko knelt on the tatami that covered the earth. A brazier filled the tent with smoky heat. While her grandmother made tea, Reiko noticed a pile of unfurled scrolls covered with black calligraphy and red government seals, and a portable writing desk, its open lid revealing papers scribbled with notes.
“What is that?” Reiko asked.
Her grandmother slammed the desk shut and pushed the scrolls behind a trunk. “Just some things I’m doing for your uncles.”
Reiko’s uncles worked for the government. “It seems I’m not the only woman in our family who meddles in men’s business,” Reiko murmured.
“What did you say?” her grandmother said sharply.
“Nothing.” Reiko couldn’t afford to antagonize the old woman any further.
“What’s the real reason you came?” She handed Reiko a bowl of tea. “Did you want to see if I was still alive? Well, too bad for you.”
Reiko sipped tea, warmed her hands, and braced herself for another fight. “I need an introduction to the wife
