man who’d been trying to outrun an avalanche and failed-woeful yet relieved to give up running. “But I didn’t kill her.”
“If you think we’re stupid enough to believe that, then you’re the one who’s stupid,” Marume jeered. “What happened? Was she too strict? Did she whip you for ruining a batch of incense? Or wasn’t she satisfied with your lovemaking? Did you get angry and poison her?”
“No! I didn’t poison her!” Panic filled Korin’s blackened eyes.
“You knew she was poisoned, didn’t you?” Sano accused. “You just said you chose the incense for the game. You put the poison in it. And you left her and her pupils to burn it and die.”
“That’s not what happened!”
Sano realized that his instincts were telling him to believe Korin even though he’d had at least the means to commit the murder. “Then tell me what did happen.”
Korin swiveled his head from side to side, vacillating between the benefits of telling the truth and the danger of lying. Marume made a sudden move, as if to grab him. Korin flinched, then said, “I did go home, late that night. There was a lantern still lit in the parlor. And the house was full of incense smoke. That was strange-the game should have been over hours ago. So I went into the parlor, and I saw-”
A shudder passed through him. “Madam Usugumo was lying on the floor with two ladies. They’d thrown up and soiled themselves. The incense bowl had fallen out of her hand. The ash was still smoking. I called to her. She didn’t answer. At first I thought they’d all fainted. But their eyes were open. I shook Madam Usugumo and asked what had happened. But she didn’t move. She was dead. So were the two ladies.” His eyes brimmed with recollected horror. He swallowed, his throat convulsing.
“What did you do then?” Sano prompted.
Korin breathed hard. “I packed up my things and some incense samples, and I ran.”
“Why didn’t you report their deaths to the headman?” Sano asked. “Or fetch the police?”
“I was scared, all right? I thought I would be blamed.” Korin explained, “I’ve been in trouble with the law. There are a few policemen who’d love to arrest me for murder and see my head stuck on a post by the Nihonbashi Bridge.”
That was a credible reason. Sano realized something else: If Korin really had found the women dead, and if he’d reported it immediately, before the earthquake, the murders would have been the police’s problem. Sano resisted the temptation to pin them on Korin. He must discover the truth about the murders, no matter how inconvenient the search or dangerous the consequences. But Korin didn’t need to know that.
“You’re coming with us.” Sano started to rise. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Korin goggled at Sano. “Why?”
“To get an executioner to put you to death. Because I’ve had enough of your lies.”
“But I’m not lying!” Korin cried as Marume grabbed his arm. “I told you the truth, I swear!”
“I don’t believe you.” Sano sensed that Korin had told the truth but not all of it.
“What about my trial?” Korin tried to jerk free of Marume. “Don’t I get one? Shouldn’t a magistrate decide whether I’m guilty?”
“Things are different since the earthquake,” Marume said. “The Courts of Justice are closed. There’ll be enough delayed trials to fill them for a year after they reopen. So we’ll cross your name off the list tonight. And when you’re dead, that’ll be one fewer scumbag taking up space in jail.”
“But I’m innocent!” Korin sobbed as he struggled. “I would never have hurt Usugumo or her pupils. I depended on them for my livelihood. You’ve got the wrong man!”
Marume’s deliberate cruelty disturbed Sano, but he let Marume drag Korin from the tent and followed them. Korin kicked and screamed while other prisoners peeked out of their tents. Sano began to wonder if Korin would force him to give up his bluff.
“I can tell you who killed Madam Usugumo, if you’ll just stop!” Korin shouted.
“He’s trying to trick us,” Marume said to Sano. “Don’t listen.”
Sano raised his hand.
Marume reluctantly stopped. He lifted Korin and plunked him on his feet. “Talk.”
Korin shivered from cold and terror. His wounded mouth puffed out white vapors of breath. “It was one of Madam Usugumo’s other pupils. Minister Ogyu or Priest Ryuko.”
A chord of dismay rang in Sano. “How do you know?”
“It had to be.” Korin regained his sly smile, although his eyes glinted with desperation. “She knew secrets that they didn’t want anybody to know. They were paying her not to tell.”
“How did she know these secrets?” Sano said, skeptical. Blackmail seemed the kind of story that a character like Korin would dream up.
“Ogyu and Ryuko told her during their lessons,” Korin said.
“You’re not making sense,” Marume said. “If they didn’t want anybody to know, then why would they have told her?”
“They didn’t mean to,” Korin said hastily. “She had a special incense blend she used during private games with them. When they breathed the smoke, it made them talk.”
“That’s pretty far-fetched.” But Sano’s friend Dr. Ito had told him about potions that crumbled inhibitions and loosened tongues. “Were you at these games?”
“Not in the same room. She sent me out during them,” Korin said. “But I was curious, so I spied through the window. They weren’t like regular incense games. Nobody was guessing the types of incense or writing them down. She asked questions, and Ryuko and Ogyu answered.”
It sounded as if Madam Usugumo had perverted the art of incense for her own nefarious purposes. Again, Sano sensed that Korin was telling the truth, but he resisted belief. “Supposing it’s true, what did they confess?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.” Seeing Sano frown, Korin said, “But I saw the money they paid her after those rituals. It was a lot more than she usually charged. And you know what else?” His split lips grinned triumphantly. “They both stopped taking lessons, but they kept on paying. Doesn’t that sound like blackmail?”
The bell at Zojo Temple tolled the hour of the boar. Hirata heard it while eating a late dinner at home, which was a storehouse once used for keeping money and other valuables. Roughly half of the mansion, barracks, and outbuildings of his estate inside Edo Castle had burned to the ground during the earthquake. The portions still standing were too damaged for habitation. While his detectives and servants camped in tents on the grounds, Hirata, Midori, and their three children had moved into the storehouse. Its sturdy structure had withstood the earthquake; its tile roof and plaster-coated walls had protected it from the fire. Hirata had cut windows to let in sunshine and fresh air, but the interior was damp, smoky from the charcoal brazier, and crowded with his family and their possessions. The bell’s tolling was loud, clear, and ominous in the absence of buildings to absorb or deflect the sound. Hirata set his soup bowl on the table at which he and Midori sat with quilts draped over them to keep them warm.
“I have to go.”
“Now?” Midori whispered, so as not to wake their children-nine-year-old Taeko, six-year-old Tatsuo, and the baby Tadanobu-who were asleep in beds laid on stacked trunks. “Why must you go out this late?”
Hirata donned his coat and fastened his swords at his waist. Outside, Tahara’s cheerful voice called, “Hirata- san, are you ready?”
Midori spoke with annoyance. “Oh. Of course. It’s your friends again.”
A blast of icy wind ushered Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi into the storehouse. Tahara smiled and bowed to Midori. “Good evening. How lovely to see you.”
Her plump, pretty face froze into a polite mask. Hirata knew she didn’t like Tahara’s mocking gallantry. Kitano’s scars and Deguchi’s eerie silence made her nervous. Nor did she like the fact that Hirata allowed them free access to her home. She didn’t know it was because if he tried to keep them out, they might force their way in and hurt someone. He’d never told her about their mystical powers or the society. He feared that if he broke his vow of secrecy, the men would kill her and the children.
“Let’s go,” Hirata said, stepping into his shoes by the door.
“In a hurry, are you?” Kitano said. “Your attitude has changed.”
