Yugao responded with a sidelong glance that deplored Reiko for treating her like an imbecile. “I know that. Everybody does.”
“But sometimes there are circumstances that justify killing,” Reiko said, although she had difficulty imagining what could justify these murders. “If that’s true in your case, you should tell me. Then I can tell the magistrate, and he’ll spare your life. It’s in your interest to cooperate with me.”
Sardonic laughter pealed from Yugao. “I’ve heard that story before,” she said as she faced Reiko. “I’ve been in Edo Jail for nine days. I listened to the jailers torturing other prisoners. They always said, ‘Tell us what we want to know, and we’ll set you free.’ Some of the poor, stupid idiots believed it and spilled their guts. Then later, I heard the jailers talking and laughing about how they’d been executed.”
Yugao tossed her head; the long, oily strands of her hair whipped at Reiko. “Well, I won’t fall for your lies. I know that I’ll be executed whatever I say.”
“I’m not lying,” Reiko said urgently. “If you had a good reason for killing your family-or if you help me determine that you didn’t do it-you will be set free. I promise.”
The disdain on Yugao’s face said how much she thought a promise from Reiko was worth. Jail must have taught Yugao harsh lessons she wouldn’t be coaxed into forgetting. Still, Reiko persisted: “What have you got to lose by trusting me?”
Yugao only shut her mouth tight and hardened her obstinate gaze. Reiko had often prided herself on her ability to draw information from people, but Yugao wore resistance like the shell of a turtle, hoarding her secrets underneath it. She vexed yet intrigued Reiko.
Switching tactics, Reiko said, “I’m curious about the night of the murders. Were you alone in the house with your family?”
No reply came from Yugao, except a frown as she tried to figure out where Reiko’s conversation was going.
“Or was there someone else?” Reiko said. When Yugao still didn’t answer, Reiko said, “Did someone else come and stab your family to death?”
“I’m sick of all these questions,” Yugao muttered.
“Are you trying to protect whoever it was by taking the blame yourself?” Reiko said. “What really happened that night?”
“What do you care? Why do you keep pestering me?”
Reiko began to explain again, just in case she hadn’t made her purpose clear at first: “The magistrate-”
“Oh, yes,” Yugao interrupted with a snort. “The magistrate set you on me. And of course you obliged him, because you’re a good little daughter who always does whatever Papa says.”
Her insulting tone seemed an overreaction to a few simple questions. “I just want to find out the truth about a terrible crime,” Reiko said, controlling her temper. “I want to make sure the wrong person isn’t punished.”
“Oh. I see.” Scorn curled Yugao’s lip. “You’re a spoiled rich lady who’s bored with her life. You entertain yourself by poking your nose in other people’s business.”
“That’s not so,” Reiko said, stung by this accusation, not the least because there was a smidgen of truth to it. “I’m trying to see that justice is served.”
“How noble you are,” Yugao mocked. “I suppose it amuses you to toy with a hinin. Don’t you have anything better to do, you silly, worthless little goose?”
“Don’t you speak to me that way! Show some respect!” Reiko ordered, now hot with fury. That an outcast dared to insult her, the wife of the chamberlain! “I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me?” Yugao’s voice rose with incredulity. “Don’t make me laugh. What you really want is for me to tell you something that makes me look guilty. Then the magistrate can sleep easy after he sentences me to death.” A snide grimace twisted her lips. “Well, too bad for him. I refuse to go along with you.”
Reiko couldn’t deny that she was honor-bound to follow her investigation either way it went, and any incriminating information Yugao gave would be used against her. In that case, Magistrate Ueda would condemn her with a clear conscience. Yugao might be deranged, but her logic was sound.
“Whether you believe me or not, I’m your last chance to save your life,” Reiko said. “If you’re as smart as you think you are, you’ll tell me about the night your family was murdered.”
“Oh, quit bothering me,” Yugao snapped. “Go away.”
“Not until you answer my questions.” Reiko advanced on Yugao. “What really happened?”
Yugao took a few paces backward. “Why don’t you just go home and write poetry or arrange flowers like the rest of your kind?”
“Why did your parents and sister die?” Reiko said.
She backed Yugao against the wall. Their antagonism heated the room as they stared at each other. Yugao’s mouth worked while her eyes gleamed with feral mischief. She spat straight into Reiko’s face.
Reiko cried out as the gob of saliva hit her cheek. Recoiling from Yugao, she stumbled backward across the room. She wiped her hand across the warm wetness that slithered down her skin. It was as much a defilement as an insult. Such shock, outrage, and disgust filled her that she could only stammer and gasp. Yugao burst into jeering laughter.
“That’ll teach you to pester me,” she said.
Reiko experienced an overwhelming urge to draw the dagger from under her sleeve and teach Yugao a lesson of her own. Afraid she would kill the woman if they remained together a moment longer, Reiko stormed out the door.
Yugao’s taunting voice followed her down the passage: “Yes, run away! Don’t ever come near me again!”
The sun descended over the wooded hills west of Edo. Its fading light gilded the tile rooftops spread across the plain below the castle, the river that curved around the city, and the pagodas in the temple district. Wisps of black smoke rose from points scattered across the panorama. In the Nihonbashi merchant quarter, fire brigades comprised of men dressed in leather capes and helmets and equipped with axes raced through the narrow, winding streets on their way to fight blazes set by outlaws as well as caused by common accidents. Shopkeepers were busy dismantling their roadside displays of merchandise and taking them indoors. They closed and locked the shutters that covered their storefronts. Housewives leaned from balconies, calling their children inside. Laborers and craftsmen hurried home. At the gates between neighborhoods, sentries stood armed with clubs and spears. In the wake of the political upheaval, the city shut down early, anticipating the trouble that night often brought.
Three samurai, dressed in plain, drab cotton garments and wicker hats, rode together on horseback through the rapidly emptying quarter. At a distance trailed a peasant pushing a wooden barrow used to transport night soil from the city to the fields. Two more mounted samurai followed the night soil collector. From his position between Detectives Arai and Inoue in the lead, Hirata glanced over his shoulder to make sure the barrow was still in sight. It contained Chief Ejima’s body, which he’d smuggled out of Edo Castle, hidden under a false bottom covered by a load of feces and urine from the castle’s privies. The guards at the checkpoints hadn’t bothered to inspect the malodorous barrow for stolen treasure. Nor had they recognized Detective Ogata, disguised as a night soil collector, who pushed the barrow. The two samurai behind it were also Hirata’s detectives, assigned to watch for spies following their party. They’d all left the castle separately, then joined up in town. Such were the precautions necessary for a clandestine trip to Edo Morgue.
Hirata shifted in his saddle, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, as his horse’s every footfall jarred him. A part of his mind whispered that he shouldn’t have taken on this investigation. He gripped the reins and tried to concentrate on his duty to Sano, but other problems besides pain troubled him. Only six months ago he’d moved boldly through the world, but the world was a dangerous place for a cripple.
Now he and his party entered Kodemmacho, the slum that housed Edo Jail and the morgue within it. Rundown shacks lined streets deserted except for a few wandering beggars and orphans. Hirata heard squabbling voices inside the shacks; they fell silent as his party passed, then resumed. Frightened faces peered at him from doorways. The late afternoon seemed darker here, the dusk hastening. The odors of cesspits, greasy fried fish, and garbage tainted the air.
Hirata’s instincts suddenly tingled, warning him of a threat. Up the street, a band of six samurai rounded a corner, their dirty, worn-out clothes and unshaven faces marking them as ronin. They walked with stealthy intent, like a pack of wolves on the prowl. As they spied Hirata’s party, their stride quickened to a run toward him. Steel rasped as they drew their swords. Hirata realized that they must be fugitive, low-level troops from Yanagisawa’s
