influence over Keisho-in, and hers over the shogun, both of which had strengthened despite his continued failure to beget an heir.
“But all my efforts have been fruitless.” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s head lolled as the masseur kneaded his shoulders. “Perhaps the concubines are all as inadequate as my wife, or my ancestors’ sins were too great for me to, ahh, overcome.”
Sano privately thought that the trouble was neither the women nor ancestral misdeeds, but Tsunayoshi’s preference for manly love. He kept a harem of young peasant boys, samurai, priests, and actors with whom he spent much of his leisure time. Was he even capable of impregnating the concubines? However, since it wasn’t Sano’s place to contradict his lord, he remained silent, as did Yanagisawa.
A cold touch of foreboding disturbed Sano as he saw how Yanagisawa stood to gain by the shogun’s lack of a successor. Without one, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi couldn’t retire; control of the bakufu couldn’t pass from the chamberlain to a new regime. Had Yanagisawa ordered Lady Harume’s murder to extend the duration of his supremacy? Was this the reason for whatever scheme he was now deploying? Remembering the Bundori Murder case, in which Yanagisawa had been a suspect, Sano dreaded a repeat of the scenario that had almost cost him his life and honor. How he longed to believe Yanagisawa had reformed!
“My past troubles with begetting an heir can be attributed to fate,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi whined. “But the poisoning of Lady Harume was an act of human evil-an intolerable outrage! She was young, strong, and healthy; I had great hopes that she would succeed where my other women had, ahh, let me down. Sosakan Sano, you must catch her murderer quickly and deliver him to justice.”
“Yes, you must,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa said. “Rumors of conspiracies are circulating around the castle. There will be serious trouble if the murder case isn’t resolved soon.”
Here it comes, thought Sano, wincing inwardly as he prepared to combat another of Yanagisawa’s attempts to make him look incompetent. Then the chamberlain turned to him and said, “My suggestion is to trace the route of the ink jar from its origin to Lady Harume, and determine when and where the poison was introduced.”
This logical strategy had already occurred to Sano, who watched his enemy in growing amazement as Yanagisawa continued, “If you need help, I shall be glad to make my staff available to you.”
Even more suspicious, Sano replied, “Thank you, Honorable Chamberlain. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
Yanagisawa rose and bowed his farewells to the shogun, then to Sano and Hirata, who also took their leave. “Spare no effort or expense in catching Lady Harume’s murderer,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi commanded between grunts and gasps as the masseur pummeled his chest. “I am counting on you to save me and my regime from destruction!”
Outside the palace, Hirata said, “Why is Chamberlain Yanagisawa acting so nice? He must be up to something. You’re not going to accept his help, are you?”
Sano winced at his blunt-spoken retainer’s mention of a sensitive issue. Caution and wishful thinking pulled him in opposite directions. He knew Yanagisawa, and didn’t trust him. Yet how much easier his work would be with the chamberlain’s cooperation!
“Maybe he’s decided to call a truce,” Sano said as they walked through the garden.
“Sumimasen-excuse me, but I can’t believe that!”
Caution won out. Sano said, “Nor can I. I’ll send out spies to check up on him. Now, in the interest of saving time, we’d better split up to interview Lieutenant Kushida and Lady Ichiteru. Which one do you want?”
Hirata’s expression turned pensive. “My great-grandfather and Kushida’s fought in the Battle of Sekigahara together. Our families still visit on New Year’s Day. I’m not close to Kushida-he’s fourteen years older than I am-but I’ve known him as long as I can remember.”
“Then you’d better take Lady Ichiteru,” Sano said, “so your lack of objectivity won’t affect the investigation.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Hirata nodded.
“Is everything all right?” Sano asked.
“Yes, of course, ' Hirata said quickly. “I’ll speak to Lady Ichiteru right away.”
Sano dismissed his misgivings. Hirata had never let him down before. “One of Ichiteru’s attendants is a girl named Midori,” Sano said. “I know her from my first murder case.”
Midori, a daughter of Lord Niu of Satsuma Province, had helped Sano identify her sister’s killer, an act that had resulted in her banishment to a distant nunnery. Sano had used his influence to bring her back to Edo and secured her a post as an Edo Castle lady-in-waiting, a desirable situation for girls from prominent families. He hadn’t seen Midori again, but she’d sent a letter expressing the desire to repay his kindness.
After explaining this to Hirata, Sano said, “Be sure to talk to Midori, and tell her you’re working for me. Perhaps she can provide some useful information about affairs in the Large Interior.”
They separated, Hirata bound for the women’s quarters to see Lady Ichiteru and Midori, and Sano to locate Lieutenant Kushida, the palace guard who had threatened to kill Lady Harume.
9
Sano rode his horse through the narrow streets of the Nihonbashi merchant district, past commoners’ houses and open storefronts that sold sake, oil, pottery, soy sauce, and other products. Merchants haggled with customers. Laborers, craftsmen, and housewives thronged lanes patrolled by troops. Sano crossed a bridge that led over a willow-edged canal to a greengrocer’s shop, a stationer’s store, and several food stalls. Pedestrians called friendly greetings to him: by a not entirely surprising happenstance, his quest for Lieutenant Kushida had led him to his own home territory.
When he’d questioned the palace guard commander regarding Kushida’s whereabouts, the man had said, “Lieutenant Kushida has been reinstated to his post, but he doesn’t go back on duty until tomorrow. However, I’ve heard that since he was suspended, he’s been hanging around the Sano Martial Arts Academy.”
This was the school founded by Sano’s deceased father. Sano had once taught there and had planned to run it after his father’s retirement, but when he’d joined the police force, his father had turned the academy over to an apprentice. Yet Sano had never lost his love for the place where he’d learned the art of swordsmanship. His mother, who didn’t want to move to Edo Castle, still lived in quarters behind the school. Upon Sano’s promotion to the post of sosakan-sama, he’d spent some of his large stipend on improving the academy. Now, as he dismounted outside the long, low building, he proudly surveyed the results.
The leaky, sagging tile roof had been replaced, and the facade given a coat of fresh white plaster. A new, larger sign announced the academy’s name. The space had also expanded to fill two adjacent houses. Sano entered. Inside, rows of samurai dressed in white cotton uniforms wielded wooden practice swords, staffs, and spears in simulated combat. Shouts and stamps echoed in a thunderous cacophony, the background noise of Sano’s childhood. The familiar reek of sweat and hair oil permeated the air. However, the enrollment had increased from a handful of students to over three hundred, and the teaching staff from one to twenty.
“Sano-san! Welcome!” Toward Sano walked Aoki Koemon, once his childhood playmate and his father’s apprentice, now proprietor and chief sensei. He bowed, then shouted to the class: “Attention! Our patron is here!”
Combat ceased. In perfect silence, everyone bowed to Sano, who was embarrassed yet gratified. His own reputation had enhanced the academy’s status. Once only ronin and low-class retainers of minor clans had studied here. Now Tokugawa vassals and samurai from the great daimyo families came, hoping to curry favor with Sano and acquire his famous fighting skills in the classes he sometimes taught.
“Continue as you were,” Sano ordered, sad that his rank set him above the place of his childhood, yet pleased to honor his father’s spirit by sharing his success with the academy.
Activity and noise resumed. “What brings you here today?” said Koemon, a stocky, pleasant-faced man.
“I’m looking for Kushida Matsutatsu.”
Koemon pointed toward the back of the room, where a group of students was taking a lesson in naginatajutsu- the art of the spear- from a short, thin samurai. His bamboo practice weapon had a narrow, curved wooden blade padded with cotton. “That’s Kushida,” Koemon said. “He’s one of our best students, and often acts as
