arrived home. Though groggy and disoriented when roused, Hirata had insisted he was fine. After relaying what he’d learned from Lady Ichiteru, he hadn’t said a word, and tried to avoid Sano’s gaze. Sano pitied Hirata; the concubine’s news had been a bad shock, and he probably blamed himself for the evidence that had forced their hand.
“Everything will be all right,” Sano said, as much to reassure himself as Hirata.
Upon entering Lady Keisho-in’s chamber, Sano and Hirata found the shogun’s mother and her priest settled on cushions in the lantern-lit parlor. They wore matching purple satin dressing gowns stamped with gold chrysanthemums. Both color and flower were normally reserved for the use of the imperial family. The empress and emperor of Japan, Sano thought, recalling what Lady Ichiteru had said about the couple’s ambitions. A quilt covered their legs and the square frame of a charcoal brazier. Around them were spread dishes of soup, pickles, vegetables, quail eggs, fried prawns, dried fruit, and a whole steamed fish, a sake decanter, and a tea urn. Lady Keisho-in was munching a prawn. Ryuko had just dealt out a game of cards. He set down the pack as Sano and Hirata knelt and bowed, his eyes wary.
Licking her greasy fingers, Lady Keisho-in said, “How nice to see you again, Sosakan Sano. And your assistant, too.” She batted eyes at Hirata, who stared at the floor. “May I offer you some refreshment?”
“Thank you, but we’ve already eaten,” Sano lied politely. The odors of fish and garlic sickened him; he could not have swallowed food.
“A drink, then?”
“I don’t think the sosakan-sama is here on a social visit, my lady,” Ryuko said. He turned to Sano. “What can we do for you?”
Although Sano had met Ryuko during religious ceremonies, they’d never done more than exchange greetings, but he knew the priest’s reputation. The cozy atmosphere confirmed the rumors about his intimate relationship with Keisho-in. Meeting Ryuko’s shrewd gaze, Sano understood that he was the motivating intelligence behind her power. The discovery didn’t cheer Sano. His main argument in favor of Lady Keisho-in’s innocence was her good- natured stupidity. However, with Ryuko as a confederate, she wouldn’t have to be evil or smart to commit murder.
“Please forgive the intrusion, Honorable Lady, but I must speak to you about Harume.”
“Haven’t we already done that?” Lady Keisho-in frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what more I can say.”
She looked to Ryuko for help, but he was gazing at the diary in Sano’s hand. An unnatural stillness of expression masked whatever he thought or felt.
“Some matters have recently come to my attention,” Sano said. With the sense of crossing a line between safe ground and battlefield, he said, “What was your relationship with Harume?”
Shrugging, Keisho-in stuffed a radish pickle into her mouth. “I liked her very much.”
“You were friends, then?” Sano asked.
“Why, yes, of course.”
“More than friends?”
“Just what exactly are you asking?” Priest Ryuko interjected.
Ignoring him, Sano said, “This is Harume’s diary.” He untied the binding cord and read the hidden words of erotic love, emphasizing the final passage:
'But alas! Your rank and fame endanger us.
We can never walk together in daylight.
Yet love is eternal; you are mine forever, as I am yours,
In spirit, though not in marriage.”
“Did Harume write that to you, Lady Keisho-in?” Sano asked.
Keisho-in’s mouth fell open, revealing an ugly mush of chewed food. “Impossible!”
“The reference to rank and fame fits you,” Sano said.
“But the passage doesn’t mention Lady Keisho-in by name,” Ryuko cut in smoothly. “Did Harume say anywhere in the diary that they were lovers?”
“No,” Sano admitted.
“Then she must have been writing about someone else.” Ryuko’s voice remained suavely calm, but he withdrew his legs from beneath the quilt, as if he was too warm.
“Shortly before Harume died,” Sano said, “she begged her father to remove her from Edo Castle. She said she was afraid of someone. Was it you, Lady Keisho-in?”
“Preposterous!” Keisho-in chewed a rice ball angrily. Was her response genuine, or an act? “I showed Harume nothing but kindness and affection.”
“My lady doesn’t like what you’re implying, sosakan-sama.” A warning note edged Ryuko’s voice. “If you have any sense, you will leave now, before she decides to express her displeasure through official channels.”
The threat was no less of a blow for being expected. Had Sano been interviewing just Lady Keisho-in, he might have subtly ascertained her innocence or extracted a confession without open confrontation. But Ryuko was forcing the issue. He would never let his patroness admit to murder, because he would share her punishment. He would protect his own skin by attacking Sano… especially if he’d conspired to murder the shogun’s unborn heir. Inwardly Sano cursed his truth-seeking nature, which doomed him to build his own funeral pyre. But he couldn’t change the demands of duty and honor. Resigned, he took out the letter.
“Tell me if you recognize this, Lady Keisho-in,” Sano said, and read:
“ ‘You do not love me. Much as I try to believe otherwise, I cannot blind myself to the truth any longer.’ ”
As he voiced the pained recriminations, jealous passion, and pleas for Harume’s love, Sano periodically checked his audience’s reaction. Keisho-in’s eyes grew wider and wider, her face haggard with shock. Ryuko’s expression turned from incredulity to dismay. They looked the picture of criminals caught in the act. Sano felt little satisfaction. A conviction of Lady Keisho-in would be hard to get from a judicial system controlled by her son; the price of trying could be Sano’s life.
‘What I really want is to see you suffer as I do. I could stab you and watch the blood run out. I could poison you and delight in your agony. As you plead for mercy, I will only laugh and say: “This is how it feels!”
‘If you will not love me, I will kill you!’ ”
Silence. Lady Keisho-in and Priest Ryuko sat paralyzed. The charcoal fumes, the food odors, and the room’s stifling heat enclosed Sano, Hirata, and the two conspirators in a nauseating pall.
Then Keisho-in began to cough, clutching her throat. “Help!” she gasped out.
Ryuko pounded her back. “Water!” he commanded. “She’s choking on her food!”
Hirata leapt up. From a ceramic jar he poured water into a cup for the priest, who held it to Keisho-in’s lips. “Drink, my lady,” Ryuko urged.
Her face reddened; her eyes teared as she retched and wheezed. She gulped the water, drooling it onto her robe.
Ryuko glared at Sano. “Look what you’ve done.”
Remaining in his place, Sano recalled how Keisho-in had swooned upon hearing that Harume had been murdered. Had that been an act intended to hide the fact that she already knew? Was this a clever diversion, or true distress?
Keisho-in lay back on the cushions, inhaling and exhaling with exaggerated relief. Ryuko fanned her face. Sano said, “You wrote this letter to Harume. You threatened to kill her.”
“No, no.” Lady Keisho-in flapped her hands in weak protest.
“Where did you get that?” Priest Ryuko demanded. “Let me see it.”
Sano held the letter up, safely out of the priest’s reach-he didn’t want the evidence to wind up in the charcoal brazier. “From Harume’s room,” he said.
The couple exclaimed simultaneously, “That cannot be!” Ryuko’s face was ashen, his eyes filled with horror. Sitting up, Lady Keisho-in said, “I wrote that letter; yes, I admit it. But not to Harume. It was written to my dearest love, who is right here!” Feebly she clutched Ryuko’s arm.
It was a crafty explanation, which Keisho-in’s choking spell had no doubt given her time to concoct. Ryuko recovered quickly, too. “My lady is telling the truth,” he said. “Whenever she feels that I’m not attentive enough, she gets angry and expresses her complaints in letters. Sometimes she threatens to kill me, though she doesn’t really mean it. I received that letter some months ago. As usual, we made up, and I returned it to her.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Lady Keisho-in said.
