Kneel!”
With a look that disdained Yanagisawa and the entire samurai class as crude louts, Ichijo knelt.
“Now tell me about Left Minister Konoe,” Yanagisawa said.
A brief pause conveyed Ichijo’s opinion that the matter was none of Yanagisawa’s business and he would comply only because of the threat of punishment. 'Konoe-san was wise, diligent, and respectable. A brilliant administrator.”
Chamberlain Yanagisawa perceived an artificial note in Ichijo’s voice. “You didn’t like him, then.”
“We were colleagues, and cousins.” A faint twitch of the right minister’s aristocratic mouth rebuked Yanagisawa for questioning his family affection-the Konoe, too, belonged to the Fujiwara clan. The Imperial Court was a world united against outsiders, but Yanagisawa had a special weapon with which to penetrate it: the metsuke reports he’d hidden from Sano and studied during the journey to Miyako.
“I understand that the post of imperial prime minister is vacant,” he said.
“Yes, that is correct.” A subtle stiffening of Ichijo’s posture indicated that he guessed where this was leading. “The last incumbent of that office died this spring.”
The prime minister was the highest court official. He acted as chief adviser to the emperor, controlled communications between the sovereign and the five thousand palace residents, and governed the noble class. Power over such a tiny kingdom seemed trivial to Yanagisawa, but he knew it mattered to the nobles, who had nothing else to aspire to because they were barred from engaging in trade or holding real government posts.
“When did the emperor plan to name a new prime minister?” Yanagisawa asked, though he already knew the answer.
“At the end of this month.”
“Who were the leading candidates?”
Ichijo hesitated, then said, “Really, Honorable Chamberlain, I fail to sec why court appointments should concern you.”
“Answer the question.”
“Left Minister Konoe and myself were in line to be the next prime minister,” Ichijo conceded.
“And which of you was more likely to win the honor?” Yanagisawa said.
“As left minister and head of the senior branch of our clan, my cousin Konoe-san outranked me.” Ichijo’s features had gone rigid. “His Majesty the Emperor would have taken that into consideration, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Yanagisawa agreed, “but you minded, nonetheless?”
Ichijo glared at him.
Yanagisawa pressed on: “You were superior to Konoe in age, experience, and character.” Ichijo’s reputation was free of scandal, his career a dull testament to duty. “You deserved to be prime minister, and Konoe considered you a rival. I daresay you didn’t appreciate the methods he used against you.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
The sharp, black edges of Ichijo’s teeth flashed between lips that barely moved; both menace and fear laced his quiet monotone. An enthusiast of the No theater, Yanagisawa pictured himself and Ichijo as two actors on stage, moving toward a dramatic climax. Beyond the balcony overlooking the hillside, Obon gongs and birds’ cries mimicked the music and chorus of No drama. As afternoon slipped into evening, a shaft of coppery sunlight angled through the window, illuminating Ichijo’s kneeling figure.
“Konoe circulated rumors among the most influential members of the court,” Yanagisawa said. “He claimed that you were getting senile; you’d lost control of your bladder and bowels, and he’d seen you wandering about the city, unable to find your way home. According to Konoe, you were in no shape to be prime minister, regardless of your excellent record.”
Indignation burned red slashes across Ichijo’s high cheekbones. “I suppose your spies told you what Konoe said. His accusations were nothing but vicious, self-serving slander.”
The papers Yanagisawa had taken from Konoe’s office had included plans to discredit Ichijo, and copies of reports sent to high court nobles. “Now that Konoe is dead, who will be the next prime minister?”
“The selection process has begun over again, and the outcome is uncertain.” Ichijo had regained his composure, and he spoke with chill asperity.
“But who is now the highest court official? Who’s in the best position to ingratiate himself with the emperor?”
Ichijo greeted the accusing questions with a thin smile. “In the ancient art of statesmanship, it is unnecessary to belabor the obvious.” His tone implied that only a samurai would commit such a sin. “However, I shall answer you. Yes, I shall probably be appointed prime minister.”
“Did you murder Konoe to win the promotion?” Yanagisawa demanded, bristling at Ichijo’s unspoken insult.
“Your accusation is ridiculous and unfounded,” Ichijo said disdainfully, “and since you already think you know so much, you don’t need me to answer your questions. It is obvious that nothing I say will change your twisted interpretation of the facts, so why stage this farce?”
While Yanagisawa had considered Ichijo the prime murder suspect from the start, he’d needed to confirm his judgment by meeting Ichijo. He hadn’t really expected a confession, although it would have helped. Ichijo’s intelligence and forceful character reaffirmed his decision to hide from Sano the facts about the right minister. Yanagisawa could believe that Ichijo’s talents included the power of kiai. Ichijo and Konoe had been political enemies, and Konoe’s death had benefited Ichijo, but other circumstances also implied his guilt.
Yanagisawa said, “The Imperial Court allowed days to pass before notifying the shoshidai of Left Minister Konoe’s death. I understand that it was your decision to delay news of the murder.”
“It was my decision for the court to conduct an inquiry and document the incident before reporting the death.”
“Fancy language for attempted deception,” Yanagisawa remarked. “Where were you when Left Minister Konoe died?”
“I was in the tea ceremony cottage, where I often go in the evenings,” Ichijo said, his manner calm. “My daughter Lady Asagao was with me.” He added, “She is the emperor’s consort.”
Chamberlain Yanagisawa hid his glee at catching Ichijo in an outright lie. According to Yoriki Hoshina’s report, a young noble and a lady-in-waiting had used the tiny, one-room cottage for a lover’s tryst that night. Ichijo and his daughter couldn’t have been there at the same time. The right minister knew Lady Asagao was a suspect, and he clearly intended to secure an alibi from someone he could trust to lie for him, and to protect his connection with the emperor.
“If you were in the tea cottage, then you must have heard the scream, and the uproar after Left Minister Konoe’s death,” Yanagisawa said, “but you didn’t go to the Pond Garden to see what was happening, although Lady Asagao did. When the palace guards went to report the death to you, they couldn’t find you anywhere.” These were more facts that Yoriki Hoshina had withheld from Sano. “Why didn’t you appear and take charge?”
“I admit I was negligent.” Ichijo sidestepped the question with commendable agility, then said, “If you are so sure I am a murderer, why do you risk antagonizing me?” Black teeth gleamed in his smile. “Are you not afraid I will kill you before you can summon your guards?”
Chuckling, Yanagisawa paced in a narrowing spiral around Ichijo. “Risks are an essential part of life.” He refused to betray that he did indeed fear Ichijo. 'Besides, you surely realize that my associates know where I am and with whom, as well as all the facts about you. You couldn’t get away with killing me.”
“Well, then,” Ichijo said, rising stiffly and staring down Yanagisawa, “I suppose you will arrest me for the murder.”
“Oh, no. You’re quite free to go.” Yanagisawa clapped his hands; two guards entered the room. He ordered, “Take the right minister back to the palace.”
Ichijo stared in astonishment. “But… if you’re not arresting me, then why abduct me?” Distrust and incredulity mingled in his voice. “Why accuse me, then release me?”
Chamberlain Yanagisawa merely smiled, bowed, and said, “A thousand thanks for your company, Honorable Right Minister.” He’d gotten what he needed from Ichijo: the chance to assess the prime suspect, and an idea for the next step in his scheme to solve the case, trap the killer, and destroy Sano.
He sensed Ichijo’s desire to escape, but the right minister remained immobile, his calculating gaze fixed on Yanagisawa. “I presume the sosakan-sama isn’t aware you’re in Miyako because you don’t want him to know, and
