metsuke. The mission could be nothing less than a revolt against the Tokugawa. This threat was the reason for the law that prevented daimyo from gathering troops and arms in Miyako-so they couldn’t seize the old capital as the first step toward taking over Japan. Horror and elation filled Reiko as she realized that the conspiracy must include many people besides the ones here, at least one of whom was likely to be involved in Sano’s murder.
A sudden, ominous silence in the room alerted her. Then the man with the cultured voice said, “There is someone else in the house.”
Reiko froze, aghast.
“How do you know?” Gorobei asked.
“I can feel it.”
“You’re just nervous,” said one of the guards. “It’s all in your imagination.”
“After the unfortunate incident that just occurred, I refuse to take any chances. Come. We shall check downstairs.”
Reiko darted into the adjacent room, hid behind a cabinet, and watched the men file past the door. First came a priest with a shaved head and athletic build, dressed in a saffron robe and carrying a spear. Then came three samurai, swords drawn, wearing the square Ibe crest on their robes: the guards. Gorobei, the gangster, and three more tough-looking peasants, all bearing stout clubs, and two shabbily attired samurai who appeared to be ronin, followed. Their grim expressions told Reiko that they would kill her if they caught her. Heart pounding in panic, she rushed onto the balcony. She pushed aside the bamboo blinds and looked outside.
The balcony overhung the side fence. Directly opposite stretched the balcony of the house next door. As Reiko climbed onto the rail, she heard the men moving about downstairs. She perched for a moment, then sprang with all her strength. She sailed through the air like a large, awkward bird and landed on the other balcony, taking the impact on her knees and forearms to protect her womb. Huddling there for a moment, she sobbed in relief. Then she rose and lowered herself over the rail to the ground and hurried in the direction of Nijo Manor.
She must tell Marume and Fukida what she’d seen in Lord Ibe’s house and convince them to do something about it.
19
Twilight had dissipated the worst heat of the day and dimmed the sky to misty gray when Reiko got back to Nijo Manor. She went to look for Detective Fukida, but neither he nor Sano’s other men were in their quarters. Her maids had vanished, too. Covered with sweat and grime, hair disheveled, and weary to the bone, Reiko shut herself in her room to wait for Fukida because she couldn’t go to the authorities by herself; they probably wouldn’t even give a woman an audience. She drank water and wiped her face with a damp cloth and thought about taking a bath, but it seemed like too much work. She lay down to rest, letting the mild breeze from the windows waft over her.
But sleep wouldn’t come, despite her exhaustion. In desolation, she realized she’d almost convinced herself that if she worked hard enough, Sano would return to her. She’d still believed he was out in the world somewhere, and if she demonstrated enough strength and courage, they would be reunited. But of course, avenging his murder wouldn’t bring him back. Grief wracked her body, and she wept.
The door opened. Through her tears, Reiko saw a man silhouetted in the light from the corridor. He had a samurai’s shaved crown and swords, and Sano’s dimensions. Reiko felt a spring of hope, then crushing disappointment as she recognized another illusion created by the same wishful thinking that had populated Miyako with men who resembled Sano. It was probably just a nosy guest.
“Go away,” Reiko called, sobbing harder.
The man said in Sano’s voice, “Reiko-san, it’s me.”
Shocked, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “No. It can’t be.” Then, as he knelt beside her, the light from the windows illuminated Sano’s worried face. Reiko laughed hysterically as disbelief and joy collided in her.
Sano gathered her in his arms. She wept and moaned, stroking his face and his chest, reveling in the miracle of his resurrection. Her efforts must have worked after all; she’d brought him back.
“I’m sorry,” Sano murmured into her hair. “I’m so sorry.” Then he said, “I was worried about you. Where have you been?”
Confusion halted Reiko’s catharsis. She drew back to look at Sano. “Where have I been?”
“I came back this afternoon and found everyone gone,” Sano said. “I’ve been out looking for you. Where were you?”
Now Reiko understood that there must be a rational explanation for Sano’s return. She wanted so badly to know what it was that her own activities seemed beside the point. “If you weren’t murdered, what really happened? Where have you been?”
“Before I tell you,” Sano said, “let me first say that I never meant to hurt you.” His expression somber, he explained that Aisu had been the killer’s victim, and he’d faked his own death to force Chamberlain Yanagisawa into the open.
That Sano had been around all along explained why Reiko had felt as if he were still alive, and Yanagisawa’s presence in Miyako clarified many things about the murder case. But Reiko’s joy turned to puzzlement. “Why did you let me believe you were dead?”
“I had to keep hidden, even from you, because there are so many spies, and I was afraid that the news might reach Yanagisawa. As things turned out, he knew already, but my plan still worked.” Sano described how he’d confronted the chamberlain and secured his cooperation.
Reiko knew she should be glad of the plan’s success, but she was too deeply hurt. “You let me suffer because you didn’t think I could keep a secret. How could you trust me so little?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Sano clasped Reiko to him, a pleading note in his voice. “But I couldn’t take the chance that someone might guess the truth from your behavior.”
“I could have acted the part of a grieving widow well enough,” Reiko retorted, furious now. “Have you any idea what you’ve put me through?”
“I can guess,” Sano said contritely, “and I beg you to forgive me.”
His touch suddenly seemed repugnant to Reiko, his apology spurious. She pounded him with her fists, shouting, “Forgive you? Never! What you did was terrible and cruel.”
Sano looked stricken, then sad. “I deserve every bit of your anger. Please believe that I am truly sorry.”
“That’s not good enough!”
Reiko jumped to her feet and bolted away. Sano chased her. He locked her in an unrelenting embrace. She struggled to break free, screaming, “Go away! Leave me alone!” Then her anger dissolved into weeping; he held her tight.
“Shh,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s all right.”
He eased her onto the floor, lying beside her. The warm pressure of his body ignited fierce desire in Reiko. She moaned, arching against him, and felt the hardness in his groin. Then they were tearing away garments, entwining in the dim bands of light from the windows. After the wild coupling that overwhelmed them both with pleasure, they lay still in a sweaty tangle of limbs and clothing. Bars of waning light striped their bodies; incense smoke drifted in on the cooling breeze.
Sano touched Reiko’s check. “Can you possibly forgive me?” he said softly.
Her body had already forgiven him; eventually, her heart would too. Basking in physical and spiritual well-being, Reiko murmured, “I never thought that love with a dead husband would be so good.”
They laughed at her joke, and she saw relief in Sano’s eyes. The joy of having him back was almost worth her ordeal.
There was a commotion outside, then a knock at the door. “Honorable Lady Reiko, are you in there?” called Fukida’s voice.
Rising, Sano donned his kimono and went to the door. He opened it a crack.
“Oh, good, you’re back, Sosakan-sama.” Despite the relief in his voice, Fukida looked frantic with worry. The guards and Reiko’s maids stood in an anxious group behind him. “I regret to say that I’ve failed in my duty to
