“Many years ago Councilman Sugita wanted to marry a certain lady, but her family married her off to Lord Mitsuyoshi’s father.” Kato used the tongs on his smoking tray to search through the metal box of hot coals and drop precisely the right size ember into his pipe. “But Councilman Sugita still loves the lady and bears a grudge against her husband. Might his grudge not have extended to Mitsuyoshi, the offspring of her marriage?”
This story sounded far-fetched. “Is there other evidence to say that Councilman Sugita killed Lord Mitsuyoshi?” Sano turned to Uemori. “Or any that Lord Dakuemon did?”
“It’s your duty to find evidence,” Uemori said with stern reproof.
That personal interests lurked behind the men’s guise of altruism became obvious to Sano. He knew that Sugita wanted a promotion to the Council of Elders, and had begun a campaign to oust Kato and take his place. What better way for Kato to defend himself than by incriminating Sugita in treasonous murder? Sano also knew that Uemori had a longstanding feud with Lord Dakuemon’s father, who constantly lobbied the shogun to expel him from the council. Uemori wouldn’t like Dakuemon to become the shogun’s heir, because his father would gain power to ruin Uemori. That the elders wanted to enlist Sano in their war against their enemies didn’t necessarily mean he should disregard their theories; yet he foresaw difficulties in determining whether Councilman Sugita or Lord Dakuemon were involved in the murder.
“You’re aware that His Excellency has forbidden me to investigate Lord Mituyoshi’s connections,” Sano said. Of course the elders knew: They’d been present when the shogun issued the order. “How am I to use the information you’ve given me?”
A smile shifted the baggy skin of Uemori’s face. “That is for you to decide.”
Ohgami nodded. He’d added more ash to his smoking tray, in a pattern of crisscrossed lines.
A rush of anger flashed through Sano as he comprehended the elders’ intentions toward him. They knew his tendency to place justice above duty. They expected him to defy the shogun’s order and pursue Councilman Sugita and Lord Dakuemon as suspects. Whether or not either man was guilty, the scandal would ruin the reputations of both. Whether or not Sano solved the case by investigating them, he would suffer harsh punishment for his disobedience. But the elders would manipulate him without caring what happened to him.
Stifling his resentment, Sano addressed Ohgami: “Is there another suspect that you want to bring to my attention?”
“Oh, no,” Ohgami said mildly. He regarded his ashes with the air of an artist contemplating his creation. “My only purpose here is to help my colleagues help you.”
Sano’s resentment turned to indignation because he understood Ohgami’s real purpose. Ohgami was battling Senior Elder Makino for control of the Council. He must have promised his two colleagues that he would help them destroy their enemies if they allied with him. Hence, he’d brought them here, safely away from Makino and the shogun, to draw Sano into his scheme.
“Many thanks for your concern,” Sano forced himself to say.
He wasn’t surprised that his ally would exploit him so callously, for self-interest dominated all relationships in the bakufu. Yet a powerful rage clenched his hands on the empty tea bowl he held. Sano stared at his guests, sitting smugly confident before him. He’d saved them and the entire city from the Black Lotus, but they would use him as if he were a rag for cleaning up messes, then crumple him and throw him away! Hatred tinged his vision with blood.
But his habit of maintaining outward calm was so strong that the men seemed to notice nothing amiss. They took their leave, and Sano sat alone, immobilized by fury, until a sharp pain in his left palm startled him. He looked down and saw that he’d crushed the fragile porcelain tea bowl. Blood oozed from his cut hand.
“Excuse me, Sosakan-sama,” the manservant said, bowing and entering the room.
“What do you want?” Sano said. His rage dissipated, leaving him shaken by his near loss of control. Since the Black Lotus case, his temper had gained a force that he found increasingly harder to discipline.
“More visitors are here to see you.”
The women’s quarter of the palace hummed with the chatter and bustle of the concubines and ladies-in-waiting as they bathed, dressed, and groomed themselves. Midori sat in the chamber of the shogun’s mother, Lady Keisho- in. While other attendants combed Keisho-in’s hair, Midori applied a mixture of white rice powder and camellia wax onto the old woman’s face. Her hand automatically smeared and dabbed the makeup, but her thoughts centered on her urgent need to see Hirata. He’d not come to her last night, and the hours since she’d seen him at the miai yesterday seemed like an eternity.
“Aaghh!” Lady Keisho-in cried, recoiling from Midori; her round, wrinkled face bunched up in pain. “You’ve gotten makeup in my eye again. Can’t you pay attention to what you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry!” Midori snatched up a cloth and wiped at her mistress’s eye, but Lady Keisho-in shoved her away.
“You’re so absentminded lately,” Keisho-in complained. “I can’t bear to have you around me.” She made a shooing gesture. “Get out!”
Glad of a reprieve from duty, Midori fled the palace. She was racing across the garden when she saw Hirata coming toward her.
“Hirata-san!” she called. He smiled; she hurled herself into his arms. As they embraced, she burst into tears. “I thought you would never come. I was so afraid you’d changed your feelings about me.”
“Why would you think that?” Hirata said, his voice roughened by affection.
In this chill early morning, they had the garden to themselves, but he drew her into the pine grove where they’d met so many times before. The air was redolent with the clean, tangy scent of resin, the ground covered with a soft blanket of pine needles upon which they’d lain.
“You’re shivering,” Hirata said. He wrapped his own cloak around Midori and held her tight.
She basked in his nearness, sobbing. “After what my father said to yours, I was sure you must hate me.”
“Nothing can change my love for you.” Hirata held her shoulders and gazed at her with a sincerity that banished her fear. “What happened at the theater wasn’t your fault.” As she wept in relief now, he said, “Please believe that my family means no harm to yours. Why does your father think we’re his enemies?”
Overcome by shame, Midori pulled away from Hirata, averting her face. “He gets all upset when it comes to the Tokugawa or anyone associated with them,” she whispered. “Because of what they did to our clan in the past.”
“I see.” Hirata’s dubious tone said he didn’t understand the eccentricity that made Lord Niu resent what other daimyo accepted. “Would he really try to kill my father?”
A sob choked Midori.
“Oh.” Hirata paused. “Is he always like that?”
“Not always.” Midori couldn’t bear to tell Hirata that Lord Niu’s bad spells were often worse. “Is your father still angry, do you think?” she ventured timidly. “Is he very much against the match?”
“… I didn’t have much chance to talk to him.”
She could tell Hirata was trying to shield her from painful truth, and panic filled her because their marriage seemed even more impossible than ever, despite the increasing necessity of it. Every day Midori suffered from nausea; every day her body swelled larger with the new life growing in her.
“What are we going to do?” she cried.
“Maybe if we wait awhile,” Hirata said, “the whole thing will blow over.”
He spoke without hope, and the idea of delaying alarmed Midori. “How long should we wait?”
“At least a few days. Or maybe a month would be better.”
“A month!” By then the pregnancy would be apparent to everyone. Midori feared that her disgrace would make both families even less amenable to the marriage. “That’s too long!” Her voice rose in hysteria. “We have to do something now!”
“Forcing the issue right away would only hurt our chances.” Hirata looked puzzled by her agitation. “We must be patient.”
“I can’t!”
“It’s no use getting so upset,” Hirata said. Taking her in his arms, he caressed her hair, her face, her bosom; passion strengthened his grip. “Calm down.”
