bother you when you were on your way somewhere.”
“Oh, it’s no bother,” Reiko said. “I’m glad to see you again.”
Yet she feared that their acquaintance would become an onus if her new friend wanted more attention than she wanted to give. The peculiar sheen of Lady Yanagisawa’s narrow eyes made Reiko uneasy.
“Please believe that I wouldn’t have interrupted your business except… except for the most urgent reason.” Lady Yanagisawa’s voice dropped; she paused, fingering the tied ends of her bundle. Then she blurted, “Last time we met… I said I would do whatever I could to assist you with your husband’s inquiries. That’s why I’ve come today.”
Kikuko hummed a tuneless song, turning her head from side to side. Reiko regarded Lady Yanagisawa with surprise.
“You’ve found information that will help the murder investigation?” Reiko said. Eyeing the package her guest held, she wavered between skepticism and hope.
A brief frown shadowed Lady Yanagisawa’s aspect. “I wish I could say that my discovery will benefit your husband… but I fear the opposite is true. May I please explain?”
When Reiko nodded, Lady Yanagisawa said, “Yesterday this came for my husband.”
She untied the bundle, revealing a flat, rectangular package wrapped in rough brown paper and bound with coarse string. Reiko saw the words, “For the Honorable Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Personal and Confidential,” written on it in simple black characters.
“My husband wasn’t home,” Lady Yanagisawa said. “I overheard his secretaries saying they didn’t know who sent the package and discussing whether to open it. Finally they decided not to, and left the package on my husband’s desk. My curiosity was aroused. I went into the office, slipped the package into my sleeve, and took it to my room.”
Reiko sat speechless with amazement that anyone would dare steal from the chamberlain.
Lady Yanagisawa sighed. “If my husband finds out what I’ve done, he’ll be very angry with me. But when I looked inside the package… I knew I must risk his displeasure.”
Her intense, yearning gaze flitted over Reiko. “You’ve been so kind to me, and I shall now repay you. This package represents a terrible threat to your husband. I brought it to you so that he will understand the danger… so that he can protect himself, and you.”
“What danger?” Reiko asked in alarmed confusion.
Kikuko emitted a loud keening sound, made faces, and rocked back and forth. Lady Yanagisawa put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, quieting her. “Perhaps it’s better that you see for yourself than that I should tell you. Please accept this with my sincere wishes for your good fortune, and allow me to bid you farewell until we meet again.”
Extending the package on her palms, she bowed to Reiko.
“Many thanks,” Reiko said, accepting the gift.
As soon as her guests had gone, she took the package into her chamber and closed the door. Eager yet fearful, she untied the string and unwrapped the paper. Inside was a book covered in lavender silk, bound by a green ribbon threaded through holes near the spine. A thrill of recognition and disbelief shot through Reiko. She opened the book.
The first of some twenty pages of thin white rice paper bore an inscription: The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria.
The daimyo maintained great fortified estates in the district east and south of Edo Castle. Here the provincial lords resided during the four months they spent in the capital each year. Here Tokugawa law required them to leave their families as hostages when they returned to their provinces, to prevent them from staging a revolt. Here Midori rode in a palanquin down a wide avenue crowded with mounted samurai.
Lines of barracks, their white plaster walls decorated with black tiles arranged in geometric patterns, surrounded each estate and housed thousands of retainers who served the daimyo. Elaborate gates boasted multiple portals, tiered roofs, and guardhouses occupied by sentries. As Midori’s palanquin halted outside the gate that bore the Niu dragonfly crest, her chin quivered with apprehension.
This had once been her home; but the place harbored bad memories, and she never came back unless it was absolutely necessary. If not for her father’s summons and the hope of salvaging her chance of marrying Hirata, she would have avoided the estate forever.
Inside the estate, multitudes of samurai patrolled a large courtyard or sat in guardrooms. Barracks for the officers formed an inner wall around the daimyo’s mansion, a vast complex of half-timbered buildings joined by covered corridors and intersecting tile roofs and elevated on granite foundations. At the door to Lord Niu’s private room, Midori met Okita, her father’s chief retainer.
“He’s waiting for you,” Okita said.
His dour face and neutral tone gave no hint of what Midori should expect. “How is he?” she said.
“Slightly better.” That meant Lord Niu had calmed down. “I advise you not to upset him.”
“Why does he want to see me?” Midori asked.
In answer, Okita opened the door. Reluctantly Midori entered the room. Okita followed, closing the door behind them.
The room could have belonged to any noble, but for features known only to those familiar with Lord Niu. Cabinets, chests, and secret compartments in the walls and under the floor contained hidden weapons, as Midori was aware. A mural bore dents and stains from objects hurled by her father during fits of rage. The two guards stationed inside the door were there to protect Lord Niu from himself, and everyone else from his bad spells. The room had a peculiar sweet smell, as if tainted by poison in his blood.
Lord Niu knelt on the dais, sharpening a dagger. The motion of his blade against the grindstone produced metallic rasps. He didn’t immediately acknowledge Midori’s presence. As she knelt before the dais, she thought how ordinary he appeared today, like any other noble who spent his leisure time tending his weapons. Then Lord Niu raised his skewed face to her.
A tremor of dread passed through Midori. Hastily lowering her gaze, she bowed.
“Little whore. Little traitor.” Lord Niu spoke the insults in a pleasant, ordinary tone of voice that made them all the more chilling to Midori. His hand continued swiping the dagger across the grindstone. “How could you betray your own father to consort with the son of the enemy?”
Too frightened to answer, Midori pressed her lips together to still their trembling. Her hope that he’d changed his mind about the marriage seemed ludicrous now.
“I ought to kill you for your treason,” Lord Niu said.
The rasp of his blade quickened, as did Midori’s heartbeat. Glancing at Okita and the guards, she saw them move closer to the dais. Lord Niu had never yet killed a family member, but this was no guarantee that he wouldn’t.
“But you’re my flesh and blood, no matter what you’ve done,” Lord Niu said. “I’ll give you a chance to atone for your evil.” His left eye twinkled at Midori. The right eye dreamed. “Tell me everything you know about the Hirata clan’s strategy for destroying me.”
Midori wished she could run away, but her father’s will held her captive, and she must defend Hirata. “But I don’t-they’re not-I can’t-”
“Don’t pretend to be ignorant.” The rasping ceased as Lord Niu stopped sharpening the dagger. His hands were black with grit; his expression scorned Midori. “You and that boy are lovers. What secrets does he whisper to you when you lie together?”
Midori hoped her father didn’t really know the things she and Hirata-san had done, or suspect she was pregnant.
“Speak!” Lord Niu ordered.
Desperation loosened Midori’s tongue. “There’s nothing to tell. Hirata-san and his father aren’t making war on you.”
Lord Niu snorted in disgust. “They’re trying to lull me into believing I’m safe. And they’re using my own daughter as a messenger for carrying their lies to me.”
