Yanagisawa stood dumbfounded by shock as his mind absorbed the fact that he’d suddenly lost a major source of military backing. A new battle commenced on the training ground. This time the Blue Flag soldiers rallied. Their blades struck down Red Flag troops, who fell in the dust. As Yanagisawa experienced a sensation of the earth crumbling under his feet, outrage enflamed him. That his faithful dog should step out of line and deal him this blow! If reassurances wouldn’t put Lord Kii back in his place, then perhaps intimidation would.
“Don’t be so quick to break with me,” Yanagisawa said in the quiet, venomous tone that had subdued many a man braver than Lord Kii. “You’re in a dangerous situation. You have reason to want Hoshina-san dead. You had time to plan the ambush. Your men rode out on the Tokaido the same day as Lady Keisho-in. That makes you a primary suspect in the kidnapping. One word from me to the shogun, and you’ll be arrested and stripped of your title, your lands, and your wealth.”
A sharp intake of breath from Lord Kii, and a sudden fearful look on his face, gratified Yanagisawa.
“But if you uphold our alliance, I’ll protect you. I won’t let the sosakan-sama persecute you, or the shogun think you kidnapped his mother.” Yanagisawa infused his voice with all the coercion he could manage. “Just tell me why you sent your men on that journey. Give me proof that you’re innocent, and everything will be the same as before.”
Lord Kii vacillated, his gaze shifting, his eyes agleam with his terror of Yanagisawa’s wrath. Yanagisawa waited, confident that he could overpower the daimyo. But although Lord Kii trembled like a tree cut at the base and ready to fall, he stood firm.
“ “I shouldn’t need to prove to you that I’m not the kidnapper,” he said, huffing with rage, fright, and wounded dignity. “My word should be good enough because I’ve never deceived you, and you should know I’m an honest man. If you don’t trust me after all I’ve endured for you, then whatever I say won’t convince you that I’m innocent. Go ahead and denounce me to the shogun, but first you’d better listen to this.”
Vengefulness radiated from the daimyo’s armor-clad bulk. On the battlefield, his Blue Flag soldiers scattered and chased their opponents; they whooped in glee. “Yesterday, Lord Matsudaira came to see me. He proposed a marriage between his second son and my granddaughter.” Lord Kii grinned in triumph at Yanagisawa. “I want you to be the first to know that I’ve just decided to accept Lord Matsudaira’s proposal.”
Terror thunderstruck Yanagisawa. That Lord Kii would agree to the marriage meant he was switching sides to the Matsudaira faction. The balance of power would tip away from Yanagisawa. When his other allies learned that Lord Kii had defected, other defections would follow. The odds that he could install his son as the next shogun had drastically diminished in a mere instant. So had his chances of surviving a change of regime. Yanagisawa recognized that his situation was desperate and called for extreme measures.
“Wait, Lord Kii,” he said. “Before you act on your decision, please accept my apologies for offending you.”
How the words rankled in his mouth! He rarely apologized to anyone; his rank exempted him from appeasing most other people. Lord Kii beheld Yanagisawa with obvious surprise that he would humble himself, but didn’t answer.
“Know that I respect your fine intelligence, courage, and honor,” Yanagisawa hastened to continue. “Your friendship is more precious to me than your army or treasury.”
The flattering lies that usually rolled off his tongue now stuck in his throat because he resented groveling to someone of inferior status. Lord Kii stood silent and unmoved, waiting to see how much lower he would stoop. Tasting a mortification that sickened his spirit, Yanagisawa dropped to his knees before Lord Kii. He never knelt to anyone except the shogun, and every muscle stiffened with resistance; humiliation galled his pride.
“Please let us remain allies.” Yanagisawa forced out the plea in a voice that he barely recognized as his own. Hot with shame and fury at his abasement, trembling in his terror, he gazed up at Lord Kii. “Please don’t desert me.”
Lord Kii only stared down at him with scorn. He uttered a laugh that expressed contempt toward Yanagisawa’s begging, and enjoyment of their reversed positions. He said, “Leave my estate at once. Never come here again.”
A sense of doom resounded through Yanagisawa. Before he could protest, Lord Kii called to his troops on the battlefield. They galloped over to him, primed for more combat.
“Training is over. Escort the honorable chamberlain off the premises,” Lord Kii told the troops.
Yanagisawa had no choice but to descend from the stands and slink across the battlefield like a whipped dog, while Lord Kii gloated. The troops followed him and his entourage until they exited the gate. As the gate swung shut behind them, a funeral procession of chanting priests, bearers carrying a coffin, and somber mourners filed down the street. Bells tingled; drums throbbed. Yanagisawa stood isolated and stunned, regretting how badly his scheme had backfired.
He’d lost the ally whose support he’d wanted to confirm. Even worse, he’d accomplished nothing to advance the search for the kidnapper. He’d not obtained proof of Lord Kii’s innocence and eliminated him as a suspect. Furthermore, the whole disastrous episode had shown Yanagisawa how seriously he’d misjudged the daimyo’s character, with disturbing consequences. It was now obvious that Lord Kii had nursed a grudge against Hoshina. Perhaps he’d also plotted revenge. If he had the nerve to repudiate Yanagisawa and the wits to understand that he could protect himself by joining the Matsudaira faction, then he wasn’t as dull or meek as Yanagisawa had thought. Perhaps he had arranged the kidnapping.
But Yanagisawa had failed to find evidence that Lord Kii was the Dragon King, or leads to Lady Keisho-in’s whereabouts. He’d gotten himself thrown out of the estate before he could even look for clues, and if he dared return, he might start a war that he couldn’t win, because his power was on the downslide. The pounding of his heart, and the thunder of his blood, produced a roar in his ears like a distant avalanche tumbling toward him. Yanagisawa knew not what to do, except hope for Sano to solve the case, prevent Hoshina’s execution, and spare Yanagisawa the downfall that would begin if no one rescued Lady Keisho-in.
21
Umbrellas, patterned in hues of red, pink, yellow, orange, blue, and green, bloomed like giant round flowers outside shops along the narrow street in the Nihonbashi merchant district. Inside the shops, the umbrella makers cut bamboo handles, glued paper to spokes, and painted designs. Customers haggled with clerks and departed carrying portable shade to protect themselves from the afternoon sun that rained heat upon the city. Sano and a squadron of detectives left their horses outside the neighborhood gate. They walked up Umbrella-maker’s Street, jostling past an itinerant tea seller. Sano stopped a boy who toted a load of bamboo poles and asked, “Where can I find Yuka?”
The boy pointed down the block. Sano looked, and saw what he at first thought was a little girl wielding a straw broom, sweeping debris out of a shop. He led his men toward her, and closer appraisal showed her to be a diminutive woman, dressed in a faded indigo robe and white head kerchief. When Sano called her name, she stopped sweeping and lifted a round, pleasant face to him. Brown spots and faint wrinkles on its tanned skin marked her age at some thirty-five years. Sano observed that she seemed in good health, and certainly not on her deathbed, as her daughter, Mariko, had told Madam Chizuru.
“Yes?” She bobbed a quick bow. Her bright eyes regarded Sano and his men with shy curiosity.
Sano introduced himself, then said, “I’ve come to talk to you about your daughter.”
“My daughter?” Yuka’s gaze dimmed.
“You are the mother of Mariko, aren’t you?” Sano said.
“Mariko?” The woman clutched her broom to her stubby, childlike body. Sano couldn’t tell whether fright or simplemindedness caused her to echo his words without apparent comprehension. Then she nodded, her expression wary.
“I must ask you some questions about Mariko,” said Sano. “Did she come to visit you seven days ago?”
“Visit me? No, master.” Confusion wrinkled Yuka’s brow.
Sano decided that Yuka wasn’t simpleminded; she just feared authority, as did many peasants, and her repetition was a nervous habit. Yet although Sano recognized that this would be a difficult interview, and he must exercise restraint while asking a bereaved mother for information about her dead child, he felt none of the impatience that had hounded him while questioning the merchant Naraya.
