According to custom, the cabinet should have contained a portrait of the deceased, but it was empty. Sano touched a finger to the carved flowers surrounding the blank interior.
“These are anemones,” he said. “This is Dannoshin’s funeral altar to his murdered mother.”
“He must have taken her portrait with him,” Yanagisawa said.
Sano inhaled the incense smoke absorbed by the walls and tatami. Anxious for clues to the Dragon King’s character as well as location, he opened a cabinet. He found quilts and a futon. Dannoshin must sleep in this shrine to his mother. He must have worshiped her spirit for twelve years, nursing a murderous, obsessive need for revenge.
Sano stepped into the study, a niche in a corner lined with shelves of books. On a desk lay two sheets of paper scribbled with black calligraphy. Sano picked these up. Yanagisawa read aloud over his shoulder:
“ ‘The woman struggles desperately in the lake,
Her long hair and robes spread,
Like flower petals strewn on the dark water.’
“This is a draft of the poem in the ransom letter,” Yanagisawa said.
“And it’s proof that Dannoshin is indeed the Dragon King.” Sano examined the second page and said, “Listen to this.
“ ‘Despoiler of feminine virtue,
Selfishly taking his pleasure at will,
The scoundrel Hoshina leaves destruction in his wake,
Never caring nor looking back at the pain he causes,
While fortune blesses him with wealth and prestige.
But Hoshina will not escape his comeuppance forever,
The Dragon King will rise up from the ocean to exact retribution,
He will grasp Hoshina in his golden claws,
And breathe flaming wrath upon the despoiler,
Whether it be the death of them both.’
“So much for any doubt that Dannoshin is out to get Hoshina,” Sano said.
Yanagisawa’s troops burst into the room, bringing three women. One was gray-haired and matronly, the others teenaged girls. All were whimpering with terror. “These are the housekeeper and maids,” said a soldier. “They say they don’t know where their master went.”
Sano’s detectives appeared at the door. “The barracks behind the house are empty,” Detective Inoue told Sano. “So are the stables. It looks like Dannoshin has taken all his retainers with him. There’s no one else here.”
Yanagisawa cursed under his breath. Sano’s heart plummeted under the gravity of frustration and despair. To have tracked the Dragon King to his home territory, only for the trail to end there, was a crushing letdown. Sano and Yanagisawa hunted through the study niche, rummaging in drawers, riffling papers, thumbing ledgers, searching for clues to where the Dragon King was now. The detectives and soldiers searched the rest of the estate. At last they gathered, all empty-handed, in the courtyard.
“Does the great sosakan-sama have any ideas?” Yanagisawa’s mocking tone had a sharp, desperate edge.
Memory suddenly transported Sano back to a time when he’d worked at a place where they could find the information they needed. “Actually, I do,” he said. “Come with me.” He led the rush out the gate to their horses.
Midori uttered a long, keening wail of anguish as a spasm convulsed her. Her back arched; her body heaved up from the bed. The pain squeezed her eyes shut, bared her teeth. Her fingers clawed into the futon. Tears and sweat drenched her face. Lady Yanagisawa, kneeling on one side of Midori, dabbed her brow with a cloth. Keisho-in squatted on the other side.
“The pains are coming more and more frequently. The birth will happen soon,” she said with the smug air of an expert.
Reiko pounded on the door, as she’d done countless times since Midori’s labor had begun in the night. “Help!” she called to the guards. Now it must be past noon, and her voice was hoarse, her anxiety turning to panic. “My friend needs a midwife. Please bring one immediately!”
Earlier, the guards had responded by yelling at her to be quiet. This time someone thudded a fist against the outside of the door. Ota, the Dragon King’s chief henchman, said, “We’re not falling for any more of your tricks.”
“It’s not a trick,” Reiko cried in desperation. Childbirth was an event fraught with hazard, and without a skilled midwife to handle any trouble that arose, Midori and the baby were in grave peril. “Come in and see for yourself.”
Nothing happened. Midori gasped and lay still, temporarily released from pain. Thunder grumbled outside; rain tapped on the roof and dripped through the holes onto Midori. Then the door opened. Ota, his face belligerent with suspicion and annoyance, pointed his sword at Reiko, backing her into the room while he entered with two other men. As they approached Midori, she wailed, shuddering violently, seized by another contraction. Ota and his companions leapt back from her genuine agony. Their faces expressed the primitive awe and fright of men confronted with the spectacle of childbirth.
“She needs a midwife,” Reiko said. “She needs clean water and bedding and a dry, comfortable place to have the baby.” Determined to protect Midori’s well-being, Reiko forgot caution and ordered the men, “Go tell your master! Now!”
They fled, although obviously less intimidated by Reiko than eager to get away. Reiko knelt beside Midori and pressed against the potent points on her spine, trying to relieve the labor pains. Midori panted; Lady Yanagisawa wiped her face; Keisho-in peered under her robes, watching for the child to emerge. Soon Ota returned. His cruel grin mocked the women’s hopeful expressions. “My master wants to see you,” he told Reiko.
As he and two other guards escorted Reiko into the palace, her heart pounded with fear. Inside, they climbed a staircase to a chamber that stank of the Dragon King’s incense. The fear settled like a cold, hard weight in her stomach. She glimpsed doors open to a balcony overlooking the lake, before a partition slid aside with a loud, grinding creak. From the adjacent room stepped the Dragon King.
Today he wore a plain gray silk kimono over black trousers. His unblinking stare fixed on Reiko. He paused at the threshold, then moved toward her with his odd, hesitant swagger. Madness and desire smoldered in his eyes.
The icy weight in Reiko’s stomach grew heavier, and her legs trembled. Now would begin her ordeal of compromising herself to win the Dragon King’s trust. Although she felt woefully unprepared, despite hours spent scheming, she must maneuver him toward liberating her and her friends.
“Good day, Anemone,” he said in a hushed voice that reeked of intimacy.
Reiko imagined a black abyss yawning at her feet. With a sense of futility, she stepped over the edge. She felt her spirit plunge into depths from which it might never rise.
“Good day, my lord,” she said, imitating his tone. She donned a semblance of an enchanting smile; she forced her eyes to shine at the Dragon King. Stifling hatred, she dropped to her knees and bowed low in the hope that submissiveness would disarm him.
He moved near to her, cloaking her in his suffocating aura of incense. When she raised her head, Reiko saw his loins positioned very near her face. She almost flung herself backward, against the guards who stood behind her. Instead, she held her breath and gazed at his swords, and the rampant dragon embroidered in lighter gray thread on his robe.
“Leave us,” the Dragon King told the guards.
Reiko glanced around and saw Ota pause on his way out the door. He gave her a warning look. Whether or not her humble pose had convinced his master, Ota clearly suspected her motives. Reiko knew that he and the other guards wouldn’t be far away. She also knew that she couldn’t hope to defeat the Dragon King unless she figured his men into her plans.
The Dragon King upturned his hand, the long fingers extended toward Reiko. Unwillingly she laid her hand on his and let him raise her upright. They stood close like lovers, their bodies touching through the thin layers of garments that separated them.
