her and her escorts to a reception hall in the mansion. Here, on painted murals along the walls, lightning bolts pierced clouds that floated above the expanse of tatami floor. Reiko could hear gunfire, war drums, and conch trumpets echoing from the distant battlefield. Soon Lady Yanagisawa hurried into the room.
“Welcome, Reiko-san,” she said breathlessly.
Reiko stared at Lady Yanagisawa. The woman had undergone an astonishing transformation. She wore a satin kimono printed with orange and crimson flowers instead of her customary drab garments. Its neckline and the white under-robe dropped low around her shoulders, exposing creamy white skin. A blood-red flush colored her cheeks and lips. Her bearing was sinuous instead of rigid as usual. She looked almost pretty, but she gave off an air of corruption that repelled Reiko.
“Have you come to tell me your decision?” Her gruff voice had acquired a strange, husky sweetness.
“Yes,” Reiko said, wondering what in the world had happened to Lady Yanagisawa since the previous day.
Lady Yanagisawa’s broad lips moved in a sensual smile. “May I assume that you will do as my husband wishes?”
“You may not,” Reiko said.
For a moment Lady Yanagisawa looked disconcerted. Then cruelty radiated like poison from her. “You’ll live to regret your defiance. If you’ll excuse me, I have something to tell your husband.” She moved toward the door.
Reiko stepped in front of Lady Yanagisawa. She said, “I, too, have something to tell my husband. He’ll be very interested to hear that you were at the Sign of Bedazzlement the night Lord Matsudaira’s nephew was murdered there.”
Lady Yanagisawa’s features jerked, as if someone had sneaked up behind her and startled her. She said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you do,” Reiko said. “I have a witness who saw you coming out of the house shortly after Daiemon went in.”
“It must have been someone else who looks like me.” But Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes shifted away from Reiko’s, as if they were windows through which she feared Reiko might glimpse the dark places in her mind and her memory of the crime she’d committed.
“The witness followed your palanquin home,” Reiko said. “He saw you in the courtyard with Kikuko.”
Lady Yanagisawa’s face acquired a look that Reiko had seen when she was cornered once before. The skin tightened around her eyes, narrowing them. She resembled a cat with its ears pricked back in alarm.
“You stabbed Daiemon because your husband told you to, didn’t you?” Reiko said. Lady Yanagisawa wheeled in a circle, avoiding Reiko’s scrutiny. Reiko shifted her own position, keeping them face to face. “There’s no use denying it.”
Suddenly Lady Yanagisawa flung up her head. “You think you’re so clever.” Sardonic amusement and naked malice shone in her eyes. “You must be congratulating yourself because you think you’ve found out something that you can use against me. What good fortune you always have!”
Quickening breaths hissed from her like steam; her cheeks flushed redder. She moved closer to Reiko. “But you’re not the only clever, lucky one.” A reckless daring swelled her countenance. “Would you like to know how I did it?”
34
A mob was gathered outside the Nakamura-za Theater when Sano arrived with Hirata, a squadron of detectives, the watchdogs, and their troops. People surged, yelling and shoving, toward the entrance, where police officers tried to hold them back.
As a chorus of wild shouts issued from the building, more crowds hurried down the street, eager to join the excitement. Sano and his companions leaped off their horses and pushed their way through the mob toward the theater.
“What’s going on in there?” Sano called to the police.
“Some crazy samurai jumped on the stage during the play,” the officer said as he shoved at men trying to scramble through the door. “He’s up there threatening one of the actors.”
Sano had planned to walk into the theater, wait until the show ended, and make a peaceful arrest of Koheiji. Now his smile mocked his notion that anything about this investigation should turn out the way he’d expected. The mob pressed in on him. Nearby, Hirata and the detectives jostled boisterous spectators; the watchdogs and their men floundered at the edges of the crowd.
“Let us in,” Sano told the police. “We’ll restore order.”
The police fought back the mob long enough for Sano and his companions to slip through the door. The theater was jammed with people. Sano couldn’t see the stage because the audience was standing up on the dividers between the seating compartments, craning their necks, blocking his view. The cavernous room thundered with their shouts. The smells of liquor and sweat mingled with the acrid tobacco smoke that hazed the dim atmosphere. Sano tasted violence, intoxicating and contagious, in the air. He leaped onto the walkway, the only unimpeded path to the stage.
As Hirata and the other men hurried after him along the walkway, the audience waved at them and cheered their arrival. The noise clamored in Sano’s ears. Faces distorted and ugly with bloodlust surrounded him. On the stage Sano saw two men facing each other. One held a sword raised high. The other cowered, his palms lifted. Nearing the stage, Sano recognized the cowering man as Koheiji. He wore samurai costume; wide trousers, two swords at his waist, surcoat, and flowing kimono. Shock and fright showed on his painted face. The other man, dressed in black, was Tamura. Surprise halted Sano at the rim of the stage.
“I’ve come to avenge the death of my master, the honorable Senior Elder Makino!” Tamura shouted. He pointed his sword at Koheiji. “You who murdered him shall pay with your blood!”
The spectators roared. Maybe they thought this was part of the play, but Sano knew Tamura was carrying out the vendetta he’d sworn on Makino’s killer. Suddenly Sano recalled hearing someone outside the chapel of the Makino estate while he’d interrogated Agemaki. It must have been Tamura, eavesdropping.
Hirata exclaimed, “He overheard you saying that Daiemon hired Koheiji to assassinate his master!”
“You’re insane,” Koheiji told Tamura. “I didn’t kill Makino.” But his fear quaked under his scornful tone. “You’ve got the wrong man.”
While the audience cheered, Tamura said, “No more lies!” Rage and determination hardened his stern, masklike face. His blade glinted in the sun that shone through the skylights. “Admit your guilt before you die, you coward!”
Although Sano understood the honor involved in a vendetta, and he hated interfering with a fellow samurai’s duty to avenge his dead master, he couldn’t let Tamura take the law into his own hands. The shogun had the first right to deliver Koheiji to justice if he wanted. Sano stepped onto the stage.
“Tamura-san,” he called.
The noise from the audience subsided into an expectant hush. Tamura turned, glancing at Sano but keeping his attention focused on Koheiji. “Sosakan-sama,” he said, his manner amused as well as hostile. “Many thanks for discovering that this worthless gob of filth murdered my master. I suppose I owe you an apology for underestimating you. Now, if you’ll stand back, I’ll save you the trouble of arresting him.”
He lunged and slashed his sword at Koheiji. The actor vaulted backward, narrowly escaping the blade. The onlookers cheered. Their hunger for thrills exceeded any concern that their favorite’s life was in peril.
“I’m not the murderer.” His desperation obvious, Koheiji said, “Ask Okitsu. She’ll tell you.”
“She has,” Sano said. “She told me the whole story.”
“Louder!” came shouts from the audience. “We can’t hear you! Speak up!”
Sano glanced over his shoulder and saw hundreds of avid faces looking at him: He’d become part of the drama. “You did kill Makino,” he said to Koheiji, then addressed Tamura: “But he’s not a murderer.”
Both men stared at him. Tamura halted on the verge of another attack. Disbelief and confusion showed on both their faces.
“Tamura-san, you listened to only part of the story,” Sano said. “You overheard me tell Agemaki that Koheiji had been hired to assassinate your master. If you hadn’t rushed off so fast, you’d have heard there was no
