mouth tightened in displeasure.
“Your Excellency, I believe that this earlier murder will provide clues to the killer’s motive and identity,” Sano said, pressing his point while he still held Tsunayoshi’s attention.
“An astute, ahh, deduction.” Tsunayoshi stroked his chin thoughtfully.
But Sano’s triumph was short-lived. “Another murder,” Yanagisawa said, his dark, liquid eyes alight with mischief. “Well,
“No!” Driven to his own defense, Sano threw caution aside. “This other murder has opened up a promising line of inquiry.”
He started to outline tomorrow’s plans, but his voice trailed off when he saw Tsunayoshi contemplating the door. Yanagisawa laughed again, sealing his defeat.
Beneath his anger, Sano felt the frightening, lost-at-sea sensation that had plagued him since his arrival at Edo Castle. This meeting had strange undercurrents that threatened to pull him down, or at least carry him in the wrong direction. The chamberlain obviously didn’t want him to succeed in catching the Bundori Killer. But why not? And Yanagisawa must have deliberately timed his interruption of the meeting, bringing the young actor in order to distract Tsunayoshi. Now Sano experienced a sudden stab of dread.
“Your Excellency, in regards to the police,” he began.
“Ah, yes,” Yanagisawa said, frowning. “In view of all the assistance you are receiving, it is strange that you have achieved nothing.” The wicked gleam in his eyes belied his simulated concern. “But I see no reason to discuss the police. I have personally given orders to ensure that their efforts will continue to be as satisfactory as they have been up until now.”
Even as Sano’s stomach contracted in dismay, he had to admire Yanagisawa’s finesse. The chamberlain had prevented him from telling the shogun that the police hadn’t received orders to help him, and had not done so. He’d also confirmed Sano’s suspicion that it was he who had made sure they wouldn’t. Sano’s drowning sensation worsened when he saw the position in which Yanagisawa had put him.
To secure the police assistance he needed to solve the case, he must expose Yanagisawa’s sabotage and ask Tsunayoshi to rectify it. But Bushido forbade him to do either. Again he heard his father’s voice:
“Any criticism of a lord’s senior official also implies criticism of the lord himself-blasphemy! And a samurai has no right to make demands upon his lord.”
To practice the Way of the Warrior could mean sacrificing not only his immediate success, but ultimately his entire career. Sano was caught between the two promises to his father, which he’d never expected to conflict. How he longed for his father’s counsel!
Yanagisawa’s triumphant smile reflected his knowledge and enjoyment of Sano’s dilemma. “Since you have so many new avenues of inquiry to pursue, you had better waste no more time on conversation,” he said smoothly, then turned to the shogun. “Your Excellency?”
“What? Oh, yes.” Tsunayoshi refocused dazed eyes on Sano. “I shall hold audience with the Council of Elders the day after tomorrow. At that time, you will report to us the latest results of your, ahh, investigation. Make sure you’ve made better progress by then.” He waved his hand. “Dismissed.”
Feeling terribly and unfairly disgraced, Sano had no choice but to make his farewell bows and rise. As he walked away from Tsunayoshi and Yanagisawa, the path to the door seemed the beginning of a road leading to certain failure. Still, he must walk it as he tried to fulfill both promises to his father-exemplifying Bushido and performing a heroic deed-virtually alone, in the face of obstacles that now included a new and powerful enemy.
Before the door closed behind him, Sano heard the shogun say to Yanagisawa, “I shall be in my, ahh, chambers for the rest of the night. See that I am not disturbed until tomorrow.”
Chapter 8
The Momijiyama-the Tokugawa ancestral shrine-formed Edo Castle’s sacred, most private heart. There, high on the hilltop, shrouded in pine and cypress and surrounded by high stone walls, reposed the relics of the past Tokugawa shoguns: Ieyasu, Hidetada, Iemitsu, Ietsuna. Their spirits protected the castle to ensure that their line might continue into the infinite future.
Sano hesitated outside the shrine. On either side of the soaring torii gate, flames leapt inside huge stone lanterns. A pair of snarling Korean temple dogs flanked the flagstone path just inside the gate, warning off evil spirits and earthly intruders. Beyond them, the path led between rows of pines and ended at a steep stairway that climbed to the shrine’s main precinct. Smaller lanterns lit the way, their flames winking bravely against the immense, star-studded night.
A primitive disquiet stirred in Sano as he entered the shrine. Here on the dark, deserted hill, in the cold, restless wind that rustled the pines and smelled faintly of incense, the spirit realm seemed very near. Sano imagined ghostly presences lurking in the trees, inhabiting the rocks, buildings, and land. Only his determination to keep his appointment with Aoi propelled him up the steps.
At the top, the wind was stronger, the darkness relieved only by the starlight that filtered through the trees. Sano paused at the ritual basin, a huge stone font sheltered under a thatched roof. The icy water chilled his hands as he washed them.
“Aoi?” he called.
The wind whipped his words away. He followed a path that zigzagged through the trees and between structures he couldn’t identify in the darkness: drum house, bell tower, sutra repositories? He passed a pagoda whose intricate spire pierced the sky, then emerged into a large open courtyard. At its far end, lanterns burned before the main worship hall, where Aoi waited, a still, silent figure dressed in black, holding a small, glowing paper lantern.
Sano raised a tentative hand in greeting, reluctant to speak again. Everything about this meeting-the late hour, isolated location, and eerie atmosphere-suggested a clandestine rendezvous. As he crossed the courtyard toward Aoi, the shrine’s monuments loomed around him: treasuries, ceremonial stage, mausoleums. His footsteps made a forlorn, lonely tapping on the flagstones; the wind pressed at his back, urging him forward.
Aoi gracefully descended the steps to meet him. The wind swirled her dark garments around her. Wordlessly she bowed, then waited for him to speak.
“I’ve brought the things you asked for,” Sano said. “A pouch that belonged to Kaibara Toju. A lock of hair from another murdered man. And the label from the trophy.”
His words sounded flat and banal in this strange setting. Beyond them, the worship hall was a glittering architectural fantasy of gilt pillars and lattices, carved wood and stone, undulating gabled roofs, and brilliantly colored ornamentation. Floral and geometric paintings decorated the walls. Fierce demons climbed the pillars; dragons writhed over the door; Chinese lions glared from the eaves; phoenixes poised, wings spread for flight, on the roofs pinnacle. The Tokugawa had exercised no restraint in honoring their ancestors. In contrast, Aoi, with her dark hair and clothes and pale skin, had the stark drama of a black and white painting.
“Come with me,” she said.
Her husky voice sent a shivery warmth vibrating through Sano. Intrigued, he followed Aoi out of the courtyard and into the woods. There her lantern barely pierced the darkness. Sano groped his way past trees, stumbling over stones as he hurried to match her swift, sure pace.
They stopped at a place where overhanging boughs made a natural shelter from the wind, but the night seemed even colder, as if the pines exuded a resinous chill. The sudden silence made Sano’s ears ring. Aoi raised her lantern, and in its glow, Sano saw that they were in a sort of woodland shrine-a circular clearing carpeted with pine needles, with an altar in the middle and, at one edge, the moss-covered statue of a deity he couldn’t identify.
Aoi knelt before the altar and used her lantern to light the candles and incense burners arranged in a circle there. Sano knelt opposite her. His curiosity about this enigmatic woman increased.
