Bundori: A Novel Of Japan

She was tall, perhaps his own height, and probably near his age. Her face was bare of white makeup, yet very pale. A spray of rare freckles dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her long, thin nose. Thick glossy black hair, which glowed rust-brown in the sunlight, was piled neatly on her head, except for one long strand that had escaped the combs to lie against her neck. She had a square jaw, its uncompromising shape repeated in the set of her shoulders and in the strong, blunt-fingered hands she placed on the floor as she knelt before the dais and bowed.

“I am Aoi,” she said.

Her voice had the rich, vibrant tone of a temple bell; it resonated pleasurably through Sano’s body. When she sat back on her heels to face him, her movements had a natural grace that softened her body’s angularity. Somehow she made her simple cotton kimono-pale blue printed with white clouds and green willow boughs-look more elegant than a fine silk robe on a slimmer, daintier figure. Sano thought that many men might consider her plain, a far cry from conventional standards of feminine beauty. To him, she was one of the loveliest women he’d ever seen.

Unflinchingly, she held his gaze for several heartbeats. Her eyes were a strange, luminous light brown, Sano noticed. Then she flashed him a brief smile. His breath caught as dimples wreathed her face, transforming its somber beauty into something mercurial and mysterious.

“His Excellency has explained that you’re to help me investigate the murder of Kaibara Toju?” Discomfort stiffened Sano’s manner. In his world, convention kept men’s and women’s work separate. All the bakufu officials, secretaries, and clerks were male. Gone were the days when samurai women rode into battle beside their men. The novelty of the situation hadn’t troubled or even interested him when he’d imagined the shogun’s mystic as old and matronly. But to consult and collaborate with such a young, attractive woman…

“Yes. The shogun has explained.”

Sano had never seen anyone so serene, so self-possessed as Aoi. And she exuded a subtle but unmistakable aura of power. On some primitive level, he, like the shogun and even the most modern and sophisticated of other men, believed in the ancient myths and legends, in powers beyond human comprehension, in the existence of ghosts and demons. As he looked at Aoi, his skepticism wavered. Perhaps she really could command the spirit world. A tinge of atavistic fear added to Sano’s uncertainty. Such power set her outside society’s rigid class system, where a peasant must automatically defer to a samurai. Not knowing exactly how to address Aoi, Sano took refuge in brusqueness.

“So. Do you think you can identify the killer?”

“Perhaps.” She lowered her eyes, inclining her head in a slow nod. Evidently a woman of few words, she showed no intention of helping the conversation along.

“How?” Sano asked, resisting the nervous urge to fidget.

Aoi’s gaze met his, its candor somehow more alluring than coy flirtatiousness. “I’ll perform a ritual. To contact the spirit of the dead man. Perhaps we may see the killer through his eyes. What he knew, we can know. From him. If the spirits are willing.” Her strong hand turned palm up in an eloquent gesture that conveyed the uncertainty associated with such a venture, as well as the miracles possible.

“I see,” Sano said, intrigued by both the idea of taking a shortcut to the truth and the prospect of seeing Aoi again. But the murder scene awaited him, as did witnesses, and possible suspects among Kaibara’s family and friends. The painstaking, earthbound search for information must come first. “I’ll come to the shrine tonight.”

“Tonight. Yes.” Taking his words as a dismissal, Aoi bowed again and rose, adding, “For the ritual, I’ll need something that belonged to the victim. To establish a link with his spirit.”

Sano nodded. “All right.”

And she was gone, as unobtrusively as she’d come.

Sano gazed thoughtfully after her, wondering whether her ritual really might lead him to the killer. Then he called the manservant and ordered his horse brought to the gate.

As he left the house, he felt a surge of anticipation that had nothing to do with his assignment. For the first time, he found himself looking forward to night at the castle.

Chapter 3

East of Edo Castle and crammed into a narrow piece of land between the great daimyo estates and the Sumida River, the Nihonbashi merchant quarter bustled with commerce. Along the narrow, winding streets, open storefronts displayed their wares: oil in one sector; sake, pottery, baskets, metalware, and soy sauce in others. The smells of charcoal smoke, cooking, and sawdust from workshops behind the stores mingled with those of privies and horse manure in the streets. Merchants sat on the raised floors of their establishments, haggling with customers or shouting come-ons to the crowds:

“The best soy for the lowest price, here!”

“High-quality baskets, come in and see for yourself!”

Beggars shuffled through the throngs, holding out their bowls for alms. Shrieking children careened underfoot. As Sano rode toward the scene of Kaibara Toju’s murder, he edged his horse sideways past shoppers. But when he neared the pharmacists’ street, he saw that ordinary business there had ceased. In the shops, proprietors and customers ignored the merchandise to stand in the doorways, talking excitedly. Sano could guess why, but the sight that greeted him when he turned the corner surprised and disturbed him nevertheless.

A huge, unruly crowd had congregated in front of the largest pharmacy. Exciting news traveled fast in Edo. It was only a few hours after Kaibara’s body had been discovered, and already mounted samurai, craftsmen in dirty work clothes, and peasants carrying parcels on their backs craned their necks to view what must be the murder scene. Cries of “What is it? Let me see!” clamored. Newssellers distributed hastily printed broadsheets, making sure that word would soon reach anyone who didn’t already know what had happened.

“Read about the Bundori Murder!” they shouted.

So the case already had a sensational name that would increase its notoriety. Sano sensed a contagious atmosphere of fear, horror, and excitement. The shogun had been most concerned about the murder’s political ramifications, but Sano saw another reason for catching the killer quickly: the possibility of mass panic among the townspeople. Where were the police? Why hadn’t they taken steps to control the crowd, or protect valuable evidence? Sano hastily dismounted, secured his horse to a post, elbowed his way through the crowd-and stopped short.

A group of men leaned idly against the shop wall, surveying the commotion. One, a samurai in his late forties wore an elaborate armor tunic over a rich silk kimono and flowing trousers, a surcoat bearing the Tokugawa crest, and a lacquered helmet. With dismay, Sano recognized a former colleague and adversary: Yoriki Hayashi, the senior police commander who’d helped arrange his expulsion from the police force. Two of the other men were doshin-patrolling police officers. Each had the short hair of a low-ranking samurai, wore a single short sword at his waist, and carried a strong steel parrying wand with two curved prongs above the hilt for catching the blade of an attacker’s sword: the jitte, standard doshin equipment. Their assistants, peasants armed with clubs and spears, stood beside them. But surely the police, experienced in criminal procedure, hadn’t waited for his arrival to begin work?

Reluctantly approaching his old enemy, Sano bowed and spoke with forced politeness. “Good morning, Hayashi-san. Why are your men just standing there instead of restoring order or investigating the murder?”

Hayashi’s thin, pinched face stiffened with dislike. “Sosakan-sama.” His voice oozed supercilious courtesy, and he bowed mockingly. “So you have descended from your lofty situation”- he raised his eyes toward the castle-“to these squalid environs.” Where you belong, his tone implied. “But why do you expect us to do your work?”

A stab of foreboding pierced Sano’s annoyance at the insult. “The shogun has placed me in charge of the murder investigation,” he explained, “but with the full cooperation of the police.”

Hayashi smirked. “I’ve received no orders to that effect.” Despite the evil relish with which he uttered the words, they carried the ring of conviction. “My instructions were to leave the case in your capable hands.”