Sano found the Palace of the Heavenly Garden without difficulty: it was the largest house on the street. With its carved beams and pillars painted red and accented with yellow and green, it resembled a Chinese temple. Above the entrance, two resplendent dragons held between them a red banner that announced the house’s name in gold characters. Sano pushed through the crowd that stood three deep in front of the window and saw that the women inside were even more beautiful than the others.
“Honorable lady, where can I find Wisteria?” he called to the nearest, a very young girl dressed in a red kimono printed with white, lucky characters. According to custom, yūjo were treated with the high respect usually accorded to noblewomen.
Red Kimono pouted daintily. “The Lady Wisteria, master? What can she offer you that I cannot?” Her stilted, formal style of speech was the same one all Yoshiwara prostitutes used to their customers. “Surely a warrior as masculine and discerning as yourself would prefer a delicate maiden who has just reached the flowering of her womanhood?”
She fluttered her fan, coyly shielding her face with it in a manner just as clichéd as her speech. The other women giggled, waiting for Sano’s response.
Gathering his patience, Sano said, “I meant no insult to you, my lady.” No matter how meaningless the courtesans’ flattery or how-brazen their invitations, one always replied with courtesy. To do otherwise ran counter to Yoshiwara tradition and invited the anger of their owners, who banned rude patrons from the pleasure houses. “But I need to talk to Wisteria.”
“Talk? He comes here to talk?”
More giggles.
Sano decided that the best thing to do was identify himself and state his business. “I am Yoriki Sano Ichirō from the police department. I must speak to Wisteria about an official matter. Can you send word to her that I am here?”
Red Kimono was unimpressed, and obviously piqued at having wasted her effort on a noncustomer. Dropping her flirtatious manner, she said, “In your own sphere, others must do your bidding, yoriki. But I am not your servant.” The other women giggled again. “Unless… ”
Her disdainful gaze moved over him, taking in his simple cloak and hat. A haughty smile turned up the corners of her mouth.
Unless you have the money to pay, it implied, and I can see that you don’t.
“Please,” Sano said. “It’s very important. I have to talk to her about Noriyoshi.”
At the mention of Noriyoshi’s name, Red Kimono’s smile vanished. She nodded curtly. Turning to the room behind her, she beckoned. She whispered to a maid that appeared beside her. A moment later, the maid opened the door, bowing to Sano.
“Go with her,” Red Kimono said.
Sano stepped into the entryway of the Palace of the Heavenly Garden, where he removed his shoes. As he placed his swords on the rack, he remembered that safety, as well as etiquette, dictated that they must not enter the house. An unhappy yūjo might try to escape her enforced servitude by committing suicide with an unattended weapon.
In the large salon, women and their customers reclined on bright silk cushions scattered over the floor, chatting and laughing. A samisen player performed a popular love song. Maids circulated with plates of delicacies and poured sake. Coins clinked as lavish tips passed from the customers-rich merchants, by the look of their opulent clothing-to the maids. Sano followed his escort through this room and out a sliding door onto the roofed veranda.
The veranda faced a garden that must have been the site of many parties in spring, when its cherry trees dropped blossoms over the lawn, upon the stone lanterns, and into the ornamental pond with a small temple on an island in the middle. Now, with winter not yet gone, it was deserted. But lanterns burned from the verandas of the buildings that surrounded it-one above every door. Lights glowed through the windows. Laughter issued faintly from a few of the rooms, where some yūjo had already begun entertaining their customers in private.
The maid pointed to a door at the back left corner. “There, sir.”
Sano walked along the veranda to the door and knocked. He waited. No laughter emanated from this room, only a listening silence. Then:
“Come in.” It was a woman’s voice, forced cheerfulness evident even in the short phrase.
Sano entered, bowing to the woman who knelt before a lacquer dressing table. “Good evening, Lady Wisteria.”
She had turned a welcoming smile toward him; now it faded. “I was expecting someone else,” she said. “Who are you?” Unlike Red Kimono’s, her speech was plain, uninflected Edo – perhaps because he’d surprised her.
Sano bowed again and introduced himself, while covertly studying Wisteria. She didn’t fit his preconceived picture of Noriyoshi’s lady friend. He’d imagined a woman long past her prime, who played the role of mother to her clients. But Wisteria was no more than twenty, and clearly a yūjo of the first rank. She wore a lavish black-and-white-checked silk brocade kimono with a bold pattern of lavender wisteria blossoms and pale green leaves spilling diagonally from her left shoulder to the hem. It was obviously expensive. Her eyes, unusually round, made her piquant face exotic, provocative. The large, airy room reflected her status and set off her beauty. It was filled with luxurious furnishings: silk quilt and futon, carved lacquer chests and cabinets, painted lanterns. The alcove held a branch of dried winter berries in a creamy celadon vase that was surely the work of a master potter, and a scroll bearing classic Chinese verse in the unmistakable hand of a famous Kyoto calligrapher.
“I’m here about your friend, Noriyoshi,” Sano said, turning from his examination of the room and back to her face.
Her eyes, liquid and luminous, seemed to darken. Turning abruptly to the round mirror on her dressing table, she picked up a comb and began to arrange her hair, drawing the long, shining black mass up at the sides into a complicated loop at the back. Her movements had a languid, sensuous quality that Sano found extremely erotic and arousing, despite his preoccupation with the murder case.
“I refuse to discuss Noriyoshi. And I’m expecting a guest.” Her voice trembled. “So get out. Now.”
The sadness and absence of animosity in her voice told Sano that grief, not anger, had provoked her rude dismissal. He hesitated, unwilling to cause her pain. But he didn’t want to leave without learning what she knew.
Wisteria flung her comb to the floor and faced him. “Well? What are you waiting for?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “If you’ve come to tell me that Noriyoshi committed suicide for love of some silly little upper-class goose, and that his body will be put out on the riverbank for people to gawk at… well, I already know. The story is all over the quarter. So go. Leave me in peace.”
Sano decided to tell her as much of the truth as possible. “Noriyoshi didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered.”
She stared at him. Sounds from the next room filled the silence: samisen music, with a male and a female voice singing softly. Her face registered first disbelief, then dawning hope.
“Murdered?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Can this be true? How do you know?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Sano said. He didn’t know if he could trust her, and he didn’t want the story of the dissection spread around Yoshiwara. “But it’s true.” He knelt beside her. “I want to find out why he was killed, and by whom. Will you help me?”
“How?”
“Tell me everything you know about Noriyoshi: his family background, what kind of man he was. Who his enemies were, and why one of them might have wanted to kill him.”
Wisteria’s eyes took on a faraway look. She began to run her fingers through her hair. Maybe the action was a nervous habit, but everything about her suggested sex-her luxurious room with the bed ready, her faint, flowery scent, her rosy mouth. Sano, watching her slender, soft hands, couldn’t help imagining them caressing his body. He shifted nervously. The room seemed very warm.