Midori’s teeth gnawed her chapped lips, drawing blood. At last she began to speak in a dull monotone.

“The day before she died, Yukiko wrote that she couldn’t decide whether to tell what she knew about someone. ‘To speak is to betray, ’ she said. ‘To remain silent a sin. ’ After I read that, I looked back to see who she was talking about.” Midori paused. “It was our brother, Masahito.”

Young Lord Niu. Noriyoshi’s blackmail victim, also in the power of a sister with a strong sense of right or wrong. Would she have pressured him to confess a misdeed, as she had the little girls who had broken a firefly cage? He was cunning enough to plan the false shinjū, and had access to plenty of loyal helpers. Crazy like his father, perhaps. Son of a powerful woman who would use her influence to protect him from the law. And, in the end, desperate enough to kill again to avoid exposure? The puzzle arranged itself into a picture whose logic and rightness Sano found immensely satisfying. Only one piece was missing.

With an effort, Sano controlled his rising excitement. “What did Yukiko know about Masahito, Miss Midori?”

Midori shook her head with the conviction that her earlier denial had lacked. “I don’t know. All Yukiko said was-”

She frowned and pursed her lips in an effort to remember. Then she said, “For what Masahito did, the penalty is execution, maybe not just for himself, either, but for the whole family, who must share his awful punishment because it’s the law. Yukiko said that the thought of death filled her heart with dread. But she was willing to die rather than live in shame and dishonor, because it’s a samurai woman’s duty. And she thought duty was more important than her loyalty to our family, even if she would condemn us to the same cruel fate as his by exposing Masahito.

“My stepmother came in then, and I didn’t get to read any further,” Midori finished. “I don’t know what Masahito did, but it must be very bad.”

Sano tried to imagine what Lord Niu might have done to merit such extreme punishment. Samurai were not subject to the same laws that bound commoners. Usually they were allowed to commit seppuku-ritual suicide instead of being executed for their crimes. Only for very serious offenses involving disgrace to their honor were they stripped of their status and treated as commoners. Arson and treason came to mind; sometimes murder, depending on the circumstances, could also mean execution for both the criminal and any relatives who had collaborated in or even known of the crime. Without more information, Sano could only guess which Lord Niu might have committed. But he had no doubt that the need to keep it a secret had provided Lord Niu’s motive for the murder of not only his sister, but of Noriyoshi and Tsunehiko as well.

“He killed her, didn’t he?” Midori asked. “Because he didn’t want her to tell?”

Wanting to spare Midori’s feelings, Sano said, “Maybe not. After all, we have only Yukiko’s word for what happened. Perhaps she misunderstood, or wasn’t telling the truth in her diary.” Objectivity forced him to consider both possibilities.

Hope kindled in Midori’s eyes. Then she shook her head, fingering her shaven scalp. “No,” she said mournfully. “Yukiko wouldn’t lie. And she must have been sure. I know she was upset before she died.”

Midori hugged her knees to her chest as if for comfort as well as warmth. Sano’s heart ached for the pampered daimyo’s daughter, sent against her will to a place she hated, to live a life of deprivation and servitude. It was the fate of many girls, but with a terrible difference. Other girls, sold into prostitution or given in marriage to cruel husbands, could find solace in believing they’d made a noble sacrifice, and in idealizing the families they’d left behind. Midori had to face the worst about hers. Sano hated his part in her anguish. He wished things could have turned out any other way. But whatever the outcome, innocent people would suffer when his investigation bore fruit. He realized that now, even if he hadn’t when he’d impulsively begun.

“I’m sorry,” he began, then fell silent. He couldn’t think of any words of sympathy that wouldn’t sound trite or insincere.

Midori didn’t answer. She was gazing down at the village, her face pinched with misery.

The sudden ringing of the temple bell broke the silence and made them both jump. Its deep, resounding peals echoed across the mountains and lake, signaling the evening rites.

Midori cast a nervous glance uphill. “I’d better go back now, before anyone misses me,” she said. “When the nuns catch me disobeying, they make me go without supper.” Reluctantly she rose, handing back Sano’s cloak. “Good-bye, yoriki-san.”

She took a few steps, then turned and said, in a voice newly adult in its seriousness, “I want Yukiko’s death avenged. I want her killer punished.” Her face, too, had sharpened, giving Sano a disconcerting glimpse of the woman she would become: as formidable in her own way as Lady Niu. “If it’s Masahito”-she swallowed hard, but continued bravely-“then so be it.”

Sano watched her small, forlorn figure climb the path toward the temple. Then he started down the mountainside. Tonight he could rest. But tomorrow he must begin the journey back to Edo, where he faced the onerous tasks of notifying Tsunehiko’s parents of their son’s death, and proving Lord Niu Masahito guilty of three murders.

Chapter 17

Magistrate Ogyu bent to examine the stone bench that stood outside his tea ceremony cottage. Although the morning sunlight revealed no dirt, he ran his finger over its surface. He held the finger close to his eyes, frowning at the almost invisible film of dust on his skin.

“Clean this bench immediately,” he said to the servant who hovered at his elbow. “Lady Niu will be arriving soon. Everything must be perfect.”

“Yes, master.” The servant began to sweep the bench with a small broom.

Ogyu turned to inspect the garden. He needed to make sure the gardeners had cleared away the dead branches from the flagstone path and arranged leaves in an attractive pattern on the pond. But his movement crackled the paper tucked into his sash. Unwillingly, but also unable to stop himself, he drew out Lady Niu’s letter, which he’d received yesterday. He read it for what must be the twentieth time, skipping over the formal salutations to the heart of her message:

In view of recent events, I feel it is imperative that we meet and plan our strategy for dealing with their ramifications.

The “events” she referred to could only be Sano Ichirō’s secret visit to the Temple of Kannon and the murder of the boy Tsunehiko. Ogyu’s spies had reported both to him, the only out-of-the-ordinary things to happen over the past three days. He wondered why Sano had told the seemingly pointless lie about Mishima. But whatever the reason, it was a matter between superior and subordinate, best handled privately. Tsunehiko’s death was an unfortunate but all too common highway tragedy. What had these incidents to do with Lady Niu?

Ogyu could only guess. His uncertainty had kept him awake last night and soured his stomach; he still felt nauseated despite the infusion of bamboo ash he’d taken. Added to his worries was the disturbing news that one of his Edo informers had brought just this morning: Sano had not stopped investigating the shinjū. The day before he left, he’d interviewed both the actor and a wrestler. Ogyu didn’t think Lady Niu had found out yet; his informers in those quarters were better than anyone’s except the shogun’s. But he knew she soon would, and that she would blame him for not seeing that Sano followed orders. The thought of her displeasure worsened Ogyu’s sickness. Hot, acrid bile rose in his throat as he remembered how she could ruin him if she chose. A curse on Sano Ichirō, that stubborn, disobedient fool! Would that he’d never seen the man!