She turned it in her hands as she examined it in accordance with the ritual. “What a beautiful bowl,” she said, stroking the rough glaze with a fingertip. “When I drink, I shall think of the potter who made it and those illustrious persons who have drunk from it before me.”
Hearing her meaningless, conventional words, Ogyu went limp with relief. She’d finished what she’d come to say. She was satisfied with conveying her displeasure and wouldn’t harm him.
“You are too kind, my lady,” he said gratefully.
Released from fear and uncertainty, he began to enjoy the ceremony. Lady Niu drank and complimented the tea. She wiped the bowl where her lips had touched and passed it back to him, reciting a poem she had written. Ogyu drank and capped her poem with one of his own. He poured the dregs into the slop jar, and they repeated the process again, then again. Ogyu’s giddy relief raised him to new heights of eloquence. His conversation had never sparkled so. Surely he’d never before hosted the ceremony with such elegance. And Lady Niu was the perfect companion: beautiful, literate, her manners unimpeachably proper. Ogyu could almost like her.
Seeing her out the gate, he gushed, “Thank you, my lady, for honoring my poor cottage with your exalted presence. It would be more than I could hope for to have you come again. How can I secure your promise? Just name your request.”
“The pleasure and honor are all mine,” Lady Niu answered, inclining her head. “There is one thing you can do for me. If you will permit me to speak plainly?”
A pang of fear hit Ogyu’s stomach. “Of course,” he said, involuntarily hunching his shoulders and trying to smile. Nausea returned as he realized that she’d merely postponed the real purpose of her visit to avoid spoiling the tea ceremony. What a fool he must have seemed to her, exuberant in his false sense of security! And now he’d played right into her hands.
Lady Niu’s gaze turned cold and hard. All pretense at graciousness fell away as she said, “Sano Ichirō’s inquiries have aroused the interest of the metsuke.” The last word issued from her mouth like a drop of poison.
“The shogun’s spies?” Ogyu blurted, aghast. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to the workings of his department. Who knew what might come to light? “Are you sure?”
“I have it from a very reliable source,” Lady Niu said. “What is more, they are entertaining the thought that my stepdaughter Yukiko and that man Noriyoshi were murdered, as your yoriki so obviously believes.”
“Then it was murder,” Ogyu whispered, clasping his hands to still their trembling. How awful if the shogun should think he’d tried to cover up such an important crime! It would mean a reprimand at best; demotion at worst. Now he wished he had listened to Sano. But he had truly believed the deaths a shinjū. Who could blame him for agreeing to spare the Nius the trouble of an inquiry? No one knew the hold Lady Niu had upon him.
Lady Niu shook her head impatiently. “Do not be ridiculous,” she said. “It was suicide. The metsuke, those despicable schemers, allow themselves to be carried away by the idea of a scandal in Lord Niu’s house, and all the opportunities such a scandal would create. Why, imagine the wealth that would pour into the Tokugawa coffers if they could strip my husband of his fief!” Her voice harshened with passion. “But they are about to begin their own investigation. This we must prevent.”
“Prevent,” Ogyu repeated, amazed that a mere woman should presume to match wits with the shogun’s men. “But how?”
Lady Niu gave a flat, humorless laugh. “That is for you to decide, Magistrate Ogyu-san,” she said, emphasizing his title.
“Me? Why? How?” Ogyu’s queasy stomach churned at the thought of entering such a dangerous conspiracy. Imagining the ruin of his career and possibly even exile or death, he feared he would complete his disgrace by vomiting in front of her.
“Why should be obvious.” Lady Niu opened the gate. “And how is for you to decide.” She stepped outside. A maid came forward to help her into her waiting palanquin. Over her shoulder, she said, “Just remember the oil merchant, and I am sure you will think of something.” Then she was gone.
Ogyu closed the gate and leaned against it, eyes shut, as sour waves of panic and sickness weakened him. He took deep breaths through his mouth, fighting for control of his body and emotions. Remember who you are, he told himself. You have triumphed before; you will again. He remembered his rival for the position of chief page all those years ago; he’d framed the boy for thievery and secured the job himself. During his tenure as magistrate, he’d survived periodic attempts to unseat him; he’d used his connections and influence to have his detractors transferred to posts far from Edo. Now he tried to deny that Lady Niu’s was a more serious threat than any other he’d faced.
Gradually strength returned. Ogyu opened his eyes and staggered toward the door. He wondered why Lady Niu was so anxious for him to prevent the investigation and so willing to take extreme measures to see that he did. Then concern for himself overrode his curiosity. He must act now to avoid ruin. Miraculously, though, he felt less fear than he had before the meeting. The threat, its size and shape now defined, began to seem more manageable. He actually smiled as he entered his mansion. He was no fool, but a cunning and powerful magistrate. He always knew when a situation required a bold stroke instead of circumspect maneuvering. This instinctive knowledge was another of the talents that had enabled him to rise to his present position. However, as a man of refinement and fastidious tastes, he wouldn’t dirty his own hands.
To the servant who met him in the entrance way, Ogyu said, “Send for Yoriki Yamaga and Hayashi at once.”
He must give the orders. But others would act to prevent the metsuke investigation and to end Sano Ichirō’s interference in the Nius’ affairs once and for all.
Chapter 18
A sudden pounding of hoofbeats scattered the crowd in front of the noodle restaurant where Raiden sat finishing his midday meal. The sumo wrestler looked up from his bowl to see two horsemen in full battle regalia: richly decorated leather armor, metal helmets and face masks. Swords drawn, they brought their galloping mounts to a halt in front of him.
“You, there!” one of them called.
Raiden uttered a cry of dismay at the dust that the horse’s hooves had thrown onto his food. He glared up at the riders. Flinging the bowl aside, he stood, arms folded, legs apart.
“You mean me?” he growled at the lead rider.
“Yes. You.” The rider’s mask distorted his voice but did not disguise its implicit threat. Two cold eyes returned Raiden’s glare. “Are you Raiden, the wrestler?”
Raiden fell back a step. His anger subsided as the first prickings of fear started within him. He recognized the crests on the riders’ armor and the winged ornaments on their helmets. These were yoriki, whose rare appearances in the streets always meant big trouble for someone.
“What if I am?” Raiden said, trying to sound brave. But his voice quavered, and his heart began to thud.
Instead of answering, both yoriki jerked their horses’ reins. The horses pranced backward, clearing the street in front of Raiden. The yoriki who had spoken gave a piercing yell:
“Take him!”
At once a pack of men descended on Raiden. Two grabbed his arms and pulled him away from the restaurant. The others surrounded him, clubs raised. Beyond them, Raiden saw three doshin with jitte in hand, four other men who each carried a stout ladder, and a crowd of avid onlookers.
Raiden’s confusion and panic increased. He struggled to free himself. “Hey, let me go. What are you doing? What do you want with me?”