Sano’s suspicions about the maid deepened. How had she obtained employment here without references? How could the Dragon King have planted a spy in the innermost heart of the Tokugawa regime? A disturbing possibility that had been lurking in the back of Sano’s mind now emerged into the forefront. Was the Dragon King someone in the regime, who could bypass rules while plotting against the shogun?

Innate caution warned Sano against jumping to premature conclusions and voicing this idea that would wreak havoc in the court. First he must determine whether Mariko had indeed been the kidnapper’s accomplice.

“We’ll ask the other women if they know where Mariko went that night,” Sano said.

But when he and Chizuru questioned the maids, concubines, and ladies-in-waiting, they found that Mariko hadn’t confided her plans to anyone. Everyone who’d known she had permission to leave the castle had believed her story about her sick mother.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” Chizuru said unhappily as she escorted Sano out of the Large Interior.

“You did help. You’ve shown me where to go next,” Sano said. “Mariko’s mother may have information about her daughter that could lead me to the kidnappers.”

“The door to the tower prison creaked open, and in strode two guards. Keisho-in and Lady Yanagisawa uttered startled exclamations; Midori squealed. Reiko experienced the frightening conviction that the men had come for her again, as she’d anticipated they would after they’d brought her back from the Dragon King’s castle more than an hour ago. She and the other women cowered together, braced for some new horror.

But the men just herded them into a corner and stood watch over them. Six more guards entered. They mopped the floor, carried out the brimming waste buckets, and returned them emptied and cleaned, while the women watched in amazement. They brought bedding, tatami to cover the floor, hot water in a basin, and cloths for washing. They set out bowls of dried fish, pickled vegetables, fruits, and eggs, and pots of rice and tea, then departed the room, securing the door behind them.

Keisho-in immediately fell upon the food, wolfing it down with sloppy abandon. “At last, they’ve decided to show me some proper respect,” she said. “It’s about time.”

“I think there’s another reason for their generosity,” Midori said with a smile at Reiko. “You must have made a good impression on their leader.”

Lady Yanagisawa just eyed Reiko in speculative silence. Reiko turned away from her friends, bent over the basin, and splashed water on her face, wishing she could cleanse away the fearsome impression the kidnappers’ leader had made on her. The other women didn’t know what had happened between her and their captor because she hadn’t said; she didn’t want to upset Midori or spur Keisho-in into another fit of rage. All she’d told them was that the man who called himself the Dragon King had given her food and not hurt her. She’d assured them that they were in no immediate danger, although the truth was that meeting the Dragon King had changed her own situation from bad to worse.

She looked at the cleaned room, and the furnishings and food the guards had brought. The Dragon King was wooing her with physical comforts. Reiko imagined what payment he expected. She shuddered, pressing a cloth over her face. But although she hated that she’d attracted an evil, unwanted admirer, she began to perceive that the Dragon King’s attraction to her was a vulnerability that she could perhaps exploit to her advantage. She lowered the cloth from her face as ideas raced and schemes bred in her mind.

A gentle touch on her arm startled Reiko. She turned and saw Lady Yanagisawa kneeling beside her.

“There’s more to the story of what passed between you and the Dragon King… is there not?” Lady Yanagisawa whispered.

Reiko didn’t want to confide in the woman and encourage intimacy between them. But she owed Lady Yanagisawa for aiding the escape attempt and risking her own life. And Reiko needed to discuss her fears and schemes with someone.

She glanced at the other women, nodded covertly to Lady Yanagisawa, and whispered back, “I’ll tell you later, when they’re asleep.”

20

Within hours after Sano had reported to him on the suspects Hoshina had implicated that morning, Chamberlain Yanagisawa rode down the main boulevard of the daimyo district with his entourage of bodyguards. The crowds of mounted and strolling samurai parted to make way for him. He and his entourage halted outside an estate whose double-roofed gate displayed the circular crest of the Kii clan. No sooner had they alit from their horses, than the sentries opened the portals for them.

“Good afternoon, Honorable Chamberlain,” the sentries chorused, bowing.

Yanagisawa’s high rank gave him the right to walk into almost any house, and he was especially confident of a warm welcome here. He strode into a courtyard, where soldiers loitered and a guard captain greeted him.

“Lord Kii is in the martial arts training ground,” said the guard captain. “May I please escort you?”

“Never mind,” Yanagisawa said. “I know the way.”

As he and his men marched past the mansion’s buildings, he put to use a lifetime of practice at hiding his emotions. His face was serene and his manner dignified, while his spirit writhed in agony, desperation, and terror. He didn’t expect trouble from his impending talk with Lord Kii, daimyo of Sendai Province and head of the clan that Sano had named as a suspect in the kidnapping. All his woe centered around Hoshina.

Try as he might, he couldn’t expunge the awful memory of Hoshina begging for his life. He couldn’t deny his guilt or shame at refusing to protect Hoshina, or the threat that had turned his own existence into a nightmare. He must save Hoshina, and not only because of his love for the man. Losing Hoshina and their partnership would weaken him politically, rendering him vulnerable to his foes, who included Lord Matsudaira. Should he lose the shogun’s favor, they would hasten to attack him. His need to save Hoshina entwined with the absolute necessity of rescuing Lady Keisho-in and maintaining his power. Yanagisawa hoped that a talk with Lord Kii would further at least one of these purposes.

Lord Kii’s martial arts training ground was a large, rectangular field, surrounded by stables and full of samurai. Two armies, differentiated by colored flags worn on poles attached to their backs, fought a mock battle. The soldiers charged on horseback across the ground and struck at one another with wooden practice swords. Dust flew and war-whoops rang out. Commanders shouted orders; signalers blew conch trumpets. Entering the ground, Yanagisawa spied Lord Kii.

The daimyo, clad in armor and a helmet crowned with golden horns, watched from astride his horse, amid his retainers, at one end of the field. His armor added bulk to his massive physique. As Yanagisawa gestured for his entourage to wait and approached Lord Kii, the daimyo turned toward him. An iron mask with a snarling mouth shielded his face. He raised a leather-gloved hand to his armies.

“Stop!” he bellowed.

The battle and noise ceased. The armies separated, lining up in ranks as Lord Kii dismounted and walked over to meet Yanagisawa. Lord Kii removed his helmet and mask, revealing a ruddy, smiling face that was shaped like a pumpkin and youthful despite his sixty years. Crinkles around his eyes, and a gap between his front teeth, increased his amiable appearance. Despite his size, his position as one of Japan ’s most powerful daimyo, and his enthusiasm for military training, Lord Kii was a meek, gentle-natured man.

“Welcome, Honorable Chamberlain,” he said. He and all his troops bowed. “What a privilege it is to have you here.”