“It’s a little early to call on a metsuke intelligence agent,” Sano said, “but I daresay the circumstances justify rousting him out of bed.”

24

A loud moan broke the silence of the tower prison. Reiko emerged from fitful slumber, her eyes squinting in the faint gray moonlight. Across the room she saw Midori sitting up on her futon, arms cradling her belly. Pain drew her features into a grimace as she moaned again. Reiko flung off her quilt. Shivering in the chill, she hastened to kneel by Midori’s side.

“Midori-san, what’s wrong?” Reiko said.

“A bad cramp woke me up. It’s stopped now.” Midori’s grimace relaxed into a look of shame. “I’ve wet the bed.”

Reiko looked down and saw a bloody stain spreading over Midori’s futon and puddling on the floor. She felt its liquid warmth seep through her kimono and dampen her knees.

“Oh, no,” she said, grieved by the realization that the event they’d hoped would wait until they got home was happening now.

Lady Yanagisawa sat up in bed, clutching the quilt to her chin, blinking in sleepy confusion. Lady Keisho-in flopped onto her side and said in a hoarse, cranky voice, “What is it?”

“Midori’s water has broken,” Reiko said. “Her labor has started.”

The streets of the Hibiya administrative district were deserted except for watchmen dozing in guard booths outside the walled mansions, and dark except for lamps burning over the gates. Sano dismounted outside the mansion that belonged to Toda Ikkyu. An especially high wall secluded the premises from neighbors, who probably didn’t know Toda was a spy for the metsuke-the Tokugawa intelligence service that guarded the shogun’s power over Japan. Sano knew that Toda maintained an unobtrusive profile, the better to spy upon his bakufu colleagues.

“Tell your master that the shogun’s sōsakan-sama wishes to see him at once,” Sano ordered the watchman.

His title and authoritative manner brought quick results despite the fact that he’d arrived in the dead of predawn. A household retainer ushered him into a reception room that was decorated with bland, conventional landscape murals which seemed meant to hide rather than reveal its owner’s character. Soon a man appeared, barefoot, clad in a gray dressing gown, his eyes puffy with sleep.

“Good evening, Sōsakan-sama,” he said. “Or should I say good morning?”

“Good morning, Toda-san.” As they exchanged bows, Sano covertly studied his host to make sure he was really Toda. The spy was so nondescript that Sano always had difficulty recognizing him. He looked like anyone and no one, an advantage in a profession that depended on his avoiding notice. But his world-weary voice and manner jibed with Sano’s vague memory of Toda.

“I doubt this is a social call,” Toda said. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“I have a favor to ask,” Sano said.

Toda grimaced. “Why am I not surprised?”

Sano had consulted Toda during past investigations because Toda had access to facts about many citizens, gathered by a legion of spies and informers all over the country.

“What do you want this time?” Toda said with veiled annoyance. He didn’t like sharing information; the metsuke jealously hoarded knowledge, the basis of their unique power.

“I need your help identifying a man I believe to be the kidnapper of Lady Keisho-in,” said Sano.

Toda’s eyes registered awareness that he had better cooperate. If Lady Keisho-in wasn’t rescued and the kidnapper brought to justice, the shogun would likely punish the whole bakufu, including the metsuke spies, who were responsible for discovering and neutralizing threats to the Tokugawa.

“What’s the matter? Have you abandoned your theory that the Dragon King is one of Police Commissioner Hoshina’s old enemies?” Toda could never resist a sly rejoinder. “Did the Kii clan and the merchant Naraya prove not to be the culprit?”

Sano wasn’t surprised that Toda knew about the theory, and the suspects. Toda probably had spies among the soldiers guarding Hosh-ina, and they’d eavesdropped on his conversation with Sano that morning. “I’ve got a new suspect,” Sano said, “but unfortunately not his name.”

He described what had happened at the secret Black Lotus temple. “The only clue I have to the man’s identity is the dead woman that he tried to communicate with through the Black Lotus priest. Her name was Anemone. I think someone among her family or associates is the Dragon King. I’m hoping you can tell me who she is.”

Toda pondered, searching the voluminous storehouse of his mind for the answer. Then he said, “I don’t remember a murder of anyone called Anemone. It’s a pity you didn’t get her family name. When was she killed? How did she die?”

“I don’t know,” Sano said.

“Perhaps you can tell me where her murder took place?”

Sano shook his head, realizing that what he asked might be more than even Toda could give him, considering the paucity of background information on the crime.

“There have been thousands of murders in the country throughout the years, as you well know,” Toda said. “For me to know where to begin looking for information about Anemone, I need more than just her given name.”

“Let’s suppose there’s a connection between Anemone and Hoshina,” Sano said, “even if he didn’t kill her.”

“That would narrow the time span down to the past twenty years or so, presuming the murder didn’t occur while Hoshina was only a child,” Toda said. “It would also locate the crime in Edo or Miyako, the two places Hoshina has lived.”

“The Dragon King couldn’t have planted Mariko as a spy in Lady Keisho-in’s retinue unless he has close connections to the Tokugawa,” Sano said. “He must be someone in the bakufu, and a member of a high-ranking samurai clan. There can’t be many murders of women named Anemone that involve a man who fits those criteria.”

“True,” Toda said, his weary expression leavened by the possibility that this favor to Sano might not cost him too much trouble after all. “And crimes involving a man of that sort would be noted in the records at metsuke headquarters. Give me a moment to get dressed, then we’ll be on our way.”

Soon they were in the partitioned room in the palace that housed the metsuke headquarters. A single lamp burned in the compartment where Sano and Toda pored over ledgers that detailed incidents concerning Tokugawa vassals and the law. The palace corridors were silent, the other compartments unoccupied. Desks piled with scrolls, maps, and writing materials awaited metsuke agents who still slumbered at home while Sano and Toda searched the Edo records for the three years Hoshina had lived in the city. Sano turned pages of accounts of people killed in duels or crimes of passion, wives divorced, and disputes over money, property, and protocol, but he found no mention of Anemone’s murder.

By the time he and Toda started on the Miyako records, daylight began seeping through the windows; temple bells around the city tolled, summoning priests to morning prayers. The room filled up with men, muttered conversation, and tobacco smoke. Strain burned Sano’s eyes as he read through yet another ledger and tried to stay awake. The noon deadline that Chamberlain Yanagisawa had given him loomed nearer, until at last, the characters of the name he sought focused his bleary gaze.

“Here it is,” he exclaimed to Toda, who gladly set aside his own ledger. Sano read: “ ‘Tenwa Year two, month five, day four,’ ” then clarified, “That’s twelve years ago. ‘Dannoshin Jirozaemon, commander of the militia, dead by suicide. His wife Anemone, dead by drowning. The lifeless body of Dannoshin was found in his pleasure boat, adrift on Lake Biwa. His throat was cut, his short sword in his hand. He had left a note at home that explained his actions.