Hoshina grimaced. “Ten years of that?”

Sano marveled at the strength and longevity of this unrequited love. “Such obsessive passion can be dangerous. Might it have somehow led to Left Minister Konoe’s death?”

Hoshina said, “Kozeri left the palace a long time ago. Nuns cease all contact with their worldly lives when they enter the convent, and it sounds as if that’s what Kozeri did.”

“There are no replies from her to Konoe,” Sano admitted.

“Nor have we evidence of any relationship between Kozeri and the left minister besides the one that existed in his mind,” Hoshina said. “And remember, there were no outsiders in the compound on the night Konoe died. I can’t imagine that Kozeri is relevant to the murder.”

Sano again sensed the potential for trouble between himself and the yoriki, even as he concurred with Hoshina’s logic. Turning to the last page, he silently read more repetitive ramblings of love, lust, and rage that ended with a passionate declaration:

‘Resist me, defy me, torture my heart all you wish, but we are destined for each other. Soon the forces of defense and desire will clash upon the lofty, sacred heights where spires pierce the sky, feathers drift, and clear water falls. Then you shall be mine again.”

The letter’s overblown sexual symbolism offered nothing new, but Sano said, “This is dated just seven days before Left Minister Konoe died. We can’t ignore the possibility that Kozeri spoke with him during that critical period, or that she knows something important.” He tucked the letters inside his kimono. “I’ll call on her after I interview the suspects.”

“Yes, Sōsakan-sama,” Hoshina said, yielding once again. Sano checked the secret compartment for more clues, but it was empty. He and Hoshina systematically dismantled the rest of the office, examining walls, furniture, and ceiling, to no avail. Then Detectives Marume and Fukida joined them.

“We found these sewn inside the padded lining of a winter cloak,” Marume said, holding out his open palm. Upon it lay three identical round copper coins. “There was nothing else.”

Sano took a coin. Its face bore the crudely stamped design of two crossed fern leaves. The reverse side was blank.

“This isn’t standard Tokugawa money,” Fukida said, then turned to Hoshina. "Maybe they’re local currency?”

Studying a coin, the yoriki shook his head. “I’ve never seen any like these before.”

“Marume-san, Fukida-san: Each take a coin and show them around town tomorrow,” Sano said. “I want to know what they are, where they came from, and why Left Minister Konoe had them.”

Hoshina slipped the third coin into the leather drawstring pouch at his waist. "I’ll make some inquiries, too.”

Sano surveyed the shambles they’d made of Konoe’s quarters. A sudden tide of fatigue swept over him. “We’d better restore some order here,” he said. “Then we’ll go to Nijō Manor for food and rest. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

4

Is there anything you need, Honorable Lady Sano?” said the wife of Nijō Manor’s innkeeper.

A middle-aged woman with bright, avid eyes, she hovered in the doorway of a suite inside the inn’s complex of guest chambers. There, enclosed by walls decorated with painted scenes of Mount Mikasa, Reiko peered through the window at the torch-lit courtyard. Since her arrival at Nijō Manor, she’d bathed, changed into a yellow silk dressing gown, dined, and sent her maids to bed. Now she anxiously waited for Sano to come.

“No, thank you,” Reiko told the innkeeper’s wife, who had inundated her with offers of service all evening.

Still, the woman lingered. “You needn’t fear for your safety here,” she said, obviously seeking an excuse to stay and misinterpreting Reiko’s interest in the view. “We have security guards, and the ‘nightingale floors’ in the corridors will squeak to let you know if someone’s coming. And look!” She bustled across the room and opened a panel in the wall. “Here’s a secret door, so you can escape during an attack.”

Nijō Manor, a hybrid between a commoner’s house and a fortified samurai estate, had been established to fill a need for this unique type of accommodation. Tokugawa law forbade the daimyo to have estates here, thus limiting their contact with the Imperial Court; but Nijō Manor gave the feudal lords a safe place to stay while in Miyako. Yet Reiko, who’d heard the history of the manor from the innkeeper’s wife earlier, also craved privacy, which was in short supply.

She realized that she must be the most interesting guest ever to stay at Nijō Manor, at least in the opinion of the women here. The innkeeper’s wife had watched her constantly. The maids had helped unpack her baggage, whispering together as they examined her silk kimonos and exclaiming over the pair of swords she’d brought. Later, Reiko overheard them gossiping:

“I’ve never heard of a lady with swords!”

“What’s she doing here?”

“Let’s find out.”

When Reiko went to the privy and the bathchamber, giggles and stealthy footsteps followed her. She heard furtive noises outside her window. The innkeeper’s wife asked prying questions. Reiko had tried to discourage nosiness by explaining that she’d come to visit Miyako’s famous temples-a dull, respectable reason to travel-but the news about the strange lady from Edo spread through the neighborhood. When Reiko peered out the gate to look for Sano, a crowd of curious peasant women stared back at her.

Now the innkeeper’s wife continued extolling the virtues of Nijō Manor. Through the window Reiko saw the maids in the courtyard. They waved to her, tittering. Reiko fought annoyance as she waved back, then forced herself to smile at the innkeeper’s wife. If there proved to be no part for her in Sano’s investigation, she would be stuck here; she mustn’t antagonize these women, because servants could take their revenge in small, aggravating ways.

The inn’s floors and ceilings creaked as guests settled in for the night, their talk and laughter a continuous background noise. The night’s humid warmth oppressed Reiko’s spirits. Sano had warned her that she might have less freedom in Miyako than in Edo, where she had friends and relatives to visit, things to do, and a certain independence. In Edo, she also had her network to consult during investigations. Here she felt alone and helpless. She would go mad with boredom unless Sano found occupation for her.

At last she heard the voices of Sano and Detectives Marume and Fukida in the corridor. Quickly she said to the innkeeper’s wife, “Please prepare my husband’s bath and dinner.”

The woman hurried off to obey. Sano entered the room, carrying a clothbound ledger. Fatigue shadowed his face, but he smiled at Reiko. Feeling the stir of desire and affection that his presence always evoked, she murmured, “Welcome.”

Sano studied her anxiously. “I’m sorry I had to leave you. Is everything all right?”

That his immediate concern should be for her, even when he had serious business on his mind, filled Reiko with love for him. “Everything is fine,” she said, forbearing to mention her own troubles. “I want to hear all about what happened, as soon as you’ve had time to relax.”

After he’d bathed and dressed in a cool cotton robe, they sat together in their room. The maids brought Sano a meal tray containing clear broth, grilled river fish, pickled radish, and rice. While he ate, he told Reiko the circumstances of Left Minister Konoe’s death.

“So it was murder,” Reiko said, relishing the challenge of a hunt for a killer, “and an actual instance of death by kiai! This is going to be a very interesting case.”

“And a difficult one,” Sano said. He paused, using his chopsticks to pick bones out of the fish. “Hopefully, I’ll soon have some clues, as well as statements from suspects, and we can discuss them. Your ideas will be very helpful.”