The muscles of Yanagisawa’s throat contracted; he shuddered. “Merciful gods, that scream. It knocked me flat. I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except lie there howling in pain while the terrible noise went on and on.” The chamberlain took a deep breath, then said, “Finally it stopped. My ears were ringing; I was trembling and sore and nauseated. I got up and found Aisu lying nearby. He was dead. Then the vibration started again. It was very faint, coming from between the buildings. The killer was there; I could feel him. He was getting ready to scream again and kill me.”

Sano hadn’t felt any vibration after the spirit cry, probably because he’d been too far away. Suddenly Yanagisawa began to laugh. Hysteria tinged his merriment.

“What’s so funny?” Sano said, wondering if the spirit cry had demented Yanagisawa’s mind.

“It’s ironic. Do you know what saved me?”

Mystified, Sano shook his head.

“You.” Yanagisawa pointed at Sano. “I heard you and your detectives talking. The vibration suddenly stopped. I saw a movement in the shadows, and I couldn’t feel the killer anymore. You scared him away.” Now Yanagisawa’s humor faded into the glumness of defeat. “You, of all people, saved my life.”

Pity diluted Sano’s animosity toward the chamberlain. To be rescued by the foe whose death he’d plotted-what a blow to his pride! “Did you see the killer?”

“No,” Yanagisawa said. All the resistance had left him. He looked pale, sick, and broken. Perhaps he mourned the loss of Aisu. Or was something else bothering him?

“You referred to the killer as ‘him,’ ” Sano continued. “Does that mean you think it was a man?”

Yanagisawa shook his head. “At the time, I thought of him-or her-as ‘it.’ ” He added, “I caught up with my bodyguards outside the palace gate. We rode straight here. I asked them if they’d gotten a look at the killer. They said no.

“Unfortunately, the only other witness is dead,” Sano said. “But it’s unlikely that more than one person has the power of kiai, so it was probably the same killer as in Left Minister Konoe’s murder. The attack on you has cleared Lady Asagao and narrowed the field to four suspects. I can determine where each of them was last night.”

“How wonderful that my terrible experience was so helpful to your investigation,” Yanagisawa said with a touch of his old sarcasm. Then an aggrieved expression came over his features. “Why would the murderer want to kill me?”

“That’s a good question. The answer might provide a clue to the murderer’s identity.”

“I suppose you’re going to place me under guard in some secret place until your work in Miyako is finished,” Yanagisawa said. “Then you’ll take me back to Edo and tell the shogun what I’ve done. His Excellency will be so furious that I deceived him and tried to ruin the investigation he ordered that he’ll believe whatever you say about me. No doubt Yoriki Hoshina will be glad to corroborate your story in exchange for a pardon.” A grim, desolate note inflected Yanagisawa’s voice. “I’ll lose my post, and probably my life.”

Sano had come here intending to do exactly as Yanagisawa had described. It was what Yanagisawa deserved, and would rid him of the chamberlain’s interference. But a strange, fleeting sensation came over him, like the invisible touch of ancestral spirits returning for Obon. Sano found himself thinking that fate had brought him and Yanagisawa together for some important purpose, that there was a reason for the way things had turned out, and he would regret following his planned course of action. Sano frowned, puzzling over the bizarre omen. Had his own mind been affected by the spirit cry? Yet an instinct stronger than common sense urged him to obey intuition.

He said to Chamberlain Yanagisawa, “Yes, I could destroy you, but instead, I’m going to offer you a deal.”

Yanagisawa’s brows rose in astonishment; then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“If you’ll agree to a truce between us and help me solve the case,” Sano said, “then I won’t report your sabotage to the shogun.”

Yanagisawa gave an incredulous laugh. “You’re not serious.”

“Indeed I am,” Sano said. “I want information you have. You want to be a detective. If we work together, I can fulfill the shogun’s orders, and you can share the credit.”

From the opaque look in the chamberlain’s eves, Sano knew Yanagisawa was calculating the benefits of the deal, the price of staying out of trouble, and how he could come out ahead.

“All right. We’ll work together. But surely you understand what I can do to you if you allow me my freedom.” Yanagisawa regarded Sano with resentment and scorn.

“And you understand what I’ll do to you if you cross me,” Sano said. The gaze he fixed upon Yanagisawa reminded the chamberlain how close he’d come to death tonight. It promised that next time Sano wouldn’t control his temper. No matter where you hide or how many guards you have, I will get to you, Sano thought, and I will show no mercy.

Yanagisawa stared, appalled, then nodded in resignation. “Very well, Sōsakan Sano. A truce it is.”

17

Reiko took a bath that rinsed away tears and restored strength; heavy makeup covered her puffy eyelids and mottled complexion. She pinned up her hair, which she would later cut off and put in Sano’s coffin as a token of her fidelity, and dressed in a pale gray silk kimono with a pattern of summer grasses because she hadn’t had time to buy drab mourning robes. Then she ordered her palanquin bearers to take her to the Imperial Palace.

Out in the city, however, sorrow nearly defeated Reiko. As she rode through Miyako in her palanquin, the bright sunshine, colorful shops, and busy crowds seemed unreal. It was as if the death of the man she loved had left no mark upon the world. Worse, Reiko couldn’t shake the feeling that Sano was still alive. Whenever she spied a samurai of his age and build, her heart leapt. Then, after she saw it wasn’t Sano, fresh despair crushed her. Tears stung her eyes; she dabbed them dry to avoid ruining her makeup, and closed the palanquin’s windows.

At last Reiko arrived in the quadrangle of the Palace of the Abdicated Emperor. As she disembarked from her palanquin, Lady Jokyōden came to meet her.

“Greetings, Lady Sano,” Jokyōden said. Her face was impassive, her posture regal. She bowed in a cool, formal manner. “Please accept my sincere condolences on your loss.”

“A thousand thanks.” Reiko fought to steady her trembling voice, because a display of emotion would shame her and offend this woman who obviously didn’t want her here.

“I did not expect to see you again,” Jokyōden said.

“You asked me to come,” Reiko reminded her.

Mild surprise lifted Jokyōden’s painted brows. “So I did. But that was before yesterday’s events proved that you were no friend to me and a danger to the Imperial Court. When we talked before, I guessed that you wanted to help your husband by questioning me about Left Minister Konoe’s murder. I was intrigued by you, and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to further our acquaintance because you seemed capable of little harm.

“But you had the gall to search for evidence in private quarters. Your discovery led to the arrest of the emperor’s consort by your husband, who chose to make a quick end to his work by persecuting an innocent woman.” Jokyōden’s tone was hard, unforgiving. “How you can presume to come here now is beyond my comprehension.”

“I want to apologize,” Reiko said humbly. “I did take advantage of Lady Asagao’s trust. It turned out to be a terrible mistake.” Yet Reiko also wanted to counter Jokyōden’s criticism. “But a murder investigation often requires devious means to serve justice. My husband arrested Lady Asagao instead of immediately looking elsewhere for the killer because it was his duty to charge her with murder after she confessed.” Reiko couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “He paid for my mistake and his actions with his life.”