The hot sun beat down on her. Soon she was drenched in sweat and longing for a cool drink, but ladies didn’t carry money, and as a stranger in town, Reiko had no credit with Miyako vendors. Samurai on horseback and peasants carrying loads of supplies jostled past her through narrow streets lined with shops. Dust, horse manure, and filthy water from open drains soiled her shoes and hem. She avoided looking other pedestrians in the eye, praying that no one would accost her. Something in her expression must have warned off predators, because although some men leered, they left her alone. Perhaps they thought she was a madwoman. Exhausted and footsore, she finally reached the cloth dyers’ district northeast of Sanjo Bridge.
In workshops, craftsmen stirred steaming dye vats and painted designs on silk. Reiko followed a path beside the Kamo River, seeking Lord Ibe’s house. She knew that while the feudal lords occupied grand estates in Edo and their provinces, Tokugawa law forbade them to maintain residences in Miyako. Therefore, a daimyo who desired a home here would avoid the authorities’ notice by keeping a modest, discreet establishment. Reiko hadn’t asked how Lady Jokyōden knew where Lord Ibe’s illegal residence was. She would not allow herself to consider the possibility that the notes she’d pinned her hopes on were irrelevant to the murders and she’d come all this way for nothing.
Along the path on Reiko’s right, textile shops crowned the embankment; drying cloth flapped on roofs and balconies. On her left, dyers rinsed long, brilliantly colored fabrics in the river, turning clear water into a sea of painted flowers, landscapes, and geometric designs. Reiko followed Jokyōden’s directions up a path leading inland to a neighborhood of narrow, two-story houses behind high fences. Maids and porters hurried down the streets; bearers carried passengers in palanquins. Lord Ibe’s house was the second to last on its block, behind a double gate suspended between two square pillars capped with a gabled roof.
Reiko circled the block, covertly inspecting the area. Other houses showed signs of life-maids shaking brooms out windows, children playing in front-but bamboo blinds covered the balconies of Lord Ibe’s place. During an hour of watching, Reiko didn’t see anyone enter or leave. Nervously, she walked up to the gates and knocked on the wooden planks.
No answer came. Reiko knocked again, louder. She heard the rasp of a sliding door, and footsteps. Then came the metallic scrape of a bar drawing back; the gates parted to reveal a man dressed in a short brown cotton kimono. He had the thick build and close-cropped hair of a laborer. Suspicion darkened his pockmarked features as he looked Reiko up and down.
“Yes?” he growled.
His unfriendly manner and disreputable appearance intimidated Reiko. “I-I’m looking for Lord Ibe,” she said.
“Nobody by that name here.”
The man started to close the gates. “Wait,” Reiko said, pushing against them. “I know this house belongs to Lord Ibe. I must speak to him.”
A lascivious smile came over the man’s face. “You’re wrong,” he said, “but maybe you should come in anyway. We could have fun with a pretty girl like you.” He reached over and chucked Reiko under the chin.
She recoiled at the liberty. “Who are you?” she asked, trying to sound stern.
“None of your business. Who do you think you are?” The man scowled, obviously displeased that a woman should dare to question him.
“Who’s in there?” Reiko persisted. “What’s going on?”
“Get lost, girl.”
The man slammed the gates shut. Reiko heard the bar slide into place. She looked up at the house in desperation. The man had acted as if he had something to hide. She had to know what Left Minister Konoe had discovered here, because this represented her only chance to solve Sano’s murder. But how could she, a woman alone, find out the secrets of the house?
Reiko hurried to the gate of the house behind Lord Ibe’s and knocked. A maid answered. “Yes, madam?”
“Excuse me,” Reiko said, arranging her face in an apologetic smile, “but I wonder if I could use your place of relief?” This was the polite term for the privy. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s an emergency…”
“Yes, of course.” The maid smiled back, eager to help a lady in need. “Come this way.”
She led Reiko around the house, into a narrow backyard that contained a fireproof storehouse and a privy shed.
“Thank you, you’re so kind.” Feigning casual interest, Reiko pointed at the daimyo’s house and said, “Who lives over there?”
“Some men… I don’t know who they are.”
“How many?”
Puzzled, the maid shook her head. “They keep to themselves.” She opened the privy door. “If you need anything, just call.”
“Many thanks.” Reiko went into the privy, waited until the maid was gone, then came out again. She surveyed the yard. Along the fence lay rakes, baskets, urns, a wooden barrel. Quietly Reiko overturned the barrel, stood on it, and peered over the fence. She saw a yard similar to the one she was in, with a storehouse and privy. Wooden bars shielded the back windows of Lord Ibe’s house. As Reiko watched, the door opened, and a muscular man dressed in a loincloth emerged. His body was covered with tattoos, a mark of the gangster class. Leaving the door ajar, he went into the privy.
That open door exerted a powerful, tempting pull on Reiko. Spurning caution, she started to climb the fence. When her long, full robe hindered her, she impatiently tied the skirts around her hips. She eased herself down on the other side, then tiptoed across Lord Ibe’s yard. The presence of a gangster and a peasant ruffian in a daimyo’s house signaled trouble, and Reiko had no doubt that the left minister’s notes referred to their activities. Peeking in the back door, she saw a dim, vacant corridor with rooms opening off it. She glanced toward the privy. Grunts issued from the man inside. Reiko slipped through the door of the house and stood with her back pressed against the wall. Hearing male voices, she tensed.
Footsteps creaked above the ceiling: The men were upstairs. Even armed with a dagger, Reiko had no desire to confront them alone. She’d thought that grief had put her beyond caring what happened to her, but now she regretted her impulsiveness; it was all too clear what men would do to a young female trespasser. She wanted to leave, but then she heard footsteps behind her, outside: The gangster was coming.
Reiko darted down the corridor and through the nearest door, into a storeroom crammed with boxes. Holding her breath, she waited until the man walked past. Planks squeaked as the gangster mounted the stairs. A bitter odor caught Reiko’s attention. She looked around, and when her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw wall racks full of spears, swords, and bows. Stacked wooden chests almost covered the floor. Curious now, Reiko lifted a lid. She found a suit of armor.
Uneasiness stirred within her. The odor grew stronger as she moved toward the door leading into the adjacent room. It held more chests. Reiko opened one, and her heart lurched. Inside lay a cache of arquebuses-long, tubular steel guns. Barrels, round wooden boxes, and square wicker baskets stood nearby. When Reiko pried the lid off a barrel, the smell billowed up into her face, smoky and acrid. She dipped a finger into fine black granules. Though she’d never seen gunpowder before, she knew this must be it. In the boxes she found spherical iron bullets. The baskets contained arrows. Reiko wouldn’t have been surprised to find swords and spears in a daimyo’s house, though not in such huge quantity. And guns were reserved for the sole use of the Tokugawa, but she’d just discovered enough weapons and ammunition to equip a small army.
The implications of the discovery stunned and enlightened Reiko. Left Minister Konoe must have watched men gathering at the house, bringing the arsenal. Surely this activity was the object of the surveillance mentioned in his notes. If Reiko was correct about the purpose of the weapons, then here was a secret that constituted the true motive for Konoe’s murder.