Reiko hastened to the door, looked cautiously, and saw no one. Even though the temptation to flee was overpowering, she forced herself to move down the corridor, toward a flight of stairs that led to the second story. The voices sounded louder; Reiko discerned at least three different men speaking. Slowly she ascended the stairs, easing her weight down on the creaky planks. Fear nauseated her, and the sweat on her skin turned cold; she held herself rigid, fighting the sickness. Telling herself she must be strong for Sano, she climbed higher and saw another empty corridor that extended past more doors. The voices came from the second room on the right. Tiptoeing up the last steps, Reiko emerged into hot, stuffy air thick with tobacco smoke. Muddy daylight filtered through the balcony blinds and the paper walls of the corridor. Reiko crept to the doorway of the second room and listened.
“You shouldn’t have been so rude,” said a young man’s worried voice. “You made her suspicious.”
There were murmurs of agreement. Then another man spoke with defensive belligerence: “Who cares what some stupid woman thinks?”
Reiko recognized the voice of the fellow at the gate. “She’s probably just some whore that Lord Ibe uses when he’s in town, and that’s how she knows this is his house. Anyway, she’s gone.”
“You should never open the gate without looking to see who’s there, Gorobei-san,” another man said in cultured Miyako speech.
“I thought it was Ikeda, with another load of weapons,” Gorobei said sullenly. "I already said I was sorry.”
“I am afraid that this matter is far from done. You know how whores gossip. What if that one has clients in the bakufu and tells them there’s something funny going on here? They could send troops to raid us.”
“They won’t bother,” said a different voice. “Even if they believe her, those bakufu bureaucrats are lazy.”
“It was a mistake to use our master’s place, even though he won’t be back until winter,” fretted the first man.
“Well, where else could we go that’s big enough, private enough, and right in town?”
These two must be Lord Ibe’s retainers, assigned to guard the property, Reiko realized. Instead, they’d taken advantage of his absence by turning the house into an armed fort.
“We shouldn’t be doing this, it’s too dangerous.”
“I’m sick of your whining. Shut up!”
The man with the cultured voice said, “We’ve no more time for argument. We must figure out what to do so that Gorobei’s carelessness won’t jeopardize our mission.”
The nature of that mission seemed obvious to Reiko. The conspirators were planning a military assault. She didn’t think it involved feuding peasant gangs; that wouldn’t have required illegal weapons, or interested the metsuke. The mission could be nothing less than a revolt against the Tokugawa. This threat was the reason for the law that prevented daimyo from gathering troops and arms in Miyako-so they couldn’t seize the old capital as the first step toward taking over Japan. Horror and elation filled Reiko as she realized that the conspiracy must include many people besides the ones here, at least one of whom was likely to be involved in Sano’s murder.
A sudden, ominous silence in the room alerted her. Then the man with the cultured voice said, “There is someone else in the house.”
Reiko froze, aghast.
“How do you know?” Gorobei asked.
“I can feel it.”
“You’re just nervous,” said one of the guards. “It’s all in your imagination.”
“After the unfortunate incident that just occurred, I refuse to take any chances. Come. We shall check downstairs.”
Reiko darted into the adjacent room, hid behind a cabinet, and watched the men file past the door. First came a priest with a shaved head and athletic build, dressed in a saffron robe and carrying a spear. Then came three samurai, swords drawn, wearing the square Ibe crest on their robes: the guards. Gorobei, the gangster, and three more tough-looking peasants, all bearing stout clubs, and two shabbily attired samurai who appeared to be rōnin, followed. Their grim expressions told Reiko that they would kill her if they caught her. Heart pounding in panic, she rushed onto the balcony. She pushed aside the bamboo blinds and looked outside.
The balcony overhung the side fence. Directly opposite stretched the balcony of the house next door. As Reiko climbed onto the rail, she heard the men moving about downstairs. She perched for a moment, then sprang with all her strength. She sailed through the air like a large, awkward bird and landed on the other balcony, taking the impact on her knees and forearms to protect her womb. Huddling there for a moment, she sobbed in relief. Then she rose and lowered herself over the rail to the ground and hurried in the direction of Nijō Manor.
She must tell Marume and Fukida what she’d seen in Lord Ibe’s house and convince them to do something about it.
19
Twilight had dissipated the worst heat of the day and dimmed the sky to misty gray when Reiko got back to Nijō Manor. She went to look for Detective Fukida, but neither he nor Sano’s other men were in their quarters. Her maids had vanished, too. Covered with sweat and grime, hair disheveled, and weary to the bone, Reiko shut herself in her room to wait for Fukida because she couldn’t go to the authorities by herself; they probably wouldn’t even give a woman an audience. She drank water and wiped her face with a damp cloth and thought about taking a bath, but it seemed like too much work. She lay down to rest, letting the mild breeze from the windows waft over her.
But sleep wouldn’t come, despite her exhaustion. In desolation, she realized she’d almost convinced herself that if she worked hard enough, Sano would return to her. She’d still believed he was out in the world somewhere, and if she demonstrated enough strength and courage, they would be reunited. But of course, avenging his murder wouldn’t bring him back. Grief wracked her body, and she wept.
The door opened. Through her tears, Reiko saw a man silhouetted in the light from the corridor. He had a samurai’s shaved crown and swords, and Sano’s dimensions. Reiko felt a spring of hope, then crushing disappointment as she recognized another illusion created by the same wishful thinking that had populated Miyako with men who resembled Sano. It was probably just a nosy guest.
“Go away,” Reiko called, sobbing harder.
The man said in Sano’s voice, “Reiko-san, it’s me.”
Shocked, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “No. It can’t be.” Then, as he knelt beside her, the light from the windows illuminated Sano’s worried face. Reiko laughed hysterically as disbelief and joy collided in her.
Sano gathered her in his arms. She wept and moaned, stroking his face and his chest, reveling in the miracle of his resurrection. Her efforts must have worked after all; she’d brought him back.
“I’m sorry,” Sano murmured into her hair. “I’m so sorry.” Then he said, “I was worried about you. Where have you been?”
Confusion halted Reiko’s catharsis. She drew back to look at Sano. “Where have I been?”
“I came back this afternoon and found everyone gone,” Sano said. “I’ve been out looking for you. Where were you?”
Now Reiko understood that there must be a rational explanation for Sano’s return. She wanted so badly to know what it was that her own activities seemed beside the point. “If you weren’t murdered, what really happened? Where have you been?”
“Before I tell you,” Sano said, “let me first say that I never meant to hurt you.” His expression somber, he explained that Aisu had been the killer’s victim, and he’d faked his own death to force Chamberlain Yanagisawa into the open.
That Sano had been around all along explained why Reiko had felt as if he were still alive, and Yanagisawa’s presence in Miyako clarified many things about the murder case. But Reiko’s joy turned to puzzlement. “Why did you let me believe you were dead?”