As he threaded between food stalls around a shrine, chasing the messenger, Yanagisawa’s blood raced with an intoxicating energy. Anonymous, unhampered by a huge entourage or formal garb, he felt as swift and invisible as the wind. Anyone else would have lost the messenger by now, but Yanagisawa had no trouble keeping up. With the same intuition that helped him predict other men’s moves in the game of politics, he anticipated the abrupt turns that had foiled the palace guards who had tried to follow the messenger. He’d always had a good sense of direction; he could picture the route superimposed on a map of Miyako. They were in the main commercial district. Wherever he ended up, he could guide troops there to arrest the rebels. In this secret pursuit, he unexpectedly achieved the heightened awareness sought by devotees of Bushido. The samurai spirit in him expanded, and the search for clues seemed more gratifying than sabotaging a rival.
The messenger ducked into a passage barely wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Vertical signs protruded from shops. Many bore crests featuring the scales used for weighing gold: This was a district of bankers. Merchants strolled, accompanied by samurai bodyguards and clerks carrying ledgers and cash boxes. Suddenly the messenger vanished into a shop. Puzzled, Yanagisawa halted. This didn’t look like a place where outlaws would gather, or hide illegal weapons. Jokyōden’s messenger must have spotted him and run through the shop to evade him.
Yanagisawa hurried forward. The shop’s sign read “Daikoku Bank”-named after the god of fortune. Yanagisawa peered into the narrow storefront. He heard the jingle of coins, rapid clicks, and loud conversation as clerks counted money, totaled sums on the beads of their soroban, and negotiated with customers. The clerks wore the same brown-and-black uniform that Yanagisawa had followed from the Imperial Palace. With relief he spied his quarry showing the scroll case to the elderly proprietor, who sat on a platform, weighing gold ingots on a balance. Proprietor and messenger walked through a doorway leading to the back room, with the scroll. Yanagisawa sped around the block and down the alley behind the shop. He had to find out what the scroll said and what the bank had to do with Lady Jokyōden.
The alley was lined with malodorous privies; stray dogs rooted in fetid garbage containers. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Yanagisawa edged up to the back window of the bank. Inside he saw a dim office furnished with shelves and iron chests. The messenger and proprietor were seated on the floor.
Opening the scroll case, the messenger removed a document, spread it on a table, and scanned columns of fine calligraphy. “She’s pleased with our service.”
“She should be,” the proprietor said. “By paying better exchange rates than other shops, we’ve attracted more customers. Our investments in local businesses have paid an excellent return. We’ve been hired to handle the Miyako finances of the great Matsui merchant clan, for a large commission. We store the rice stipends of Lord Kii’s retainers in our warehouse, and we’ll collect large fees for converting the rice to cash. Profits are up ten percent over last year. By next year, we’ll be ready to open a branch in Osaka.”
Yanagisawa wasn’t interested in the bank’s performance or the money-grubbing ambitions of its owner. The smell in the alley nauseated him. He strained to read the scroll, but the writing was small and the distance too great.
“What are her orders?” the proprietor asked.
Now we’re getting somewhere, Yanagisawa thought. Perhaps the bank served as an intermediary between Jokyōden and the rebels. He waited to hear her plans for a siege of Miyako.
The messenger read aloud from the scroll, “ ‘Buy two hundred loads of lumber. Buy a thousand loads of coal, two thousand of soybeans, and three thousand vats of oil.’
Jokyōden must be laying in supplies to build a fort and provision an army.
‘Buy ten loads each of copper and silver.’
She would also need to pay her troops, Yanagisawa guessed. Exhilaration filled him. Even if he hadn’t located the outlaws or weapons, he was collecting evidence that tied Jokyōden to the conspiracy.
“A wise decision to buy now,” said the proprietor. “I predict that the prices of those commodities will rise soon.”
Maybe Jokyōden was also speculating on prices as a means of raising funds for the revolt. Yanagisawa savored the fact that he, not Sano, had made this discovery. And if Jokyōden was guilty, then Hoshina was not…
“ ‘Transfer five hundred koban to her personal account,’ ” read the messenger.
Was this a loan to finance the revolt? If Jokyōden would incur such a large debt in addition to her lavish spending, she must be seriously committed to restoring the Imperial Court to supremacy. Her nerve impressed Yanagisawa. Had she killed Left Minister Konoe because he’d discovered her illicit deals?
Still, her gender prevented Yanagisawa from believing in Jokyōden’s guilt. Although he knew she managed court affairs with the authority of a male official and he’d found this new evidence of her bold, unfeminine ambition, he couldn’t picture Jokyōden stalking him through the palace compound. He couldn’t imagine any woman possessing the power of kiai.
Suddenly two huge samurai came running down the alley toward him from opposite directions. They seized Yanagisawa, ripped off his swords, and flung him facedown on the filthy ground. A heavy foot pressed down on his neck. The door opened, and the proprietor’s voice demanded, “Why were you loitering around my office?”
“Let me up!” Yanagisawa ordered, furious. The bank’s staff must have spotted him out front, become suspicious, and sent guards after him. “Do you know who I am?”
“A would-be bank robber, I bet.” A pair of sandaled feet, topped by bare legs and a short kimono, came into Yanagisawa’s view. This man carried a jitte- the parrying weapon used by the police. “You’re under arrest.”
The doshin’s assistants bound Yanagisawa’s wrists, dragged him to his feet, and hustled him down the alley. “If you don’t release me at once,” Yanagisawa raged, “you’ll be sorry. I’m the shogun’s second-in-command!”
“Sure you are,” the doshin scoffed. “We’ll just take a walk down to police headquarters and sort this all out.”
29
After leaving Lady Jokyōden, Sano went to the imperial consorts’ residence. Lady Asagao was no longer a suspect, but he needed to resolve some unfinished business concerning her.
He found Asagao reclining on cushions on the shady veranda of the residence. Ladies-in-waiting plied large fans to create a cooling breeze around her. Clad in layered pastel robes, Asagao wore her hair in a limp plait. A physician dressed in a long dark blue coat fed her potions from ceramic bowls. When Sano climbed the veranda steps, she turned toward him. Apprehension pinched her round face, which looked sallow and plain in the absence of her usual makeup. Her attendants eyed Sano with distrust. The physician glowered.
“Lady Asagao must not be disturbed,” he said. “The ordeal of imprisonment has weakened her health. To recover, she needs rest and quiet.”
Sano knelt by Asagao, bowed, and said, “Your Highness, I apologize for your ordeal. It was an abominable mistake, and I beg your forgiveness.” That Chamberlain Yanagisawa had manipulated them both into the false arrest hardly diminished the guilt he felt toward Asagao. “However, I must request your assistance. Will you be so kind as to answer a few questions?”
The emperor’s consort pouted. “Why should I?” she said sullenly.
Why indeed, thought Sano. She didn’t need to defend herself against further accusations, and she had no reason to voluntarily help someone who’d torn her away from her home and imprisoned her. The law permitted intimidation and torture to extort information from witnesses, but Sano didn’t want to inflict more suffering on Lady Asagao or further antagonize the Imperial Court, so he must give her a different incentive to cooperate.