Shinju (7 page)

Niu Masamune, as befitting his wealth and power, would have one of the estates nearest the castle, Sano thought as he continued on his way. Ah, there it was: the Niu clan symbol, a dragonfly within a circle, painted in red on a white banner. Black mourning
drapery hung in loops above the gate. Sano reflected that the dragonfly, symbol of victory, seemed an inappropriate crest for the Nius. They and their allies had, after all, suffered defeat at Sekigahara by the Tokugawa faction. After the battle, the Nius had been stripped of their ancestral fief. But Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, had realized that unless he somehow pacified his conquered foes, they wouldn't stay conquered for long. He'd granted them other fiefs—the Nius' in distant Satsuma, far from their traditional power base. He and his descendants had exacted a fortune in tributes from these daimyo clans, while allowing them to keep much of their wealth and to govern their provinces autonomously. Thus Niu Masamune maintained his status as one of the highest-ranking “outside lords”—those whose clans had sworn allegiance to Tokugawa Ieyasu after Sekigahara. The elaborate gate, with its red beams, twin guardhouses, massive double doors, and heavy tile roof, proclaimed its supremacy over the simpler gates of lesser daimyo.

Sano stopped a few paces from the Niu gate. Never had he imagined calling on a daimyo, for any reason. Now he wondered whether he had the audacity to elicit details of Yukiko's life while seemingly paying an official condolence call. Only his increasingly compelling need to seek the truth and find Yukiko's killer gave him the courage to approach the guardhouse.

He identified himself to one of the guards and explained, “I wish to pay my respects to the Niu family.” Then, not wanting to tell a total lie about his reason for coming, he added, “And to settle a few matters regarding Miss Yukiko's death.”

The guard said, “Please wait.” Unlike the Edo Jail guards, he acted neither surprised nor servile. As retainer to a great lord, he no doubt encountered many visitors who ranked far higher than a
yoriki
. He left his guardhouse and crossed to the other, where he consulted his partner. Then he opened the gate, spoke to someone inside, and closed it again. “Wait,” he repeated to Sano.

Sano waited. The damp chill seeped into him, and he paced
before the guardhouses to keep warm. Finally, when he was beginning to think he would never gain admittance to the
yashiki
, the gate opened again.

Another guard stood there. Bowing, he said, “Sir, Lord Niu is not presently in the city. But if you would be so obliging as to come with me, Lady Niu will see you.”

Sano wasn't surprised to find Lord Niu absent, or Lady Niu at home in Edo. According to the law of alternate attendance, the daimyo spent four months of each year in the capital, and the rest on their provincial estates. When they returned to their estates, the shogun made them leave their wives and families in Edo as hostages. The daimyo were divided into two groups, one of which was in Edo while the other was in the country. These restrictions, which greatly humiliated the proud daimyo, effectively kept them from plotting and staging a rebellion. They also had to maintain two establishments, thereby draining their wealth into nonmilitary expenditures. Peace came with a high price, and the daimyo had paid it with their money, their pride, and their freedom. Still, Sano hadn't expected Lady Niu to receive him. Most ladies spent their days confined to the women's quarters of their mansions while the daimyo's retainers handled the households' official business. They seldom received strangers of the opposite sex. Even more curious now—and increasingly unsure of how he should act once inside—Sano followed the guard through the gate.

He saw immediately that the
yashiki
was laid out like a military camp, where soldiers' tents were arranged around the general's. Here the barracks bordered a vast courtyard where tens of samurai patrolled, protecting the estate's center where the Niu family lived. Other samurai tinkered with weapons in the guardrooms, or sat idly. More barracks, larger and more elaborate residences for higher-ranking officers, formed an inner wall. A paved walk led Sano and his escort through them and into a formal garden. Beyond this lay the daimyo's mansion, a large but deceptively simple-looking structure with half-timbered walls and a tile roof, set
above the ground on a granite podium. Sano knew that such mansions were rambling complexes of many buildings, connected by long corridors or intersecting roofs, that housed hundreds. Awe, combined with a sense of his own inferiority, weakened Sano's resolve. Was he a fool, daring to confront such a rich and powerful family?

Just outside the house stood an open shed containing several palanquins decorated with elaborate carved lacquerwork. Sano followed the guard beneath the covered porch and into the spacious entryway, where he removed his shoes and donned a pair of guest slippers. He placed his swords on a shelf that held a large collection of bows, swords, and spears; etiquette dictated that samurai must always enter a private home unarmed. Then he followed his guide into the house proper.

The guard's quick pace allowed him only a glimpse of a vast empty reception room with a coffered ceiling, murals of green islands in a swirling blue sea, and a large dais at the far end where the daimyo sat during formal ceremonies. A maid was opening windows to air the room; through them, Sano saw the outdoor stage where No dramas were performed in summer. Everything was elegant and luxurious, but not ostentatiously so. The Tokugawa sumptuary laws forbade lavish home decoration, and no daimyo would risk seizure of his property.

A corridor led to another reception room. From it came the murmur of voices. When they entered, the guard knelt and bowed.

“
Yoriki
Sano Ichirō, from the Office of the North Magistrate,” he announced, rising to stand beside the door.

Sano also knelt and bowed. When he raised his head, his eyes went immediately to the woman who knelt upon the dais, dominating the room and everyone in it.

Against the painted backdrop of misty gray mountains, Lady Niu was a striking figure in her aqua kimono printed with colorful landscapes. Her body was broad and straight, like a man's; the
white throat that rose from the kimono's deep neckline formed a strong, thick column. From the neck up, she had an arresting classical beauty. Her face was an elongated oval with smooth, youthful skin, a slender nose, long, narrow eyes, and a delicate small mouth vivid with scarlet paint. Her black hair, swept back from her forehead into an elaborate chignon fastened with lacquer combs, showed no gray. But her erect posture and confident air suggested maturity. A silk quilt patterned in diamonds of aqua and black covered her lap and spread over the square frame of a charcoal brazier. Against it, her hands lay folded, their smallness and daintiness belying the aura of power she exuded. Lady Niu was a fascinating study in contrasts: a woman whose appearance combined beauty with strength, who radiated femininity but did not let convention shut her away from the world. Sano wanted to know more about her.

Bowing again, he recited the words appropriate to the occasion. “I offer you this humble token of my respect.” With both hands, he extended the box of cakes. Funeral custom prohibited him from directly mentioning death during a condolence call. He would have to introduce the subject after the formalities were done.

“Your tribute is much appreciated.” Lady Niu's voice was husky but melodious. If she felt any grief over Yukiko's death, she hid it behind her properly calm demeanor. She inclined her head. Then she turned toward the wall on her left. “Eii-
chan
?”

Now Sano took notice of the others in the room. The figure coming toward him was not a child, as the diminutive
chan
implied, but a large, hulking man with a lumpy, pock-marked face. His vacant expression at first made Sano think that this was a feebleminded servant kept on for some reason involving obligation or sentiment. However, the rich black silk robes and two elaborate swords identified Eii-
chan
as a high-ranking retainer in the dai-myo's service. And Sano saw an unmistakable flash of intelligence—wary, measuring—in the tiny eyes that met his for an
instant. Without speaking, Eii-
chan
held out a tray to receive Sano's gift and to offer the traditional return token, a decorated box of matches. Then he carried the tray to a table by the door, set the gift there among others, and resumed his place near Lady Niu.

“Lord Niu's daughters,” Lady Niu said, nodding toward a standing screen on one side of the room, halfway between her and Sano.

Through its close-woven lattice, Sano discerned two shadowy figures. Otherwise he could see nothing of the women but a fold of red silk kimono lying on the floor beside the screen. As he watched, a hand snatched it out of sight. He noted that Lady Niu had said “Lord Niu's” and not “my” daughters. They must be the children of a concubine, placed in Lady Niu's charge.

“I understand that you have come on official business regarding Yukiko,” Lady Niu said.

“Yes.” Sano was glad that she'd brought it up first. “Regretfully I must trouble you with a few questions.”

Lady Niu lowered her eyes, signifying resigned acceptance. Her expression was serene, like that of a royal beauty in an ancient painting.

Sano had planned his questions carefully. He must avoid giving any sign that he was investigating a murder, and avoid offending the Nius. And he was conscious of the listening daughters behind the screen, no doubt eager for forbidden knowledge. So instead of asking Lady Niu if she believed the deaths were suicide, he said, “Were you surprised by the manner of Miss Yukiko's demise?”

“Yes, of course,” Lady Niu replied. She paused. “But in retrospect, I am forced to admit that it was sadly in keeping with Yukiko's character.”

A small gasp issued from behind the screen, so faint that Sano barely heard it.

Evidently Lady Niu didn't. “Many young girls are influenced
too much by the theater,
Yoriki
Sano,” she said. “As you must have seen from the note that Magistrate Ogyu showed you. You are new to the police service, are you not?”

“Yes. I am.” Her remark caught Sano off guard. He'd taken for granted that those who cared about such matters knew who he was and that he'd been assigned to handle the
shinjū
, but he hadn't realized that they included Lady Niu. Most women took no interest in government affairs. Once again he wondered what made Lady Niu different.

Just then a door at the side of the room slid open. A kneeling maid entered, carrying a tray laden with tea utensils and a plate of rice cakes. She rose and crossed the room. When she placed the tray before Sano and poured out the green tea, her hands shook, spilling it all over the tray. Sano saw her tense, pale face and red, swollen eyes.

“O-hisa! Take that tray away and bring another at once!” Lady Niu's voice was sharp with impatience.

The maid burst into tears. Her sobs rent the quietness. She picked up the tray, but her fumbling hands tilted the cakes onto the floor. Sano reached over to help her, wondering at her extreme reaction to Lady Niu's scolding. Had something else—perhaps grief for Yukiko—caused it?

“Eii-
chan
, see to her,” Lady Niu ordered.

For a large man, Eii-
chan
moved quickly, the instant before Lady Niu spoke, as if anticipating her order. In a flash, he was across the room. He put the cakes back on the tray, picked it up, and seized the weeping maid's arm with one fluid movement. He deposited both tray and maid outside the door, and returned to his position almost before Sano could blink, with a face as impassive as a carved No mask. Despite his doltish appearance, he was an efficient servant and probably more perceptive and capable of independent thought than his masters might suspect.

“I regret the inconvenience caused you by my clumsy maid,”
Lady Niu said. Then she tilted her head and frowned as if she heard something that displeased her.

Sano heard the muffled sobs, too. They came from the daughters behind the lattice screen. Were they also weeping for Yukiko? Sano thought he sensed a strange emotional undercurrent in the house. Comprised of what? Fear? Despair? Or did his knowledge that Yukiko had been murdered color his judgment?

“Midori. Keiko. Leave us.” At Lady Niu's soft command the sobbing stopped. Then scuffles, footsteps; a door hidden by the screen opened and closed. The daughters had gone, without Sano's seeing them.

“It is best that we not discuss this matter any further in the presence of innocent young girls,” Lady Niu said. “Now what else do you want to know?”

Just then the door O-hisa had come through slid open again. Sano, glad for the chance to collect his thoughts, turned to look at the young man who stood there.

“Forgive me for the interruption, Mother,” the man said, “but the priest is here to see you about the arrangements for Yukiko's funeral.”

For the first time, Lady Niu seemed uneasy. Her hands went up as if to push the man from the room. Then she folded them in her lap again and said woodenly, “
Yoriki
Sano, may I present my son, Niu Masahito, Lord Niu's youngest.”

Sano bowed, acknowledging the introduction. He was struck by Lady and young Lord Niu's resemblance. They shared the same facial beauty and strong physique. Lord Niu's upper body showed signs of rigorous physical training: broad shoulders, clearly defined muscles in his neck and in the parts of his arms and chest not covered by his somber gray and black kimono. But Lord Niu's feverishly bright eyes gave his face an intensity that his mother's lacked. While Lady Niu appeared tall even when kneeling, her son was short. Although his carriage and the timbre of his voice put
him in his early twenties, he stood no higher than a boy many years younger. Sano had heard Lord Niu Masamune called the “Little Daimyo” because of his size, so at odds with his status. His son took after him.