The Ronin's Mistress (15 page)

“We’re not backing out,” Chikara said. “I swear, on my ancestors’ graves, to deliver Kira to justice and avenge Lord Asano.” The other men seconded him, renewing their oath.

Oishi’s stern expression didn’t hide the gratitude in his eyes. “Tomorrow night we go to meet our fate.”

*   *   *

WHEN CHIKARA HAD
finished his tale, Hirata said, “So you waited almost two years just to put Kira off his guard. That’s all there was to it?”

“That’s it,” Chikara said.

Hirata raised the issue that Chikara’s story hadn’t clarified. “After Kira was dead, why did you wait for orders?”

“Because my father said we should.”

Hirata shook his head.

Chikara frowned, offended. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“You’re hiding something. I can tell.”

“How?” Chikara backed away from Hirata, suspicious and fearful. “Are you doing some kind of magic on me?”

Hirata had learned to read dishonesty in human energy auras. It made them vibrate at a quick, erratic frequency, as Chikara’s aura did now. But he said, “I don’t need magic. Look at yourself.” He pointed to Chikara’s reflection in a mirror on the wall of the martial arts practice room where they stood. “Your eyes are open too wide. That’s fake innocence. And if you fold your arms any more tightly around your chest to hold the truth in, your ribs will crack.”

Dismayed by his transparency, Chikara let his arms drop and forced his face to relax. “We waited because we had to trick Kira. We waited for orders because my father said to. That’s my story. I’m sticking with it even if you torture me.”

No one could stand up to the kind of torture Hirata could administer. But Sano was opposed to torture because it often produced false confessions, and Hirata generally agreed with Sano. Besides, Hirata felt a profound respect for Chikara. The young man had gone where few of his elders had the courage to go. Hirata sought a kinder way to make Chikara talk.

“I admire you people. You followed Bushido to its most extreme limits.” Hirata wasn’t just seeking a way to gain Chikara’s trust; he genuinely admired the forty-seven
r
ō
nin.

Chikara’s chest inflated with pride. “Yes, we did.”

“Most samurai will never know what that’s like.”

“No, they won’t.”

Hirata knew. He’d once taken a blade intended for Sano and suffered the injury that had almost killed him and would have crippled him permanently if not for his mystic martial arts training. But the attack had happened so fast that he hadn’t had time to think, whereas the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
had had months to come to grips with the personal risk that their act required. Hirata found himself wanting to save the forty-seven
r
ō
nin,
even though he must maintain his impartiality for the sake of the investigation and he had a duty to uphold the law.

“I think it would be a pity if you were condemned to death,” Hirata said. “The world needs good samurai like you.”

Chikara smiled at the compliment, caught himself, and resumed his imitation of his father’s stern expression. “I did what I had to do. I’m not afraid to die.”

Probably he didn’t comprehend the finality of death. Hirata remembered his own youth, when he’d felt invincible. He hadn’t truly understood that he was mortal until he’d been hurt. And he doubted that any man could imagine the agony of ritual suicide until he did it himself.

“But maybe you don’t need to die,” Hirata said.

Chikara scowled. “You’re trying to trick me. You’ll promise to help me, and I’ll tell you things, and then you’ll break your promise. Well, I’m not that stupid.”

“What things?” Hirata asked.

Chikara looked abashed because he’d as good as admitted that he had something to hide. Then he scowled harder.

“The reason we’re having this conversation is that the government can’t decide whether you’re heroes or criminals,” Hirata said. “The shogun has formed a supreme court to figure it out. Heroes, you live. Criminals, you die.”

Hirata had another, more personal reason—the fact that his master’s fate, and therefore his own, hinged on the verdict. He needed to find evidence that would produce a verdict that the shogun, the political factions, and the public would like. If he failed, Sano would be sent away, and Hirata would have to go with him. Because Hirata couldn’t take his wife and children along while Sano’s were forced to stay behind, he would be separated from his family, too.

“So if you know something that could persuade the judges that you’re heroes,” Hirata said, “it’s in your best interest to tell me what it is.”

“I already told you,” Chikara said, obstinate. “We avenged our master’s death. That’s Bushido.”

“That’s not enough to make the court pardon your gang.”

“We’re not asking to be pardoned.”

Hirata changed tactics again. “You and the other
r
ō
nin
must be pretty close friends.”

“Yes. We’re like brothers.” Chikara spoke with the pride of every young man who’d fought a battle alongside his comrades.

“Then wouldn’t you save them if you could?”

“They don’t want to be saved. They’re as ready to die as I am.”

“But you’re different from your friends,” Hirata said. “You have an obligation to someone else besides Lord Asano.”

Confusion wrinkled Chikara’s brow.

“To Oishi, your father,” Hirata clarified. “It’s your filial duty to protect him. If he’s condemned to death because you kept your mouth shut, then you’re a bad son.”

Chikara glared, clenched his fists, and took a step toward Hirata. Then he remembered that attacking the best fighter in Edo wasn’t a smart idea, and he halted. “I’ve honored my father. I’m a good son—anybody who knows us will tell you.”

“If you’re a good son, then prove it,” Hirata challenged. “Tell me what you’re hiding. Save his life if you can.”

Chikara shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He turned his head from side to side, seeking guidance, escape, or perhaps both. His gaze settled on the mirror that he and Hirata stood facing. Reflected in the polished steel, Chikara looked young and alone and small without his father and friends, but his eyes bravely met Hirata’s.

“I’ve told you the whole truth,” Chikara said. “I’m done talking.”

He turned and strode out of the room. His shoulder blades were pulled back, as if he expected to be stabbed between them. Hirata was left to wonder why the youth was so bent on evasion. Was it because if he talked, he would make things even worse for the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
? They had one foot in the grave already. As long as the government vacillated about them, they had a chance to live. One piece of adverse evidence—from Chikara or another witness—could sway the supreme court to condemn them to death.

And what would happen to Sano, and Hirata, as a result?

14

AT THE INN
, Reiko’s guards watched over Ukihashi. The crowd outside chanted, “Okaru, Okaru!” People stood on ladders, to see over the fence. The innkeeper shouted at them, “Go away!”

Ukihashi hunched in her cloak, her hands muffled under it. Her hair hung in wet, lank strands, some stuck to mucus that smeared her face. Her eyes had a vacant, unfocused look.

“I’m going to call the police,” the innkeeper told Reiko. “They’ll arrest her for attacking my guest.”

“Please don’t,” Reiko said. “Nobody was seriously hurt.”

“I don’t want her around here.”

“We’ll take her away.”

Reiko and Lieutenant Tanuma walked the woman out the gate, with Chiyo following, while the other guards pushed back the crowd. “We’ll go to that teahouse.” Reiko pointed down the street, at a building with red lanterns hanging from its eaves.

Soon Reiko and Ukihashi were seated in the private room, a decanter of sake and two cups on a low table between them. Reiko had asked Chiyo and Tanuma to wait in the main room of the teahouse with her other guards. Ukihashi shivered; her teeth chattered. Reiko poured a cup of the heated sake and handed it to her. She gulped the liquor, then let out a tremulous sigh and grew still.

“Do you feel better now?” Reiko asked.

“Yes.” Color reddened Ukihashi’s cheeks, and lucidity returned to her eyes. “I’m sorry I hit your boy,” she said in a quiet, chastened voice. She stole a glance at Reiko. “May I ask who you are?”

“My name is Reiko. I’m the wife of the shogun’s
s
ō
sakan-sama
.”

Ukihashi’s expression combined awe at Reiko’s high rank with shamed gratitude. “Thank you for stopping that man from calling the police. I don’t know what would have become of my little girls, had I been put in jail. Thank you for your kindness.”

Reiko couldn’t, in good conscience, call it kindness. “It was nothing.” Ukihashi had been married to the leader of the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
and might have information that could benefit Sano’s investigation. Yet she did sympathize with Ukihashi and want to help her. This was a woman abandoned by her husband, who’d not only forsaken her for another woman but committed an act that many people considered an atrocious crime, an act that was creating a public uproar. And Ukihashi had young daughters affected by their father’s deeds, as well as a son who was one of the forty-seven
r
ō
nin.

Ukihashi smiled bitterly. “You’re the first person who has given me any sort of help since my husband became a
r
ō
nin.
In case you don’t know, his name is Oishi. His master was Lord Asano, who was sentenced to death for drawing a weapon inside Edo Castle.”

“I know,” Reiko said.

“I suppose everyone has heard what Oishi and his friends have done. Tongues are wagging all over town. It’s bad enough that the old scandal about Lord Asano has come up again, but since that little whore started blabbing, there’s new dirty laundry for the public to smell.”

Reiko understood how much Okaru’s appearance on the scene had humiliated Oishi’s former wife. “Okaru is sorry. She won’t talk again.”

“That’s closing the stable door after the horses have already escaped,” Ukihashi said with a humorless laugh. “I didn’t intend to attack her. I don’t really care if she stole my husband. I just wanted to see her. I lost control. She’s so young and beautiful.” Envy, like acid, corroded Ukihashi’s voice. “Everybody is paying attention to her. Nobody cares about me.” She thought a moment, then said, “Maybe I should tell my story.”

Here was an opportunity to get Ukihashi talking about her husband and the vendetta. Reiko said, “What would your story be?”

“That my husband served the Asano clan his whole life. So did his family and his ancestors. So did mine. The house of Asano was the reason for our existence.” She must have been storing these thoughts inside her, and now they spilled out. “When it was dissolved, we lost our livelihood, our home, and our honor.” Whatever polite reserve that her breeding had given her, she’d evidently lost it when she’d been cast out of her station. “And it all happened because of that law against drawing weapons in Edo Castle.”

Indignation sparked in her red, watery eyes. “Kira wasn’t even seriously wounded! Why should Lord Asano have had to die? The law is ridiculous, and so was the shogun’s decision!”

Reiko was startled to hear her criticize the shogun so bluntly. Criticism was tantamount to treason, for which the penalty was death. “Keep your voice down,” Reiko warned.

“I’m only saying what many people thought,” Ukihashi retorted.

It was true. Reiko recalled the aftermath of Lord Asano’s attack on Kira. Sano had told her that after Lord Asano’s death there had been much secret discussion, and many government officials thought the law had been applied too harshly. Many said the shogun was so afraid of violence that he wanted to make an example of Lord Asano and prevent similar incidents. Reiko agreed, although she couldn’t say so in public.

“No matter what anybody thinks about what Lord Asano did, it wasn’t his retainers’ fault.” Ukihashi clasped a hand to her bony chest. “
We
didn’t break the law, yet we paid the price. The government threw us out on the street without a penny to buy rice for our children!”

Reiko knew this was what happened when a samurai became a
r
ō
nin
—his whole family suffered. Ukihashi personified Reiko’s own worst fears, which arose whenever Sano was threatened with losing his place in the Tokugawa regime and his samurai status. Ukihashi’s fate could be Reiko’s, someday. Or at least Reiko had thought it was the worst possible fate, until the shogun had threatened to take Sano away from her and the children. It seemed better to be cast out together than divided permanently.

“We became paupers almost overnight,” Ukihashi went on. “We could barely afford to rent a hovel in the merchant quarter.”

Rapid descent into poverty was typical for
r
ō
nin
after they lost their stipends. Reiko wondered uneasily how much money Sano had. Not that she would know how long it would support their family. Ladies of her class didn’t deal with finances. The first time Sano had ever talked about money with her was after he’d been demoted and he’d had to tell her to spend less.