"Even if he sends another assassin who succeeds where this one failed? Even if it means my daughter could die?"
"Another woman has already died. The nun," Sano reminded his uncle. "She deserves justice."
"What in hell do I care about her?"
"And as long as the rapist and the kidnappers are at large, other women are in danger," Sano said.
"I don't care about them, either," Major Kumazawa insisted. "You must stop your investigation."
Under different circumstances, Sano would have respected the wishes of the head of his mother's clan. "I'll continue with or without your blessing," Sano said coldly. "You might recall that my wife was attacked, too. This is personal for me now."
Major Kumazawa stared. Sano saw satisfaction as well as enmity in his eyes. "The longer I know you, the more I realize that you are like your mother. You are just as willful and stubborn as she ever was. Well, that's your choice. But when you choose your actions, you have to take the consequences."
More enraged by the insult to his mother than to himself, Sano retorted, "Willfulness and stubbornness appear to run in the family. It's obvious that my mother and I aren't the only ones who share those traits."
Then he forgot what he was saying, because Major Kumazawa's last sentence had struck a chord in his memory. His anger entwined with the same sense of familiarity that he'd felt during his first visit to this house. In his mind Sano saw Major Kumazawa and his wife standing on their veranda; he heard the woman's voice pleading; he felt the same, dizzy sickness as he had then. Now the vague impressions solidified into a memory of stunning clarity.
"I heard you say that to my mother," he said.
Startled, Major Kumazawa said, "What?"
Recollection flooded Sano, as if a door that sealed off his past had suddenly opened. "I was here. My mother brought me. I must have been four or five years old." Now he knew why she'd defied the ban on contact with her family. "I was sick with a fever. She was afraid I would die." Sano remembered lying in bed, wracked by chills, struggling to breathe. Across the years he heard his mother crying and his father saying they couldn't afford a doctor or medicine. "So she brought me here, to ask for your help."
"You remember?" Major Kumazawa frowned in dismay.
"Yes. I also remember that you said she deserved for me to suffer. You said, 'When you choose your actions, you have to take the consequences.' " Sano's anger burned hotter. "Then you turned us away."
Major Kumazawa wore the expression of a man who'd believed he'd put out a fire and discovered that it had been smoldering underground when it blew up in his face. "I thought you'd forgotten."
"I'm sure you wish I had," Sano said.
He watched Major Kumazawa realize that the incident constituted more than a just punishment of a cast-out relative and her child. Although it had happened in the distant past, it could be interpreted as striking a blow against Sano the chamberlain, the shogun's second-in-command, and the punishment for that was whatever Sano chose.
"I've always regretted what I did," Major Kumazawa said. "I should have helped Etsuko. You were an innocent child; you didn't deserve to suffer. I apologize."
"It's a little late for that," Sano said.
"I only did what was right at the time," Major Kumazawa said, fearful yet insistent. "My parents were still alive. They forbade me to do anything for Etsuko. I had to respect their wishes."
Sano regarded Major Kumazawa with contempt. "Your tendency to justify yourself by blaming other people has made your apology a sham. It's a trait that's even worse than willfulness or stubbornness. So is your belief that you're entitled to things that you won't give to other people. When my mother asked you to save her child, you refused. But when your daughter was kidnapped and you came to me for help, I agreed."
Sano would have been sorry he had, if not for Chiyo, who was as blameless as his own childhood self had been.
"So you're a better man than I am." Major Kumazawa's resentful tone belied the compliment. "Well, if you'd rather not trouble yourself on my behalf or that of my family any longer, then stop your investigation."
"I can't do that," Sano said. "I've already explained why."
The hostility between them solidified, thick as the humid dawn air, as hot and suffocating as smoke. Major Kumazawa said, "Since we'll never see eye to eye, there's no use talking anymore. Be sure to take your wife with you when you go."
The dismissal stung Sano even though he was eager to leave this place and never come back. As he walked toward the house to fetch Reiko, he heard Major Kumazawa call after him, "I should never have broken the ban against contact with Etsuko and her kin. I'll uphold it from now on."
"That suits me just fine," Sano said.
34
The dawn sky glowed iridescent pink and silver, like an abalone shell's lining, as Sano rode alongside Reiko's palanquin down the highway toward Edo. The detectives led the way; Sano's troops guarded the rear of the procession. Sano and his party passed pilgrims walking toward them, bound for the Asakusa Temple district; they followed Tokugawa troops on patrol, nuns and priests headed into the city to beg alms, and porters hauling goods to market. Eta trundled nightsoil bins into the fields beside the road, using the city's copious supply of human wastes to fertilize the rice crop. Amid the stench, flies swarmed and buzzed.
Reiko spoke through her window to Sano. "So your relations with the Kumazawa have been severed again." He'd just told her about his conversation with his uncle. "Is there any chance of a reconciliation?"
"Not that I can see. Maybe it's for the best."
Reiko studied her husband's profile as he sat in the saddle and his horse plodded along beside her. His expression was hard. But she knew Sano had hoped to build a relationship with the unknown side of his family, and to re unite his mother with her estranged kin. He must be very disappointed. So was Reiko.
"But you will continue the investigation, won't you?"
"Of course," Sano said, although he sounded less than enthusiastic. "I've made progress." He told Reiko about the three suspects.
Reiko felt alarm creep under her skin. Sano's position in the regime had been secure for a while, but wouldn't be for much longer if he clashed with Nanbu, Ogita, or Joju. Although she feared for her family, she said, "I'll do whatever I can to help."
Sano smiled, appreciative. "There's not much you can do for the investigation now, though."
"Is Hirata-san still looking for the oxcart drivers?" Reiko asked.
"His men are," Sano said. "Hirata has run into some trouble."
As he explained, Reiko's alarm increased. Sano said, "We'll catch Jinshichi and Gombei eventually. Maybe they'll incriminate Nanbu, Ogita, and Joju, and I'll have enough evidence to take the three of them down without going down myself." He paused. "In the meantime, you must stay away from the Kumazawa estate. It's not safe there, and you wouldn't be welcome anyway."
Reiko knew the estrangement from the Kumazawa clan included her, too. "But Chiyo and I have become good friends. And Fumiko is there. I need to protect them."
"You're not responsible for that. I'll send some troops to help guard the estate."
Reiko sighed. Although she'd often disobeyed Sano, she had to respect his wishes in this instance. She must put aside her friendship with Chiyo and Fumiko until he and Major Kumazawa made up.
If they ever did.
Her bearers' slow pace made the trip back to the city long and tedious. The journey was lengthened by traffic on the highway, backups at the checkpoints, and crowds in town. By the time the procession reached Edo Castle, it was almost noon. Reiko yawned. She was glad to get home, ready for some peace and quiet.
One of the gate sentries said, "Honorable Chamberlain, the shogun has left a message for you. He wants to see you at the palace right now."
Adrift in a dimension between sleep and wakefulness, she opened her eyes upon a vast panorama of clouds. She floated among them, buoyed by their gray, billowing mass. With every breath she exhaled, they rippled. They shrouded her in clammy moisture. At first she drowsed peacefully, thinking it was a pleasant dream. Then the clouds began to swirl.
They were sucking her into their center. Vertigo dizzied and nauseated her. There was no sense of direction, no landmark to tell her which way heaven and earth were. She felt as if she were falling downward into a whirl pool and upward into a tornado at the same time. Gripped by fear, she blinked hard in an attempt to stop the dream. But the clouds were still there, too dense for her vision to penetrate. She tried to sit up and awaken herself. The clouds swirled faster.
This was no dream.
It was real.