Ordinarily Reiko would have tried to change his mind, but not this time. For once, her place was at home with their children, whom she was determined to protect. Reiko would have willingly ventured outside to help Sano investigate the murder despite any risk to herself, but not at their expense.
“That’s all right,” she said, hiding her disappointment. “I understand.”
Sano took her hands in his. “Next time you can work with me. If there is a next time,” he added in a joking tone.
His humor and his touch comforted Reiko. “I want to hear all about the investigation. If we talk it over, that might help you solve it.”
“All right.” Sano was obviously relieved that she didn’t argue and glad to have her assistance, no matter how limited.
“And maybe something about the murder will come up that I can work on at home,” Reiko said.
“Maybe,” Sano said.
But they both knew it was unlikely.
At dawn, the wind blew smoke from thousands of hearths across Edo through air tinged with winter, into a clear, pale sky. The sun rising above the hills outside town flashed brilliant rays. The city stirred to life.
Sleepy watchmen opened a gate to a neighborhood on the edge of the Nihonbashi merchant district. A squadron of mounted troops galloped through the gate and over a bridge that spanned a canal lined with willow trees. In the street on the opposite bank, proprietors opening the doors of their shops watched the squadron thunder past them, raising clouds of dust. The troops rode down a narrow side lane and stopped outside fences that enclosed yards behind rows of houses. As they leaped from their mounts, an elderly woman inside a house lay asleep, dreaming.
The dream was always the same, its time the sixteenth year of her life. She ran through the streets of Edo. Her hair was magically no longer gray but black and glossy, her body slim and strong and quick. Around her, people hurried screaming in all directions. Flames leaped and roared from burning houses. Roofs caved in with mighty crashes. Cinders stung her eyes and burned holes in her leather cape and hood. The smoke was so thick she could barely breathe or see.
He pulled her along, his hand tight around hers. He was invisible in the smoke, but she heard him call, “Hurry!”
They veered around a corner and joined a stampede of people fleeing with children in arms, possessions loaded on bent backs. She stumbled and gasped, trying to keep up with him as the smoke thickened. Ahead, buildings were curtains of flame that snapped in the wind. Bodies jostled her as he tugged her through the crowds. They reached a canal and found hundreds more people massed at the bridge. They would never get across to safety.
Before they could turn in another direction, more people jammed against them, trapping them in the mob. Shrieks and wails deafened her. She sobbed in terror. As the crowd battered her, his hand ripped loose from hers. She frantically shouted his name, but he was lost in the crush. She was alone.
Now, forty-three years later, the nightmare imprisoned her, but consciousness penetrated. As terrible as that moment during the fire had been, she knew that what had followed was even worse.
The fire caught her and ignited her clothes. They went up in flames. She wore a kimono made of fire. She screamed.
Shouts and crashes jolted her awake. She sat up in bed, panting and drenched with sweat, her heart thudding. The noises weren’t just echoes from her dream. They were in her house.
Alarmed, she called to her maid. “Hana?”
She heard Hana shriek as heavy footsteps marched through the kitchen and dishes shattered. Her room filled with soldiers who surrounded her bed. She pulled the quilt up to her chin and stared in fright at them through eyes clouded by old age.
Hana, as old as she but far braver, fluttered around the soldiers like a hen trying to protect a chick. “How dare you break into this house?” she shrilled. “What are you doing?”
The soldiers ignored her. The leader stepped close to the bed and demanded, “Are you Etsuko?”
Unable to speak, she nodded.
“What do you want with my mistress?” Hana said.
“You’re under arrest,” he said. “Get up. You’re coming with us.”
“Under arrest for what?” Hana cried in outrage.
“For murder.”
Even though flabbergasted, Etsuko felt a sense of resignation, of a prophecy come true. For forty-three years she’d dreaded this day. Her past had caught up with her at last.
The sword came swishing through the air toward Sano. He dodged, whirled, and counterattacked. Masahiro lunged and struck at him again. Sano parried. Their wooden blades clacked as they hit, cleaved empty space while they performed a dance of simulated battle.
No matter how busy he was, Sano tried to make time for early-morning combat practice with Masahiro. It was their special time together, a peaceful oasis in his often tumultuous days. The sun climbed above the wall of the compound where they fought, splaying their shadows across the gravel-strewn ground. Son charged at father, blade swinging, as the gate opened and Detective Marume appeared. Sano’s concentration on the battle was disrupted. He turned, a fatal mistake. Masahiro’s sword whacked him hard across his rear end.
“Ow!” Sano yelled.
Masahiro’s hand flew to his mouth. “I’m sorry, Father! I didn’t mean to hit you!”
“No, don’t apologize,” Sano said, rubbing his buttocks. “I deserved it. Let that be a lesson to you: When you’re fighting, never take your attention off your opponent.”
He faced Detective Marume, who hid a smile. “What?”
“There’s an old woman here to see you. She turned up at the castle gate, demanded to be taken to you, and refused to leave,” Marume said apologetically. “She pestered the guards until they gave in. She says her name is Hana.”
“Hana!” Now Sano was concerned. Hana was his mother’s longtime servant. He’d known her all his life; she’d helped raise him. She accompanied his mother on extremely rare visits to his estate. That she would come now, alone, could only mean something bad.
Sano tossed his sword to Masahiro, said, “Keep practicing,” and headed indoors. He found Hana standing in the reception room, guarded by two soldiers, wringing her hands in the apron she wore over her indigo-and-gray-striped kimono.
“Sano-san!” She was a tiny, wiry woman with gray hair so thin that her scalp showed through it. She had pouchy cheeks, bags under her eyes, and skin mottled with brown spots, but she’d lost none of her energy to old age. She ran to Sano and exclaimed, “Praise the gods, I was afraid I’d never reach you!”
Sano dismissed the guards. “It’s all right, I’m here now,” he told Hana. “What’s wrong? Is it my mother?”
His mother had seemed in good health the last time he’d visited her-when? Almost three months ago? But she was nearly sixty years old. Sano feared the worst.
“She’s been arrested!” Hana cried.
“Arrested!” Shock hit Sano. “By whom?”
“Tokugawa soldiers. They walked into the house this morning and dragged her out of bed.”
Sano’s widowed mother lived in the humble house where he’d grown up. When he’d begun working for the shogun and moved into Edo Castle, he’d brought her with him, but she’d been so homesick, and so intimidated by her new surroundings, that she’d been unable to eat or sleep. Hana, who’d come with her, had told Sano, “If she stays here, she’ll die. You must send her home.” Sano had, and she’d lived there contentedly all these years. But now he regretted leaving her on her own. He felt bad because he saw her so seldom and hadn’t kept her safe.
“I had to beg them to let her dress,” Hana said. “I tried to stop them, to tell them she hadn’t done anything wrong, but they wouldn’t listen.”