“Me? Jealous of my dead half brother?” Yoshisato spoke with disdain. “He followed you around like a dog, begging for your attention. Hah! Don’t make me laugh.”
He turned away from Yanagisawa, who followed him across the room. It was outfitted with the usual tatami floor and built-in cabinets whose closed doors hid garments and bedding. Yoshisato stood by the raised study niche at the end. This contained a desk with writing supplies and paper covered with elegant calligraphy on its black lacquer surface, shelves of books, long trunks that held swords, a koto and a music stand, a globe. A constellation chart sat near a spyglass for viewing the heavens. This was the domain of an intelligent, cultured man with many interests. Yoshisato evidently wasn’t among the legion of young samurai who lived to strut, drink, brawl, and fornicate. Yanagisawa took pride in him even though he was growing angrier by the moment.
“Yoritomo had a place at court,” Yanagisawa said, “whereas you were shunted off to the side. Of course you were jealous.”
“Yoritomo’s place was in the shogun’s bed,” Yoshisato retorted. “That couldn’t have been much fun. And look.” Yoshisato raised his hands, waggled his fingers. “I’m the one who’s still alive.”
Yanagisawa fumed. If strangling this rascal could bring Yoritomo back, he would do it in a heartbeat. “I see that we started off on the wrong footing. Let’s try again,” he forced himself to say. “I’m sorry I ignored you while you were growing up. I’m here to make it up to you. I want to be your father and your friend.” He was disconcerted to realize how much he truly wanted it. He extended his hand to Yoshisato. “Will you let me?”
The anger fell away from Yoshisato like an armor tunic dropped on the floor. The naked longing in his eyes stunned Yanagisawa. His son wanted a reconciliation as much as he did. His heart, shriveled by grief into a cold, hard lump, started to expand in the warmth of hope for the father-son relationship he craved. It occurred to him that his son was a person whose friendship and respect was a prize worth winning. The politician in him saw his ambitions within reach. Yanagisawa smiled.
The expression on Yoshisato’s face turned to pure loathing. He sucked in his cheeks, then spat on Yanagisawa’s hand.
Startled, Yanagisawa exclaimed in offense. He shook the hot, wet saliva off his hand as he glared at Yoshisato. “Why did you do that?”
“Because you insulted me.” Yoshisato fairly blazed. He stood with his knees bent and hands twitching, as if ready to reach for his swords, although he wore none. “You treat me like you think I’m stupid enough to believe you want to be my father. Well, I’m not. I know you’re just pretending.” The pain of disappointment showed through the anger in his eyes. “You just want another whore to put in the shogun’s bed!”
Such rage exploded in Yanagisawa that he saw Yoshisato through a veil of red and black flames. He lashed out his dripping hand and smote Yoshisato on the face.
Yoshisato didn’t try to dodge. The impact of the blow shuddered through Yanagisawa, as if he’d struck an oak tree. Pain crippled his hand. Yoshisato’s cheek turned crimson. Tears of humiliation welled in his eyes, but he stood his ground.
“If you want a new whore, get one of my half brothers,” he said.
If he stayed a moment longer, Yanagisawa would kill his son. He turned and strode out the door.
“Don’t come back!” Yoshisato shouted, his voice ragged. “I never want to see you again!”
19
“I started out searching the camps,” Marume said. “I couldn’t find anybody who knew Korin. Then I had a thought: Mizutani called him a shady character, and shady characters tend to get in trouble with the law, so maybe I’d better check the jail. That’s what I did. And that’s where he is.”
“Excellent work,” Sano said.
Marume only nodded; he didn’t take his usual, joking pride in his cleverness.
Night was a mixed blessing, Sano thought as they and his other troops rode through frigid darkness and windblown snow crystals. It hid the earthquake’s devastation, but thousands of people were suffering in cold tents and damaged buildings. The makeshift jail occupied the former site of a marketplace in Nihonbashi. Lanterns and jagged roof tiles topped a wall, built from the vendors’ broken stalls and debris from fallen buildings, which encircled tents packed closely together. Because crime had proliferated since the earthquake, this prison contained many more criminals than had been transferred from Edo Jail. Guards patrolled outside.
“Did you tell Korin that I was coming and why?” Sano asked.
“No,” Marume said.
“Good.”
Conditions in the jail were even more squalid than in the regular camps. Men lay crammed four or five to each small tent. Sewage from cesspools mixed with the muddy snow on the ground. Sanitation required too much effort to waste on criminals. Marume stopped at a tent. Four dirty, sullen faces peered out at him and Sano.
“You three, go,” Marume said, pointing. “Korin, you stay.”
The apprentice’s tent mates reluctantly crawled out of the tent. Marume and Sano squeezed into the vacated space that smelled of urine, body odor, and fetid breath. Marume said to Korin, “This is Chamberlain Sano. Sit up.”
Korin obeyed. Light from the lanterns on the walls outside reached his face. It was bruised and swollen, his lips split, both eyes blackened.
“What happened to you?” Sano asked.
“A little misunderstanding.” Korin smiled, then winced. Sano could see that he was young, perhaps twenty-five, with wavy black hair tied back in a short tail. He would be handsome when not beaten to a pulp.
“He was cheating at cards in the camps,” Marume said. “The people didn’t take kindly to it. They beat him up before they handed him over to the police.”
“You deserved it,” Sano said. “That’s pretty low, cheating earthquake victims.” He’d heard of many similar instances of unscrupulous folks trying to profit from the earthquake. Some offered to rebuild homes for a cheap price, then absconded with the money.
“But I’m a victim, too, aren’t I? I did what I had to do to survive.” Korin had a certain charm despite his lack of morals. “The earthquake took my work away.” Sano could imagine him luring men to the brothels for which he’d worked as a tout. It was harder to imagine him engaged in the contemplative art of incense. “I gave back the money and said I was sorry.”
“That’s not good enough.” Rage suddenly animated Marume. “I should cut your hands off so you can never play cards again.”
“Hey!” Korin recoiled in fright.
Sano shared Marume’s sentiment, but he needed the apprentice in good enough shape to help with his investigation. He was surprised at Marume, who’d often threatened suspects before but never really meant it. Marume clearly meant it now. Grief had robbed him of his good nature.
“Don’t worry; he won’t hurt you.” Sano turned to Marume, who glowered but subsided. “I want to talk to you about the incense teacher you used to work for. Madam Usugumo.”
“What about her?” Korin shifted to a more comfortable position. It didn’t quite hide the flinch that jerked his body when he’d heard his employer’s name.
That slight reaction told Sano that Korin knew something about the murders. “When was the last time you saw Madam Usugumo?”
“The afternoon before the earthquake,” Korin replied, too quickly.
“What happened that day?”
“Nothing special. I helped Madam Usugumo in her workshop. She had some new cassia, nutmeg, and ambergris that needed to be ground up and cooked. Then we chose different kinds of incense for a game she was going to play that night, with some pupils.” He bobbed his head and smiled, encouraging Sano to believe him, hoping this wealth of detail would head off more questions.
“Were you at the incense game that night?” Sano asked.
“No!” Korin crossed his arms and scratched under them. “Madam Usugumo gave me the night off. So I went out.”