Tentative relief infused balm into Ogyu’s headache. “Because he’s the killer?”
“No.” Sano regarded Ogyu with a speculative expression.
Did he guess that Ogyu wished for someone else to take the blame for the murders so that he would be safe? Did he know that Ogyu feared he was getting close to the truth? Probably yes on both counts, Ogyu decided. The pain in his head increased. He would cut into his skull with his sword if that would end the agony.
“He was arrested for an unrelated crime,” Sano went on. “But he has an interesting story. He says Madam Usugumo drugged her pupils, put them in a trance, and extracted compromising information from them. Afterward, she forced them to pay blackmail money in exchange for her keeping their secrets.”
“How shocking.” Ogyu forced his body to express the emotion he’d verbalized-voice hushed, eyes wide, mouth hanging open for an instant before he said, “Is it true?” All the while his mind blared, He knows about the rituals! He knows about the blackmail!
Sano watched him closely, as if wondering if Ogyu was putting on an act. “You tell me. You were Madam Usugumo’s pupil. Did she try it with you?”
“Never.” Ogyu made himself sound incredulous at the very idea. “Her behavior toward me was always entirely proper.”
“You never felt strange after you drank tea? She didn’t tell you to do things, such as to raise or lower your arm? Or ask you questions about yourself?”
Ogyu felt sicker as he remembered his arm lifting then dropping of its own will, and the voice of the incense whispering. A lifetime of dissembling came to his rescue. “No…” He let his voice trail off; he pasted a look of revelation on his face. “But if Madame Usugumo did perform rituals, I may have accidentally managed to avoid being drawn into one. I had to cancel my last lesson because some scholars from Miyako were coming to visit the academy and I needed to prepare.” If Sano checked with his colleagues from the academy, they would confirm that the scholars had come. “Then the earthquake happened. I never resumed my lessons.” Ogyu put on the expression of a man who’d crossed the street an instant before a runaway horse trampled the next person to cross. “Perhaps I was lucky.”
He saw Sano wonder if perhaps he was lying. A seasoned detective like Sano would automatically distrust convenient explanations from murder suspects.
“Supposing Madam Usugumo had drugged you and put you in a trance,” Sano said. “What secrets about you would she have learned?”
This was dangerous territory that Ogyu had successfully skirted his whole life. He’d built a mental wall around the private things he could never let come to light. The wall had never failed him. Confident that not a hint of his secrets showed on his face, Ogyu chuckled as if Sano had made a joke.
“Madam Usugumo wouldn’t have learned anything worth my paying blackmail for, I’m afraid,” Ogyu said. “I might have confessed to telling fibs to my parents when I was a child. My life is quite dull.” He saw Sano narrow his eyes: Sano knew he was hiding something important, and Ogyu knew Sano was hunting the killer whether he would admit it or not. To deflect Sano’s suspicion, Ogyu said, “But it appears that someone else’s peccadilloes aren’t as innocent. When the police begin looking for the murderer, I would suggest that they investigate Madam Usugumo’s other pupils. I believe one of them was Priest Ryuko.”
Inside the guesthouse, Masahiro carried a bundle of dirty laundry down the corridor. Suddenly Priest Ryuko rounded a corner and came striding toward him. Ryuko’s face was grim, his eyes focused straight ahead. To avoid being run down, Masahiro flattened himself against the wall. The priest rushed by. Opportunity beckoned. Clutching the laundry, Masahiro tiptoed after Ryuko.
Ryuko headed to the section of the house in which the shogun had installed people whom he wanted near him who’d lost their homes. Masahiro tiptoed a safe distance behind the priest, but he needn’t have worried about being caught. Ryuko was so preoccupied that he never glanced backward. He slipped through a doorway. His voice, low and urgent, spoke to someone inside the chamber.
Masahiro stopped by the door, which was slightly open. He peeked inside at a small space crammed with furniture and bundles. He had a clear view of the monk who served as Priest Ryuko’s aide, but all he could see of Ryuko was his backside. Ryuko was bent over, apparently rummaging inside a cabinet.
“But the roads are blocked,” the monk said. “The bridges are down. I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to get very far.”
“I’ll have to take a chance.” Priest Ryuko’s voice was muffled.
Masahiro deduced that Ryuko was planning a trip. He waited, hoping to hear the reason for what seemed like a sudden, reckless departure.
“Can’t you wait a month or so?” the monk asked. “The roads should be clear by then, and ferries should be available at the river crossings.”
“I can’t wait.”
Masahiro heard desperation in his tone. Was it because of the murders?
“If you go now, there won’t be any place to stay at night,” the monk said. “I’ve heard there’s not an inn open within a two-or three-day journey from Edo.”
“Stop bringing up problems! Help me!” Priest Ryuko said, his voice louder and clearer as his posture straightened. “I need porters and a palanquin and bearers.”
The monk looked worried. “They’ll be hard to find. All the able-bodied men have been put on rebuilding the castle and city.”
“Get them taken off! Bribe someone!” Priest Ryuko turned. Now Masahiro could see his angry profile. He held out a cloth pouch that jingled as he shook it at the monk. “This should be enough money.”
Masahiro silently willed the priest to say where he was going and why.
The monk took the pouch and said, “All right.”
“We have to be ready to go by tomorrow.” Priest Ryuko’s tone was threatening as well as fretful. “Or it’s over for all of us.”
Although Masahiro had failed to learn the destination or the reason for the trip, he knew that people who were innocent didn’t need to leave town in a hurry. Guilty people did.
Priest Ryuko moved toward the door. Masahiro bolted, clutching the laundry to his heart, which beat fast with excitement. He couldn’t wait to tell his father what he’d heard.
25
After leaving minister Ogyu, Sano went to the headquarters of the metsuke, the Tokugawa intelligence service. After the earthquake had flattened its offices inside the palace, it had moved to a watchtower on the castle wall halfway up the hill. The tower’s upper story had fallen off, but the lower level was solid enough for occupation. Sano pushed open the door and entered. Lanterns supplemented the light from the barred windows. Smoke from charcoal braziers turned the air gray and noxious. The room was crowded with trunks and cabinets moved from the palace. A lone agent hunched over a desk. He bowed to Sano and said, “Welcome, Honorable Chamberlain.”
The left sides of his face and neck, and both his hands, were bandaged with white cloth. He’d been burned when his house had caught fire during the earthquake, Sano knew. He wore a brown-and-black-striped kerchief tied around his head. The visible, unscathed half of his face was so ordinary, its features so unmemorable, that Sano had always had difficulty recognizing him. His appearance had once served him well in his profession as a spy.
“I’m glad to see you alive, Toda- san,” Sano said.
Toda smiled wryly with the half of his mouth that showed. “Thanks to the earthquake, I won’t be doing any more secret surveillance.” He lifted his hands to Sano, then touched the bandages on his face. “These would attract the attention of anybody I tried to spy on. The scars will be just as noticeable.”
Sano smiled, too, pitying Toda and admiring his philosophical attitude. “I’m glad you’ve kept your sense of humor.”
“My sense of humor is about all I did get to keep. The fire destroyed all my worldly goods. But sometimes in this life you just have to be glad that things aren’t worse.”