Something else good had come of the altercation with Yanagisawa. Yanagisawa knew about the investigation. There was no need to keep it secret anymore.
Shaken by Yanagisawa’s parting words, Sano massaged his sore forehead. Yanagisawa wasn’t the only one who needed to discipline his emotions. Sano looked at his hand, bruised from his assault on Hirata. This was his second physical altercation in two days.
This time he’d goaded Yanagisawa into threatening Reiko.
16
After his lessons, Masahiro ran to the daimyo district before anyone could give him a message to deliver. He had to look for Taeko. Yesterday, he should have kept looking, but he’d been mad at her for getting in the way of his investigation, and he’d thought she’d gone home. Now he’d made another mistake by not telling his father that she’d followed him to Lord Tsunanori’s estate yesterday. But he’d been so sleepy this morning, he hadn’t thought of it until after the search parties had left. If something terrible had happened to Taeko, it was his fault.
Outside Lord Tsunanori’s estate, Masahiro didn’t see her among the water sellers and food peddlers, the servants going about their errands, the troops patrolling. He searched the nearby streets. There was still no sign of her. Masahiro reached a neighborhood gate that led to the Nihonbashi merchant quarter. He hoped Taeko hadn’t wandered there. Masahiro would never admit it to anyone, but since the earthquake he was afraid to go into the city. But he had to find Taeko. He took a deep breath, put on his most confident air, and strode through the portals.
Nihonbashi five months after the earthquake was a chaotic mix of buildings under reconstruction and still in ruins. Masahiro walked cautiously along the narrow alleys where peasants crowded around merchants who sold food from temporary stalls. Beggars accosted Masahiro, pleading for alms. The ground was muddy, still black with soot from the fires. He covered his nose to block the powerful stench. Night soil collection had resumed, but waste accumulated after the earthquake still fouled Edo. Stray dogs foraged in the garbage heaps. They growled and snapped at Masahiro. Walking faster, he came upon tattooed gangsters fighting. Down another alley lined with the black shells of burned houses, a brutish, gaudily dressed man and two samurai bodyguards led a group of little girls. Masahiro had heard about merchants rounding up girls orphaned by the earthquake and selling them to brothels. One of these girls was about nine years old and wore a green kimono.
“Taeko!” Masahiro ran to the girl and grabbed her arm.
She turned her plain, surprised face to him. She wasn’t Taeko. A bodyguard yanked Masahiro away from her, kicked him in the behind, and sent him flying into a garbage heap. He stood up, dusted himself off, and looked around in despair.
He was standing outside a teahouse, the only intact building on this block. It was an open storefront screened by a blue curtain that hung from the eaves and extended halfway down to the raised plank floor. Customers sat inside; the proprietor served them drinks. Sunlight shone on them through holes in the roof. Five men were peasants in a group, the other a samurai sitting alone. The samurai was Jinnosuke, the young soldier from Lord Tsunanori’s estate.
Masahiro couldn’t believe his good luck. If he hadn’t been looking for Taeko, he might never have found the soldier again. She had, in a way, helped him with his investigation.
* * *
SUNLIGHT SPARKLED ON the Sumida River as Yanagisawa and three bodyguards rode across it in a ferryboat. The fresh breeze cooled Yanagisawa’s face, which was still hot from his clash with Sano. The ferryman carefully plied his oar, navigating around barges piled high with wood, rice bales, produce, bamboo, roof tiles, and other goods to supply Edo’s rebuilding boom. Merchant vessels, guarded by Tokugawa navy ships, sailed up the river.
Yanagisawa and his bodyguards disembarked at the dock on the eastern bank of the river, in the Honjo district. They walked across the wide strip of land along the waterfront. This was a firebreak, where permanent structures were banned to reduce crowding and prevent fires from spreading. Here a large outdoor entertainment district had flourished before the earthquake had knocked down most of the canopy-covered stalls. Many had risen anew. Customers flocked to sample the refreshments, play games, and see the acrobats, jugglers, storytellers, menageries, and freak shows. Edo wanted to have fun again.
In the Honjo district, smoke drifted from kilns in the northern sector, where ceramic tiles were produced. Vegetable markets had once lined the many canals. The larger canals had been cleared of earthquake debris, but smaller ones were still clogged with the remains of houses that had flooded when the earthquake pushed water from the Sumida River inland. Townspeople were busy rebuilding their houses along stagnant, mosquito-infested waterways. Yanagisawa was relieved to enter the samurai enclave. Here, rich members of the government had suburban villas where they could go to escape the political hotbed of Edo proper. Other samurai lived here permanently. The only estate completely repaired was the two-story mansion at which Yanagisawa and his men arrived.
“I’m here to see Lord Ienobu,” Yanagisawa said to the sentry in the guardhouse.
“You aren’t welcome,” the sentry said. “Lord Ienobu’s orders.”
“Unless he wants me to bring the army to invade his house, you’ll let us in.”
The sentry shrugged and opened the gate. He knew better than to defy a threat from the shogun’s second-in-command for the sake of obeying the shogun’s cast-off nephew.
Once inside the estate and past the barracks, Yanagisawa and his men came upon a garden planted with new shrubs, saplings, and flowerbeds. Thinking of his own estate, still in ruins, because he’d been too busy with political maneuvering and too short on cash to fix it, Yanagisawa felt a pang of resentment. Ienobu’s estate was like spit in the eye. Inside the mansion, Ienobu sat on the dais in the reception room. With his hunched back, and his skinny arms and legs jutting at odd angles, he looked like a molted, hollow shell of a cicada.
“I had a bet with myself that you would barge in on me today,” he said. “And here you are, right on schedule.”
Although Yanagisawa knew Ienobu must be furious at him, Ienobu’s mocking manner was placid. Yanagisawa tethered his own unruly emotions. In a battle of wits, they would put him at a disadvantage. “Then you must know why I’m here.”
“You’re not satisfied with throwing me out of the court. You wanted to see me living in squalid ruins. Sorry to disappoint you.”
Yanagisawa figured that Ienobu had rushed to rebuild his estate the moment Yoshisato had appeared at court as the shogun’s son. Ienobu had wanted somewhere to go to ground if Yanagisawa ran him off. This spoke volumes about Ienobu: He thought ahead, planned for all possible contingencies. Now he had a secure, comfortable base from which to operate.
“Guess again,” Yanagisawa said.
“You want to rub salt in my wounds?”
“Far be it from me to indulge in such a cheap thrill.”
“May I offer you some refreshments?”
“Never mind.” Far be it from Yanagisawa to eat or drink anything in Ienobu’s house. It would surely be poisoned.
“I give up, then.” Ienobu’s expression proclaimed that although he’d lost a major battle to Yanagisawa, he wasn’t quitting the war.
“I came to talk about a little problem the shogun has been having,” Yanagisawa said. “He’s complained about noise outside his bedchamber.”
Caution hooded Ienobu’s bulging eyes. “What sort of noise?”
Yanagisawa knew that Ienobu knew exactly what sort. “People whispering at night. They’ve been disturbing his sleep. Have you anything to do with it?”