The Perfumed Sleeve

Eri’s pleasant expression turned uneasy. She halted on the path. Averting her gaze from Reiko, she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know who she is.”

“I think you do,” Reiko said. “You know everything about the personal business of high society.” Eri was a notorious gossip who gathered news from the wives, concubines, servants, and other women associated with prominent men. “Who is she?”

“All right. I do know.” Eri faced Reiko, her eyes troubled. “But I can’t tell you.”

Reiko was surprised because Eri had often helped her with investigations. “Why not?”

“The woman is beholden to a jealous, violent man. I don’t want to cause trouble for her.”

“If she met Daiemon at the Sign of Bedazzlement and killed him, she deserves trouble.”

Eri shook her head. “I can’t believe she killed him.”

“Then help her clear herself,” Reiko said. “Tell me who she is so I can talk to her. If she convinces me that she didn’t kill Daiemon, I’ll tell my husband she’s i

“But what if she doesn’t convince you?” Eri said, defensive and obstinate. “You’ll drag her into the sōsakan-sama’s investigation. Her man will punish her for cheating on him. She’ll be a dead woman.”

“As might I be, if my husband doesn’t find out who killed Daiemon,” said Reiko. “Would you shield Daiemon’s mistress at my expense?” In her desperation, Reiko had no qualms about using whatever means necessary to coax Eri. “Would you sacrifice your own cousin to protect a woman who may have murdered the shogun’s heir apparent?”

Guilt and uncertainty colored Eri’s features. She clasped her hands and bowed her head over them, as if praying for good judgment. Then she leaned close to Reiko and whispered in her ear, “The woman’s name is Gosechi. She’s Lord Matsudaira’s concubine. Now do you understand why the affair had to be kept secret?”

The Floating Teahouse was a boat moored on the Kanda River. It had a long, flat, wide hull enclosed by a cabin made of bamboo blinds and a plank roof. A red lantern painted with the characters of its name hung from a pole at the bow. Up and down the river were other, similar boats that contained brothels, drinking places, and gambling dens. The pleasure seekers who frequented these businesses during warm months were scarce today. Outside a floating brothel, a frowzy young woman greeted an old samurai. A trio of male commoners joshed and laughed on a bridge that led to warehouses on the opposite bank. Ferries and barges plied the muddy, rippling water.

Sano, Hirata, Ibe, and Otani walked the path down the riverbank to the Floating Teahouse. Their troops waited on the slope above. A hunchbacked man wearing a gray kimono and leggings came out of the teahouse and hurried toward Sano and his companions.

“Greetings,” he said, beaming at the prospect of customers with money to spend. “Welcome to my humble establishment. Come in, come in!” He shooed them toward the boat.

“I could use a drink,” Otani said grumpily.

They entered the boat’s cabin, which contained sake urns, a smoking charcoal brazier, and a tray of cups. Sano, Hirata, and the watchdogs knelt on a frayed tatami mat. Inside the boat was almost as cold as outside, but the bamboo blinds provided shelter from the wind. The proprietor served sake heated on the brazier. He hovered near Sano and the other men as they drank.

After Sano introduced himself as the shogun’s sōsakan-sama, he told the proprietor, “I’m looking for information on two men who may have come here three days ago. One was a samurai.” He described Daiemon.

“Oh, yes,” said the proprietor, “I remember them. The samurai was the only one I’ve had here in a while, until now.”

“I’m particularly interested in the other man,” Sano said. “I want to find out who he is. Did you hear his name?”

“No,” the proprietor said, “but I can tell you. He was Koheiji, the Kabuki actor.”

“Koheiji?” Sano felt his surprise shared by his companions. “How do you know?”

“He’s my favorite actor. I go to all his plays. I recognized him the moment I saw him.” The old man’s eyes shone with delight. “To think that such a great star drank in my teahouse!”

Sano shook his head as his surprise reverberated through it. He’d expected at best a vague description of the assassin. His mind seethed with speculation. “Are you sure it was Koheiji and not just someone who looked like him?”

“Absolutely sure, master. I’d swear on my life.”

“Do you know who the samurai is?”

The proprietor shook his head. “He didn’t say. And I’d never seen him before.”

“Tell me what the two men did.”

“The samurai was already here, waiting, when Koheiji came.” The proprietor’s expression said he wondered why Sano was interested in the pair’s meeting but didn’t dare question a bakufu official. “They each had one drink. They talked so softly I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The samurai gave Koheiji a pouch. Koheiji opened it. He poured out gold coins. I’d never seen so much money in my life.” Awe inflected the proprietor’s voice. “There must have been a hundred koban!”

“What happened next?” Sano pictured Daiemon and Koheiji seated where he sat now, the coins glinting between them.

“Koheiji counted the money. He put it back in the pouch and tucked the pouch inside his cloak. Then they left.”

Sano thanked the proprietor. He paid for the liquor that he and Hirata and the watchdogs had consumed. They joined their troops on the cold, windy riverbank.

“It was Koheiji whom Daiemon hired to kill Senior Elder Makino,” Hirata said in a tone of amazed revelation.

“So it appears,” Sano said, “if the samurai Koheiji met was indeed Daiemon.” Ingrained caution prevented him from drawing conclusions even when evidence supported them.

“The murder was committed by someone inside Makino’s household, on the orders of someone outside,” Hirata said.

“Who was in a better position to assassinate Makino than a man he trusted, who lived with him?” Sano remarked.

“Daiemon must have thought of that when he chose Koheiji,” said Hirata.

“He might have known that Koheiji wanted money and could be bribed into killing his master,” Sano said.

“Maybe Daiemon promised to become his patron after Makino was gone,” said Hirata.

“Daiemon’s story that Makino defected was a lie,” Ibe said with conviction. "Obviously, he’d failed to persuade Makino to join Lord Matsudaira’s faction. He had the actor assassinate Makino to get him off the Council of Elders and weaken Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s influence over the shogun.”

Otani looked at the ground, his head bowed, humiliated by further evidence that his lord’s nephew had died a criminal. His expression was stoic, but fear for his own fate emanated from him like a bad smell.

“That Daiemon appears to have conspired with Koheiji to assassinate Senior Elder Makino sheds a new light on Daiemon’s murder,” Sano said.

“Daiemon was a threat to Koheiji because he knew Koheiji assassinated Makino,” said Hirata. “Maybe Koheiji killed Daiemon to keep him from telling.”

“But if Koheiji got accused of the murder, all he needed to do was say that Daiemon hired him,” Ibe objected. “Neither of them could have incriminated the other without endangering himself. They’d both have been in trouble.”

“Koheiji would have been in deeper trouble than Daiemon,” said Hirata. “If we hadn’t found the note and come to the Floating Teahouse, it would be Koheiji’s word against Daiemon’s. The shogun wouldn’t believe that his heir apparent had conspired to murder his old friend Makino.”

“Perhaps Koheiji thought that if there was any chance he might take the blame for the crime, Daiemon should share the punishment, and therefore he stabbed him just in case,” Sano said. “And perhaps Koheiji didn’t act alone, even if he was the one who got paid to kill.” Sano recalled the scenes that Reiko had witnessed between the suspects in Makino’s household. “Perhaps he had an accomplice.”