Yamada Monogatori: The Emperor in Shadow (19 page)

I sighed. “An old habit I’ve had difficulty breaking. His proper name is Yamada no Kiyomichi. I still call him Taro, and he indulges me.”

“He’s what . . . seventeen?”

“Probably eighteen, as close as we’ve been able to determine. He was perhaps seven or eight when he entered Prince Kanemore’s service in the stables, fourteen or fifteen when I adopted him.”

Kenji raised an eyebrow. “I trust you’ve never regretted that decision?”

“Only that one time, when he rode a stallion through my garden at Kamakura. He claims it was because the horse was still being broken, but I have my doubts.”

Both of the
bushi
chuckled; Kenji just sighed and glanced toward heaven.

“For someone who claims to be unlucky, you have more than your share of happiness,” he said.

“I only claim to be unlucky so the gods don’t presume I need more worries.”

Which was a lie of sorts, except for the part about not needing more worries. As I had told Tagako-hime, I was genuinely unlucky in many ways, and especially in the lives of those nearest to me, nearly all gone too soon. But my adoptive children had never been among them. I prayed this never changed.

The trip to Mount Hiei was not trivial, but we arrived in good time. We left the horses at a guest station near the base with Ujiyasu looking after them, and then Kenji, Morofusa, and I made the climb up to the temple complex near the summit. The last time I had been on the temple grounds, I had barely prevented a double execution—which was the reason I now had a home within the city and soon, I hoped, more information about the unfortunate Princess Shigeko.

Abbot Daiwu received us by the dais in the cavernous lecture hall. Behind him was a statue of Thousand-Armed Kannon and other figures that I didn’t pretend to know, though I was certain Kenji could name them all. As for the abbot, I had not seen the man in several years. He had aged a bit but was otherwise the serene, gentle soul that I remembered. This had not always been the case, but sometimes even the greatest darkness could be banished—something I tried to remember, especially when dealing with people who seemed more shadow than light.

He indicated the cushions prepared for us, and we all kneeled.

“I’m delighted to see you, Lord Yamada, as well as Master Kenji, but I know you too well to believe this is strictly a social visit,” he said.

“Your Eminence, I must admit to the truth of that. I am here because I am hoping you can help me.”

“Anything I can do, of course. You need only ask.”

It came to the moment when I had to make a decision. The fewer people who knew of my mission, of course, the better, and yet there were questions I needed to ask which of themselves would reveal it. Events at Princess Shigeko’s mansion had convinced me that there really was no choice at all.

“It is my understanding that Princess Shigeko was very fond of this holy place. I believe you knew her personally?”

He frowned. “Of course. She was a generous patron as well as a most pious woman. Her death was a great loss. Why do you ask?”

I took a breath. “I have some reason to believe she was deeply unhappy about something in her life. There is a . . . circumstance that has arisen, perhaps because of it.”

“You’re referring to the rumors that her former mansion is haunted, aren’t you?” he asked.

I had wondered how much he knew about the situation, and now I saw no point in dissembling. “Yes, Eminence. I have been asked to determine if this is true and what could be done about it.”

“By someone very important, I would think,” Daiwu said, looking thoughtful. “It is no secret that your circumstances have changed since our last meeting, so only such a person would have the influence to engage your aid. Someone in the family, or perhaps His Majesty himself?”

There was that much of Lord Fujiwara no Sentaro left in the man—a sharp mind in the service of a very dark purpose once. The mind remained, if now turned to better purposes. My faith in this remained unshaken, but the reminder was a little disconcerting. He must have noticed the look on my face; he smiled.

“An old habit, but I do not need or want to know any more. I was very fond of Princess Shigeko. She was a good and gentle soul, and if you are trying to help her, that is enough. It is true that Shigeko-hime was troubled, and I counseled her on more than one occasion.”

“May I ask what was troubling her? I would not do so if it were not important.”

Abbot Daiwu hesitated, then finally sighed. “This is not something I would normally choose to reveal, but keeping it secret helps no one. Princess Shigeko never had children with the crown prince, now emperor. That, I dare to presume, is well known. What is not well known is that Princess Shigeko suffered miscarriages. There were at least two, and both of those occurred even before the pregnancy was announced.”

“I had not heard this,” I said.

He shrugged. “Nor would you. Princess Shigeko kept it a secret. Even the crown prince didn’t know. Perhaps she didn’t want to disappoint him or her family—it’s also no secret the Fujiwara would have liked another potential Fujiwara heir. I only learned of it after her second miscarriage. That’s when she came to me for counseling. She was very ill for a long while after the second time. She recovered, but I knew it was dangerous for her to try again. There are . . . ways, such things could be prevented, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She was determined.”

“It happened during her third attempt, didn’t it?” Kenji asked.

Abbot Daiwu nodded. “The pregnancy was too advanced to be hidden, this time, nor did Shigeko-hime feel any need to do so. She was so happy, Lord Yamada, you should have seen her. Such joy on another human being’s face I have rarely seen before . . . but then something went horribly wrong. The child, a boy, was stillborn. Princess Shigeko passed a few days later.”

I had known a stillbirth had caused Princess Shigeko’s death. I had not known of the previous two failed pregnancies. “Do you know why she was so determined? Was it simply to produce an heir?”

Abbot Daiwu’s expression was pure sadness. “She gave all the expected reasons at one time or another: a desire to please the prince or to please her family. Which is the true one? Honestly, Lord Yamada, I don’t know, and I don’t believe she did either. If you want my opinion, the first two reasons were simply a nod to duty, and the real one was that she wanted more than anything to be a mother. This fits with what I knew of her, but as I said, this is only my opinion. I claim no more insight into another’s soul than the next person.”

Such a frustrated desire is more than enough to create an angry ghost.

Perhaps the situation really was this simple. Simple and extremely difficult to resolve. Now that she was dead, how could such a desire be fulfilled? The obvious answer was that it could not. If everything that Abbot Daiwu told me was the absolute truth—and I firmly believed that it was—I was still left with a problem almost impossible to unravel.

“It was good of you to see me, and I humbly thank you for your help. We won’t take up any more of your time.”

“If you can help Shigeko-hime find peace and free her from this world, I will be in your debt. If anyone on this earth deserved to be happy, she did. As this was not to be, the least we can do is end her misery. If there is anything else I can do, please call upon me.”

We took our leave. By the time we returned to Ujiyasu and our horses, it was well into the afternoon, but there was time enough to reach the city before dark. We met a
momonjii
at one of the road crossings as evening fell, but Kenji easily drove it away before it could sicken any of us.

“If I actually had the proper ward for every different monster we might meet . . . well, this poor horse couldn’t bear the weight of them,” he said. “Fortunately, a reciting of the proper
sutra
works well enough for such riff-raff as that.”

“For which you have our thanks,” I said. “And the patronage of your temple, of course.”

“So you keep reminding me. Speaking of that, you never refer to me as ‘eminence.’ ”

“Only because I’ve usually had to refer to you as far worse. Don’t you worry about one day being transformed into a
nodera-bo
or some other disgusting monster?”

Kenji was unconcerned. “It is said there once was a temple with a stone figure of the Buddha which would come alive during the night and go visit brothels. I think I’m more likely to be transformed into something of that sort,” he said. “I would not mind.”

I knew Kenji would not mind it. He was the soul of piety, but in his own fashion.

“I’ve been thinking about what Abbot Daiwu said. I know you’re thinking of a
yurei
, of course, in relation to Shigeko-hime? An angry ghost?”

“As Abbot Daiwu made clear, she does have unfinished business,” I said. “Of a sort that may be impossible
to
finish. So, yes, I think it likely that her frustration at not being able to bear children was what drove her to this state.”

“In which case we would have little choice save for exorcism . . . which would only be sanctioned if we can prove the reason for her haunting is as we believe,” Kenji said. “Does this faithfully relate the nearly impossible situation we are faced with?”

“I fear so,” I said. “It is the likely and sensible answer.”

Kenji looked at me. “So why do you hesitate to accept it?”

Kenji was right. Something didn’t fit what Abbot Daiwu had said. While I believed his recall of those sad events, something was still out of place.

“I merely suspect simple answers, even when they appear to be the correct ones. Something is still bothering me about Shigeko-hime’s situation, something I’m missing.”

Morofusa, who had been frowning even more than was normal for a
bushi
, finally spoke up. “My lords, there is something that is troubling me as well. May I ask a question?”

“Of course,” I said.

“While I am no expert on the subject of ghosts, it was my understanding that an angry ghost was, well, angry. Always. Is this not so?”

“Yes,” Kenji said. “What is your point?”

“Then why were some people simply denied entry while others were harmed? Should not everyone have been attacked, regardless of their past relationship with the princess? Would an angry ghost be capable of such distinctions?”

This was not the first time in my life I wanted to curse myself for being an idiot. Yet rarely had I felt like such a complete and absolute idiot.

“Morofusa-san, the answer to your question is—they would not.”

Kenji scowled. “Yamada-san, are you forgetting about the ghost of Hanako?”

I was not. Rather, Morofusa’s question had immediately brought her to mind. Hanako was a woman betrayed and murdered by her husband, the shock of which had transformed her into an ogre. She had blocked a road, but she had not harmed anyone, despite her vicious appearance. She had only wanted to be reunited with the husband she still loved. Which had happened, though in a rather gruesome yet oddly appropriate fashion.

“I am not. Hanako was not an angry ghost, though she had every reason to be. She was focused on a goal, and harming people at random was not part of that goal. Or are
you
forgetting?”

Kenji looked stunned. “Oh. Are you saying—” He stopped himself. I immediately understood why. This was not something that should be spoken in front of anyone, even Morofusa and Ujiyasu.

“I am not saying anything for the moment. We have other things to consider first,” I said. “But that is for later. For now, Morofusa-san, understand that your question helped clarify a few things. Thank you.”

He bowed. “I am glad to be of service, even if I do not know what I have done.”

For all our sakes, we had best keep it that way.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When we returned to what I had to think of now as the Yamada compound, there were two messages waiting for me. The first was from Prince Kanemore, apologizing for the delay and estimating his return in about two weeks, though the date was not set in stone. The second was from Princess Tagako, requesting that I pay her a visit. Her letter, in poem form as was her first one to me, required an appropriate reply. In truth I had been thinking of writing to her myself, but the necessity of creating an appropriate poem had slowed me considerably. Nor was I really certain such an overture would be welcome. Princess Tagako’s poem had settled the latter, which pleased me greatly, even though I knew I was being foolish.

Before my response could be composed, however, there was a more immediate concern. We had no sooner rested a bit and refreshed ourselves when Kenji looked at me.

“Lord Yamada, about Princess Shigeko . . . ”

“Not here. Walk with me in the garden.”

When we were out of earshot of the veranda, Kenji smiled. “I don’t think you trust Master Takamasa.”

“On the contrary—I trust him to act according to his interests and nature, which he has already revealed to us. Why should I doubt his sincerity?”

“In other words, you believe Takamasa is a gossip, not a spy.”

“I hope he is not a spy, but if he overhears us discussing Princess Shigeko, the difference would not be very important.”

“About that . . . earlier today, did you mean to imply His Majesty might be the target of Princess Shigeko’s obsession?” Kenji asked. “What if the reason she is remaining is that she is waiting for her husband to visit her?”

I took a deep breath. “We cannot overlook the possibility. There are some aspects to this haunting that, yes, do parallel that of the unfortunate Hanako. Yet there are also important differences. Hanako did not harm anyone except her former husband. Shigeko-hime has indeed hurt people and yet spared others. This does not fit my understanding of an angry ghost. I was assuming too much in that direction. Fortunately, if by chance, Morofusa-san put things in perspective.”

Kenji scowled. “Neither, however, does it fit my very close and personal understanding of an obsessed ghost. Nor yours, if you consider the situation for more than a heartbeat.”