The Iris Fan Read Online Free Page B

of the room.”
    “Can you describe the person?”
    “No. It was too dark to see.”
    The physician prepared to stitch the shogun’s cuts with a long needle. Sano dismissed the boy. The shogun panted and shivered. Yanagisawa and Lord Ienobu regarded him with frowning speculation. Sano asked Captain Hosono, “Who was first on the scene?”
    “His Excellency’s valet. He called the bodyguards.” Hosono anticipated Sano’s next question. “He didn’t see anything, either. The attacker was already gone.”
    Sano persisted even though he was just a patrol guard and this wasn’t his case to solve. “Were any clues found?”
    “The weapon.” Captain Hosono walked to the bedside table, picked up a long, narrow object wrapped in a white cloth, and handed it to Sano. “It was lying by the bed. I thought I’d better wrap it up for safekeeping.”
    Sano uncovered a large, folded fan with ribs that came to long points at one end and a green silk tassel attached by a braided green cord at the other. The points were red, bloodstained. Sano unfolded the fan, displaying an arc of heavy gold rice paper painted with blue irises on leafy green stalks. Irises symbolized boldness, courage, and power. Perhaps they’d served as a talisman for the would-be assassin.
    “How could a fan do that?” Ienobu pointed his crooked finger at the shogun’s back. The doctor threaded the needle with a long horse tail hair.
    The fan felt abnormally heavy in Sano’s hand. “The ribs are made of iron. They’re sharpened at the ends.” This was no ordinary fan used to create cooling breezes in summer. It was a weapon of the kind used for self-defense, often by merchants, peasants, or women. The law permitted only samurai to carry swords.
    The physician applied a numbing potion to the edges of a cut between the shogun’s ribs. When he inserted the needle, the shogun moaned, but quietly: The opium was taking effect. “Nephew, come here.” The shogun extended his trembling hand toward Lord Ienobu.
    Ienobu hesitated, reluctant to go near the shogun, fearful of measles, but he didn’t dare refuse, lest the shogun get angry and disinherit him. As he knelt beside the bed, the shogun gripped his hand tightly; he winced. The doctor stitched. Ienobu averted his face as the needle went in and out of flesh. Sano contemplated the whimpering shogun. Although Bushido decreed that a samurai should feel nothing but respect and loyalty toward his lord, at times Sano had hated the shogun for his selfishness, unfairness, and cruelty. But now the lord he’d served for twenty years was a suffering old man. Sano felt the same outrage as he did on behalf of any helpless victim of a crime. His spirit clamored to avenge the attack on his lord.
    The physician knotted and cut the last thread, slathered healing balm on the stitched cuts, bandaged them, and covered the shogun with a clean quilt. Yanagisawa said to him, “May I have a word?” and drew him out to the corridor.
    Lord Ienobu started to follow, but the shogun clutched his hand. “Stay with me, Nephew.”
    Ienobu shot Yanagisawa a warning glance. Sano became aware that something was different between his two enemies since they’d heard about the attack on the shogun. The political game board was rearranging, the players in transit to new positions. The crisis had created new opportunities as well as troubles, and not the least for Sano himself.
    Now the shogun noticed Sano. The pupils of his eyes were dilated by the opium; he smiled groggily, as if he’d forgotten he’d banned Sano from court and he was welcoming a dear, long-lost friend. “You stay, too, Sano- san .”

 
     
    4
     
    IN THE CORRIDOR , Yanagisawa quietly asked the physician, “What’s the prognosis?”
    “His Excellency may have internal hemorrhaging. His wounds may fester. There’s a danger of permanent damage to his organs—”
    “Don’t tell me what might happen!” Anxiety raised Yanagisawa’s voice, and he struggled to