by Bund
As Matsui extended to Sano a metal handguard with attached chain-mail sleeve, his voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "This is the armor he wore in the Battle of Anegawa. He was wounded; that dark stain is his blood."
A shiver rippled Sano's skin when he saw that Matsui's smile had vanished. His eyes, fixed on his grisly relic, shone with fierce obsession. In that moment he looked strikingly like General Fujiwara.
Like a warrior capable of killing his enemies.
Cautiously Sano said, "You pay respect to your ancestor. Do you also wish you could live his life?"
"Often." A sigh gusted from Matsui; his hands caressed the armor. "After a day spent making deals, counting money, and plotting against: my rivals, I long for the simplicity of Bushido. Absolute loyally and obedience to one's lord. Dying in battle for him. What could be cleaner or more noble?" Matsui chuckled wryly. "So unlike the filthy business of making money. Do you know that my own cousins severed ties with me when I became a merchant?"
Either the shrine induced in Matsui an urge to confide, or he was displaying a show of candor to absolve himself of suspicion. Sano couldn't tell which, but he nevertheless encouraged Matsui's revelations.
"Your family's rejection must have hurt you," he remarked.
"Oh, yes," Matsui said sadly. He returned the armor to its pedestal and knelt before the altar. "I like to think that I could have been a great general. But it seems my fate to lead others in the pursuit of making money. Still, my cousins' disapproval hurts less than the thought of his"-Matsui bowed to the portrait-"had he known how I would disgrace our family."
"You want to deserve General Fujiwara's respect, then?"
A sigh; a worshipful glance at the portrait. "Sometimes I think I would give everything I own for it."
"What do you know of the general's feud with the Araki and Endo clans?" Sano asked, quietly so as not to jolt Matsui out of his introspective mood.
He'd expected the merchant to deny knowledge of the feud, but Matsui answered without hesitation. "My grandfather, the family historian, considered the feud a puzzling but trivial epilogue to an exemplary life. General Fujiwara was ill when he began the attacks on Araki and Endo. His grievances against them may have been the product of a failing mind. But I believe he had a good reason for his actions, and I wish I knew what it was."
Although Matsui's tone and manner hadn't changed when he uttered the last sentence, Sano's extra sense told him the merchant was lying. Still, Matsui had given him an opening.
Phrasing his question carefully, he said, "Would your reviving the feud against Araki's and Endo's descendants appease the general's spirit?"
Matsui slowly turned from the portrait. Sano dared not breathe. Every instinct told him Matsui was capable of killing to ensure General Fujiwara a posthumous victory over his enemies. Now he need only elicit a confession.
Softly he said, "Where were you last night, Matsui? And on the nights of Kaibara's and the ronin Tozawa's deaths? Did you kill them?"
Visions of the shogun's approval, fulfilling his promise to his father, and the city delivered from evil hovered at the periphery of Sano's consciousness as Matsui lifted haunted eyes to his.
Then Matsui threw back his head and laughed, completely shattering the fragile structure of Sano's interrogation. "You're very good, sosakan-sama," he said, standing. He waggled a playful finger at Sano. "But not good enough to trick old Matsui Minoru. Consider me a murderer, if you will. But remember this."
He faced Sano, arms folded, stance firm: once again the hard-driving merchant who refused to yield concessions. "Would I have shown you this shrine if I were the killer you seek? I certainly wouldn't have let you in my house if I had a blood-spattered trophy workshop to hide. I invite you to search my other houses, my store, my banks and moneylending shops, and my offices at the shipping firm. You'll find nothing there, either. You can question my staff, who will tell you that I'm a good, respectable citizen."
His brazen declaration left Sano speechless. Had Matsui's "confidences" been nothing but a joke at his expense? Or was Matsui bluffing now, to repair the damage they'd done?
"As for the nights of the murders," Matsui continued in the same recalcitrant tone, "I was here at home, in this very room." Pointing at the men outside the door, he added, "My guards will vouch for me. I never go anywhere without them.
"And now you must excuse me, sosakan-sama; I have business to conduct. If you have any more questions, you'll have to arrest me. But think hard before you do. Should the shogun's gold cease to multiply and flow, I doubt if he would thank you."
Chapter 21
Sano returned to Edo Castle at noon, feeling rushed and discouraged. Now, he rode through the main gate to seek Chugo Gichin, captain of the guard and second suspect, before attending his miai. Since he couldn't conduct a secret inquiry in the castle, where spies would undoubtedly report his activities to Chugo, he hoped a surprise confrontation might prove more satisfactory than his clash with Matsui.
He couldn't eliminate Matsui as a strong suspect, despite the merchant's denials and the common sense that told him such a man wouldn't risk his wealth and position to revive a dead feud. He believed in Matsui's sinister obsession with General Fujiwara, and had sensed his capacity for violence. During their short encounter, he'd grasped Matsui's essential nature: bold, ruthless, with a grandiose self-importance that could easily inspire a sense of invincibility. That Matsui's associates would attest to his good character and his bodyguards to his whereabouts didn't convince Sano of the merchant's innocence. All those people were in Matsui's pay. Still Sano appreciated the difficulty of establishing Matsui's guilt.
Matsui was far too clever to leave incriminating evidence in his places of residence or work. Sano thought he could probably persuade Matsui's enemies to contradict the good references from friends and underlings, but he doubted whether he could break Matsui's alibi. If the bodyguards had taken part in the murders, they would lie to protect themselves.
This next interview would either offer a better suspect, or eliminate Chugo Gichin and give him more time to incriminate Matsui. Of Chamberlain Yanagisawa, he could not bear to think, because Yanagisawa's guilt would mean his own destruction. For once, Sano closed his mind to his father's voice, which would force him to acknowledge the possibility he didn't want to face.
Inside the castle, Sano entered the main guard compound, where a thousand samurai occupied the huge, stone-walled courtyard shadowed by the towering keep. Some were mounted, others on foot; all wore swords and armor tunics. The long wooden sheds that bordered the compound held an arsenal of swords, spears, bows, polearms, arquebuses, cannon, and ammunition. This was the mighty heart of the Tokugawa military regime. Through it, like an emperor surveying his domain, strode Chugo Gichin.
Accompanied by three lieutenants, he alone wore full battle regalia. A black metal helmet with deep side flaps and a pair of carved golden pine boughs adorning its crown sat proudly on his head. An elaborate armor tunic, its many plates laced with red and gold silk cord, hung from his high, square shoulders. Chain-mail sleeve guards covered his long arms. His kimono hem was tucked into metal shin guards that covered legs as slender and straight as wooden pillars. His erect, rigid posture emphasized his spare muscularity. As he made his inspection tour, he carried the weight of his armor without visible effort. His voice, barking orders and questions at his ranks, rose above the sounds of footsteps, hoof-beats, and muted conversation.
Sano watched the captain of the guard and tried without success to imagine him a murderer. This man's family had loyally served the Tokugawa for generations. Chugo had worked his way up through the military ranks, even doing a stint in the navy. Now he was responsible for the castle's security during his duty shift. It was his job to protect the shogun, his family, and their multitude of officials, retainers, and attendants; to maintain order and peace.
How could he also be the person who had killed four men and thrown the city into turmoil?
Then
Chugo headed toward his command post, passing the armory sheds, whose red curtains bore his crest: a white octagon with the Fujiwara crescent moon in the center. Sano dismounted and started after Chugo. Before he'd moved ten steps, a pair of guards accosted him.
"May we be of assistance, sosakan-sama?" one asked. A touch of insolence tainted his courteous bow and greeting. Just three days ago, these men would have treated Sano with fawning subservience. He marveled at how quickly news of his downfall had reached even the bakufu's lower echelons.
"I must speak with Captain Chugo Gichin," he said.
Scornfully looking him up and down, they advanced until he was forced to move backward toward the gate.
"It concerns a matter of vital importance to castle security," Sano added.
The two guards stopped, exchanged glances, shrugged. "Come with me," the spokesman said.
Sano offered a silent prayer of thanks for underlings who preferred to shift responsibility to their superiors. Shadowed by his escort, he followed Chugo's steps to a large shed in the compound's corner, built under a tall watchtower. He braced himself, hoping his arrival would startle the captain into betraying guilt. But as they entered the command post, the guard shot an arm across Sano's chest.
"Wait," he ordered.
The post's anteroom was unfurnished, earth-floored. An open door at the rear showed the captain's office, which contained a desk, cabinets, chests, pieces of armor and weaponry. The walls were covered with duty rosters and maps of the castle. Sano's attention flew to the room's center, where Chugo Gichin knelt on a straw mat, profile to the door, fists balled on his thighs. He'd removed his armor and helmet; now, a black hood completely covered his head. An attendant was positioning four man-size straw dummies around Chugo. Finishing, he came to stand beside Sano at the door. He raised a finger to his lips for silence. Sano nodded agreement, eyes riveted on Chugo. Anticipation tightened his stomach. He was about to witness a demonstration of the martial arts skill for which Chugo had achieved nationwide fame: iaijutsu, the art of simultaneously drawing and cutting with the sword.
Chugo sat perfectly still; he appeared not to breathe. But Sano sensed the mental energy flowing from him as his trained perception divined the positions of the unseen targets. While Sano waited in suspense for Chugo to draw his sword, he wondered what the captain's proficiency at iaijutsu said about him.
Iaijutsu was a discipline particularly suited to peacetime, when samurai kept their weapons sheathed, instead of drawn as in battle. The techniques could be used defensively, or to secure the opening move in a duel. Hence, most reputable kenjutsu masters trained their students in them. But iaijutsu had a treacherous, and therefore dishonorable aspect. Too often it was used against unwary opponents or unarmed peasants. Many of the latter had died in ""crossroad cuttings," or "practice murders," when a samurai merely wanted to test a new sword.
Had Chugo used his deadly skill to strike down Kaibara Toju, the ronin Tozawa, and the eta before they'd perceived the danger? Did his choice of discipline imply a willingness to attack helpless or unsuspecting victims? One thing Sano knew: Extreme devotion to the martial arts often indicated an obsessive adherence to Bushido. Had its credo of ancestor worship driven Chugo to murder?
In a single fluid motion, Chugo leapt to his feet and whisked his sword free of its scabbard. The blade's blurred white arc whistled sideways through the air, slicing off the first dummy's head. Without a pause, Chugo whirled. He severed the second, third, and fourth heads before the first hit the ground.
Sano's breath caught at the beauty and precision of Chugo's performance. Then a premonition of danger licked at him like an icy flame. He gave an involuntary shout and sprang backward. Heedless of the law that prohibited his drawing a weapon upon another man inside the castle, his hand instinctively sought his sword.
Because instead of sheathing his blade and kneeling again as the exercise dictated, Chugo came hurtling straight toward Sano, swinging his sword upward in both hands for an overhead killing cut.
Sano had his sword free and ready to parry the blow. Then, at the last instant, the guard and Chugo's attendant realized what was happening.
"No, Chugo-san! Stop!"
Seizing Chugo's arms, they arrested his attack. He froze, sword at the peak of its deadly ascent.
Sano froze, too, then slowly sheathed his weapon as he saw Chugo's body relax and felt the captain's murderous impulse subside. With his heart hammering and combat energy still surging through his body, he watched Chugo step free of his men. He let out his breath as Chugo calmly returned his sword to its scabbard, then removed the black hood.
"Sosakan-sama."
Chugo spoke in a gruff monotone that betrayed little interest and no surprise. His long face conformed to his body's linearity. Thick, horizontal eyebrows crossed the bridge of his thin nose. His narrow eyes, dark, unblinking, and so devoid of emotion as to appear lifeless, looked out from deep, rectangular gashes set above knife-edge cheekbones. Vertical creases etched his skin from the nostrils to a thin, almost lipless mouth. From the jawline, his chin tapered to a sharp point. Only one feature deviated from this geometric theme: the puckered scar that snaked across his shaven crown.
Encompassing both Sano and the other two men in his deathlike gaze, he said, "We won't speak of this accident."
Obviously he meant that no one would report the incident, and therefore neither he nor Sano would suffer the suicide penalty dictated by law. Sano, badly shaken by the violent encounter, could only nod as he tried to match Chugo's stoic calm and organize the torrent of thoughts that flooded his mind.
Blindfolded, Chugo had decapitated all four dummies in the time it would take an ordinary swordsman to sight a target and draw his weapon. Aside from Chugo's obvious skill at swordsmanship, however, Sano had another reason to believe he'd cut down four men in the dark of night.
Chugo had meant to kill him. This Sano knew with every particle of his being, despite the captain's claim of an "accident." Had Chugo lashed out in reaction to the vague threat of a stranger's arrival? Or because he'd instinctively recognized the man who might expose him as the Bundori Killer?
"Practice is over. Put the targets away," Chugo told his attendant. To Sano: "What do you want?"
He dismissed Sano's escort and moved into his office, where he scrutinized the castle maps whose colored pins represented troop positions. Sano followed. He watched Chugo shift pins like a general planning a battle. The minimal chance of a siege didn't seem to affect his dedication to his job.
"Well?" Chugo asked.
Sano found himself sorting and grouping questions in his mind, much as Chugo was doing with the pins. "You probably know that the shogun has assigned me to catch the Bundori Killer," he said, feeling his way. : "So?"
Apparently uninterested, Chugo strode out of the command post, where he addressed his lieutenants. "The coverage of the eastern perimeter is too thin," Sano heard him say. "Dispatch another unit there at once."
Then he returned to the office to peruse the duty rosters. His movements had an impatient jerkiness that contrasted with the fluid grace of his swordplay. Intent on his duties, he seemed not to care if Sano ever stated the purpose of his visit.
"The labels on the heads of the killer's victims bore the names Araki Yojiemon and Endo Munetsugu," Sano said. "Two men who had a troubled relationship with your ancestor, General Fujiwara."
The captain's hand remained steady as he ran his finger along the columns of names on the roster. His lips compressed in irritation, but not surprise or dismay. "What of it?"
Sano tried to see the thoughts behind Chugo's opaque eyes. If he was the Bundori Killer, he revealed no fear of exposure. But then Chugo, as a martial arts master, would have trained himself to suppress all signs of emotion.
"General Fujiwara had a grudge against Araki and Endo," Sano said. "He risked his life trying to destroy them. Whoever killed Kaibara Toju, the ronin Tozawa, and the priest Endo seems to have revived the feud by attacking
Araki's and Endo's descendants. I believe the killer is a descendant of General Fujiwara's, out to complete his blood score."
"Pah!" Chugo's snort conveyed all the contempt that his face didn't. Before he could speak, his attendant entered the office, bearing a lacquer box.
"Your meal, Honorable Captain."
"Set it there." Chugo knelt on the mat and pointed to the space before him. The office was warm, and he opened his kimono and rolled up the sleeves. No wounds marked his limbs or torso; he'd either evaded Brother Endo's spear during combat, worn armor, or never fought at all. To Sano, he said, "If you're asking me if I'm a murderer, I'm not. And my ancestors are none of your business. Besides, the past is dead."
But was it, Sano wondered as Chugo unpacked the lunchbox. "Dried chestnuts, kelp, and abalone," he remarked as each item appeared. "Do you always choose the foods eaten by soldiers before battle?" Perhaps Chugo wasn't so indifferent to the past as he pretended. He was certainly familiar with war rituals.
