Laura Joh Rowland - Sano Ichiro Samurai Detective 02 - Bundori

by Bund

  No doubt he could name the exact date and amount if he chose, Chugo thought as hatred's bitter swell filled his throat. The merchant paid scrupulous attention to every business detail. The knowledge that Matsui was toying with him added to his anger, as did Matsui's next remark.

  "Even you, cousin, must admit that we merchants are of some use, no?"

  The vulgar oaf would remind him of the shameful fact that while the samurai ruled the land, the merchants controlled its wealth. However, Chugo's family hadn't forseen the double-edged consequences of Matsui's defection from the samurai ranks when they'd first received news of it.

  Chugo had been fourteen-a year short of manhood and his career with the Edo Castle guard. On that summer morning, he'd been practicing swordsmanship in the barracks with three other young samurai when a castle messenger ran up to his family's quarters. When his father came to the door to receive the scroll, Chugo intensified the swordplay, battering mercilessly at the other boys with his wooden sword. He barely heard their cries or felt their counterblows. He knew only the desire to excel, to win, to show his father his worth.

  Realizing that the game had turned deadly serious, Chugo's opponents fled, screaming. Feeling like the great General Fujiwara, whose blood ran in his veins, Chugo looked to his father for praise.

  His father stood on the veranda. Having just gone off duty, he still wore full armor. The open scroll dangled from his hand. His troubled gaze passed straight through his son.

  "Your cousin Minoru has abandoned his post as warden of His Excellency's estate in north Kanto and opened a sake brewery in Ise," he said.

  Contempt harshened his voice, but his strange smile bespoke pleasure as well as distaste; his eyes gleamed with righteous satisfaction. "Out of some remaining vestige of decency, Minoru has dropped the Fujiwara name-for which we can be thankful-and now calls himself Matsui."

  Chugo's father had schooled him in Fujiwara clan history from an early age. He understood that his cousin's shameful act, while disgracing the clan, elevated his own branch within its hierarchy. He grinned, triumphant as though he'd won another victory.

  Then his father's eyes focused on him, and Chugo saw himself as the older man must: a lanky, barefoot youth with a silly wooden sword. Through the misery of his shame and inadequacy, he heard his father's voice.

  "It's up to us to uphold the family honor. You'll have to do more than win children's games if you expect to match General Fujiwara's standard."

  Chugo heard similar admonitions with increasing frequency throughout his young manhood, because his clan's glee over Matsui's disgrace soured as they watched him grow ever richer and more influential. While they scrimped to meet rising expenses with their fixed stipends, Matsui lived extravagantly. The Chugo, as guard captains, saw the shogun during large ceremonies and business meetings; Matsui enjoyed private audiences. His position as financial agent of the Tokugawa put him closer to the seat of power than Chugo would ever get. With a mixture of fury and humiliation, he realized that his wayward cousin had bettered him.

  Now Chugo fumed, remembering the debts he and his lord owed Matsui. He usually sublimated his desire for battle-a samurai's rightful work-in the meticulous execution of his duties. But now, with keen pleasure, he felt the power that always flowed through his body the instant before he performed an iaijutsu exercise. He imagined his hand flashing to his sword. He saw the blade whip free of the scabbard and blur across space, yearned for the sensation of sharp steel against flesh and cartilage. In his mind, he saw Matsui fall dead, and himself the victorious warrior.

  A needle of fear pierced Chugo's fantasy as he studied the stout, smiling, and still-very-much-alive merchant. Was Matsui calling in his loan? He couldn't possibly pay now. He had heavy expenses and no ready cash.

  "Oh, you're right on schedule with your payments, Chugo-san. There's nothing to discuss. about that, anyway."

  A spate of dread swept away Chugo's relief. Only his samurai stoicism enabled him to feign indifference. "Then what do you want?"

  Matsui's jovial manner fell away like a dropped screen, revealing the shrewd trader who had made fortunes for himself and his clients. "We must discuss the Bundori Murders, and how to protect ourselves."

  "I don't understand," Chugo stalled.

  Suddenly his need for liquor almost overcame his distaste for Matsui's hospitality. He longed to gulp the heated sake: potent, heady. Because of course he understood Matsui's meaning.

  "Sosakan Sano has learned about General Fujiwara," Matsui said, "and about the feud that ties him-and us-to the murders. He's talked to you, too, hasn't he?"

  "How did you know?" Chugo demanded, alarmed both by Matsui's knowledge and the fact that Sano had spoken to the merchant. Sano must truly believe he would find the murderer among General Fujiwara's descendants. What a disaster, should this information become public! "Who told you?"

  Matsui shrugged impatiently. "I have many clients in the castle, whose debts I forgive in exchange for favors. Who told me isn't important. This is: Did you tell Sosakan Sano the family secret?"

  Chugo barely managed to contain his shock at this blatant mention of the secret, passed down through the generations since General Fujiwara's death. It was the one tie that bound their family's estranged branches. Chugo could remember vividly the day his father had bequeathed it to him.

  It was the first day of the seventh month, ten years ago. He'd succeeded to his retired father's post as captain of the guard five years previously. Inspecting the castle's outer perimeter on that hot, wet afternoon, he'd turned at the sound of his name to see his father hobbling toward him down the stone-walled passage.

  "Otosan, what is it?" Alarmed, Chugo hurried to meet the old man, who had never before interrupted his duty.

  His father waved aside the supporting hand Chugo offered. "Son, you've followed the Way of the Warrior in a manner that does our clan proud. Now I must tell you something of great importance. Come."

  Although consumed with anxious curiosity, Chugo knew his father wouldn't speak until ready. They walked slowly along the ascending passage. The drizzle trickled off Chugo's armor and the old man's cloak. Moisture steamed up from the ground. Low clouds hovered over the castle, weighty as Chugo's father's unvoiced message. They stopped outside the northwest guardtower, the old man's favorite spot, and he spoke in hushed, somber tones.

  The secret's immensity left Chugo breathless with shock and outrage at the terrible wrong that General Fujiwara had sought so valiantly to redress. And, as his father continued, he sensed the huge responsibility that came with his new knowledge.

  "As head of the family after my death, you must pass the secret on to your own eldest son before you die. Except for then, you must speak of it to no one, not even your cousins, who have also received the knowledge from their fathers. You must keep the secret alive so that some day, when the time is right, one of General Fujiwara's descendants will complete the noble mission that he began."

  "Yes, Otosan."

  Dazed, Chugo answered automatically, wondering when the time would be right, and if it was he who would fulfill their clan's destiny. In the years that followed, he'd guarded the secret zealously, awaiting some signal to act. How dare Matsui suggest that he would reveal the secret to Sosakan Sano?

  "Of course I didn't tell him," Chugo said sharply.

  "Good." Matsui refilled his cup. "Now I want your promise that you'll continue to keep quiet. Sosakan Sano has guessed that the murders originate in our family's past. But without knowing the motive behind them, he can't build a good case against us. As long as he never learns our secret, he can never harm us."

  He added, "And if you're considering using it to divert his suspicion onto others, remember that the secret incriminates you as well."

  The unjust accusation and the prospect of colluding with Matsui curdled Chugo's stomach, even as he realized the necessity of a conspiracy. He knew he would never tell the secret, but he needed assurance that the dishonorable, untrustworthy mer
chant wouldn't, either.

  "I have nothing to fear," he said in futile protest. "I have an alibi that no one will ever break. Are you afraid because you can't say the same?"

  Matsui let loose a hearty peal of laughter. "Don't be ridiculous. My bodyguards can vouch for me. But I have another alibi that's even better: my innocence. I'm no murderer."

  Chugo stared, amazed that Matsui could lie with such perfect sincerity. He knew for a fact that the merchant had killed in the distant, if not the recent past. The incident, a culmination of all the offenses Matsui had inflicted upon Chugo's family, had provided a shattering aftermath for Chugo's greatest professional triumph.

  By age thirty, Chugo had served as gate sentry, patrol and palace guard, squadron commander in both the army and navy- all in preparation for someday assuming his father's post as captain of the guard-and had just achieved the rank of lieutenant. His first major task: conveying Shogun Tokugawa Iemitsu on a pilgrimage to Zojo Temple.

  The huge procession, a series of palanquins carrying the shogun and his party, attended by squadrons of armed guards, had snaked through Edo's winding streets. Chugo, as the guards' superior, rode through the ranks, constantly on the lookout for the slightest breach of security. Proud of the mighty defense he'd planned and now directed, he'd wished General Fujiwara could see him.

  He was riding with the advance guard when suddenly he heard shouts. Rushing straight toward the shogun's palanquin came a ragged, unshaven samurai, waving a sword. Chugo didn't pause to wonder whether the attacker's blood lust was due to drink, madness, or anger at the regime. While his troops were still turning to assess the threat, he cut swiftly through their ranks. Before the samurai reached the procession, Chugo intercepted him, sword drawn. One stroke of Chugo's blade, and the attacker lay dead at his feet.

  The procession reached the temple and returned home safely. The next day, the shogun rewarded Chugo's valor, presenting him with a new sword. Chugo had thought that by risking his life for his lord-a samurai's ultimate purpose-he'd at last paid adequate tribute to General Fujiwara.

  The next day, shocking news swept the city. A rising young merchant had been stabbed to death at his hillside villa. Chugo and his father stood in the guardtower, reading the broadsheet that described an attempted robbery that had turned to murder when the victim surprised the thieves.

  Chugo's father crumpled the paper. "It was no robbery. My sources tell me that Matsui murdered the man, who was his chief competitor."

  That a blood relation could kill for mere financial gain mortified Chugo and detracted from his own noble achievement.

  "I shall atone for the disgrace to our clan," he said, drawing his new sword. "I, unlike my cousin, will prove myself worthy to claim General Fujiwara as an ancestor."

  Now Chugo forced his mind back to the present, and to the man whose moral depravity had inspired his own ambition almost as much as their ancestor had.

  "I'm only concerned about the effect that being a murder suspect might have upon my business," Matsui was saying. "I could suffer a loss of customers, a run on my bank, complete social ruin. And in your circles, even unfounded rumors can cost a man his position."

  How well Chugo knew and feared this terrible disgrace!

  Matsui's jovial smiled returned; he raised his cup. "So come, cousin, let's make a pledge of silence, for the good of us both. After all, don't we already have an understanding?"

  In a lighter tone, as if to change the subject, he said, "Blood ties are unbreakable. Family connections bind even enemies-especially when they revere the same hero. When such is the case, betrayal is out of the question. Yes?"

  So the vulgar creature hadn't lost all his manners when he revoked his samurai status. In perfectly refined speech, he'd just alluded to the fact that because of shared blood and loyalty to General Fujiwara, each of them would refrain from questioning the other's innocence. Neither would turn the other in for any crime, even murder.

  "Yes," Chugo agreed grimly. He needed Matsui's reciprocal discretion, and he had another crucial reason for resisting the urge to kill Matsui: Eliminating one of General Fujiwara's descendants would only focus Sosakan Sano's attention on the other three.

  Still, Chugo made a last valiant attempt to reject Matsui's proposition. "But aren't you forgetting something? There are two other people who know the secret. What if they tell?"

  Matsui frowned, though with less concern than Chugo had expected. "The woman O-tama could be a problem. But the other. "

  For a moment, Chugo saw the specter of Chamberlain Yanagisawa hovering in the room; he knew Matsui did, too.

  "I doubt if we need worry about him," Matsui said. "After all, the secret is more dangerous to him than us. But enough of your pointless stalling, Chugo-san. Your promise?" He brought his cup to his smiling lips. "If you don't give it, I may be forced to call in your loan."

  Chugo glared at the foul, filthy creature to whom fate and blood so disgracefully bound him. Then he sighed. He lifted his cup and drank, swallowing his anger, hatred, and fear along with Matsui's excellent sake.

  Chapter 25

  From the promenade outside Edo Castle, Sano watched Chugo Gichin enter the main gate. Defeat dragged heavily at his spirits as he waited a safe interval, then followed.

  He and Hirata hadn't found a way to see or hear what was going on in the shop, so they'd waited outside and resumed pursuit when Chugo and Matsui emerged. But the imminent closing of the gates left the suspects insufficient time to kill. Chugo had ridden straight back to the castle, and Sano expected that Matsui, too, had gone home. Now Sano returned to his mansion, but only to leave his horse before setting forth on the night's second mission.

  As he walked through the dim, quiet passageways, physical exhaustion hit full force. He hadn't slept for two days, or eaten since afternoon; his head ached, and his empty stomach burned; his chin hurt where Hirata had hit him. Therefore he found great relief in being safe inside the castle's walls, where no assassin could reach him. However, survival seemed his only victory in a day fraught with failure.

  He'd seen his hopes for a distinguished marriage destroyed. He hadn't eliminated Chugo or Matsui as suspects, but had failed to gather evidence against them. Tonight's fiasco had merely tipped the balance more heavily toward Yanagisawa's guilt.

  As Sano made his way toward the Tokugawa ancestral shrine, submerged anger burned through his unhappiness. His upbringing forbade him to rage against the code that formed the parameters of his soul, so he turned his anger on a convenient target: Aoi. Tonight he would find out whether his suspicions about her were valid-and make her pay for misleading him. Unwillingly he remembered their last meeting: her beauty; the yearning he'd experienced and knew she had too. Now fresh desire heated his blood and turned his anger to raw fury at the betrayal of what they'd shared.

  Focused inward, Sano belatedly registered the sound of footsteps following him through the passage. They synchronized with his own almost perfectly. When he paused, they ceased until he resumed walking. His extra sense flooded him with alarm that he at first dismissed. Inside the castle, he was safe. He was simply reacting to two days and nights on the alert for an assassin by imagining threats where none existed. Still, his skin tightened; his bones vibrated in unmistakable response to approaching danger. Quickening his pace, Sano glanced over his shoulder. A curve in the stone wall blocked his view. He couldn't make himself stop and let his follower pass, or turn back and challenge him. He couldn't overcome the defensive instinct instilled in him by a lifetime of training.

  Sano broke into a run. As he tore through around the passage's winding curves, he heard his pursuers panting between his own labored breaths. Once the hunter himself, he was now the prey. Was this a game of idle castle samurai who sought entertainment by ganging up on a convenient victim whose humiliation-or injury-would bring them no punishment? Or was it connected with his investigation, and the earlier attack on him? He could sense the pursuers' malice like a pressure current along his nerves
.

  A checkpoint loomed ahead of him. All hope of aid died when he saw the abandoned gate standing open. Where were the guards? Once past the gate, with his pursuers hard on his heels, Sano made an even more disturbing discovery. The guardhouses that ran along the tops of the walls were dark, vacant. No troops patrolled the passage. He was unprotected, alone with his pursuers.

  Sano shot past more deserted checkpoints and open gates, endless lines of empty guardhouses and towers. Soon he began to tire. His heart felt ready to explode; his lungs heaved painfully; his body grew slick with sweat; his legs heavy as stone. An ache stabbed his side. And still the footsteps pursued him, forcing him higher into the castle's upper northwest reaches, farther from home, the palace, the guard compound, and other populated areas lower on the hill.

  His cramp worsened as he pounded through the gate that led to the martial arts training ground. He heard the men closing on him while he skirted the pond and swerved around archery targets. He dashed past sheds and stables, then across a road, into the Fukiage, the castle's forest preserve, where he could surely lose his pursuers.