SI2 Bundori (1996)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  To hide his humiliation, he focused on his surroundings. They’d made a complete circuit of Kiyomizu Hall and reached the side overlooking the lake. And they’d gotten far ahead of Noguchi and the women.

  Magistrate Ueda put a hand on Sano’s arm. “I wish you success in your investigation, and the best of luck in the future.”

  The words were spoken with genuine sincerity, but Sano barely heard them. For just then, a familiar figure, standing on the hall’s balcony, caught his eye.

  Dressed in brilliant robes, Chamberlain Yanagisawa contemplated the blossoming cherry trees below him. As Sano watched, he turned and spoke to a group of similarly attired men beside him. Among them Sano recognized several important officials: This was a combination business meeting and pleasure jaunt. As Sano gazed at Yanagisawa’s vivid figure, his muscles tightened and his mouth went dry.

  Sooner or later he must confront Yanagisawa, if not to establish the chamberlain’s guilt or innocence, then to settle their differences. He tried to rationalize his reluctance by listing the reasons Yanagisawa couldn’t be the Bundori Killer. Despite his ancestry, character flaws, and attempts to halt Sano’s progress, the chamberlain was Tsunayoshi’s second-in-command, a respected bakufu official, and surely too occupied with government affairs to care about an ancient feud. But thoroughness, as well as Sano’s desire for the truth, dictated that he treat Yanagisawa as a suspect until cleared, no matter how much he wished otherwise. And if the chamberlain wasn’t the killer, Sano must propitiate him. Even if he solved the murder case and avoided exile, his future success depended on Yanagisawa.

  “I’ll wait for our party here,” Magistrate Ueda said. “Perhaps you’d like to walk awhile?”

  The magistrate was kindly allowing him time to recover from rejection before joining the others as if nothing had happened. Seeing Yanagisawa leave the veranda and disappear into the hall, Sano realized that this might be his only chance to speak with the chamberlain, who might refuse him a formal private audience.

  “Thank you, Honorable Magistrate,” Sano said. No longer able to avoid the task that filled him with dread, he wandered down the path and waited.

  Soon Yanagisawa came out of the hall and sailed down the steps. Leisurely he descended the hill and strode along the promenade. Sano followed him onto the narrow strip of land that extended into Shinobazu Pond. Yanagisawa walked between the teahouses that bordered it, toward the small island where the shrine to Benten, goddess of water, stood. With sinking heart and dragging footsteps, Sano trailed after him.

  Chamberlain Yanagisawa reached the island and passed through the shrine’s torii gate. Inside, a small pine grove sheltered the outer precinct, which was momentarily deserted. Sano caught up and drew a deep breath.

  “Honorable Chamberlain Yanagisawa,” he blurted. “May I speak with you?”

  Yanagisawa turned. His half-smile vanished when he recognized Sano. His eyes began to smolder; hostility emanated from him in almost visible waves.

  “I have nothing to say to you, sōsakan.” Venom seeped through his suave tone. “How dare you intrude on my privacy in this brazen manner? Leave me at once!”

  Sano’s courage waned, but he held his ground. Dropping to his knees, he said in a rush. “Honorable Chamberlain, please tell me what I’ve done to offend you. Whatever it was, it was unintentional. And I want to make amends.” If he did, then perhaps the chamberlain would agree to an interview that would undoubtedly clear him of all suspicion.

  Instead of replying, Yanagisawa shot out his foot in a vicious kick. His thick-soled wooden sandal struck Sano’s shoulder. Sano sprawled backward, uttering a cry of pained surprise. Anger erupted within him; he longed to take his sword to this man whom Bushido dictated that he revere as his lord’s representative., He wished he could prove Yanagisawa the Bundori Killer… almost.

  Yanagisawa stood over him, fists clenched at his sides. White lines of rage tightened the flesh around his mouth. “There is nothing you can say or do to compensate for trying to frame me for murder.”

  “I’m not trying to frame you,” Sano protested, still shocked by the chamberlain’s uncharacteristic display of temper. Away from the shogun, he apparently felt no need to maintain his suave poise. Sano stumbled to his feet, realizing that the castle spies must have told Yanagisawa about Noguchi’s search for General Fujiwara’s descendants. “I was only investigating a lead. I had no way of knowing that your ancestry connected you to the murders. Any inquiries I make about you will be strictly formalities, for the sake of a thorough investigation. I haven’t told anyone that you’re a suspect, or tried to incriminate you. Because I can’t believe you’re the Bundori Killer.”

  Even as he spoke, he tasted the doubt underlying his denial. Was Yanagisawa angry for the stated reason, or out of fear of exposure?

  Yanagisawa appeared not to hear his words. He advanced, backing Sano up against the gate. “You seek to ruin my reputation and turn the shogun against me by slandering my ancestors and spreading lies about me.” His voice issued from his distorted mouth like spurts of corrosive steam. “Well, I won’t tolerate it. Do you hear me?”

  Sano could only stare, dumbfounded by Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s allegations. Such a scheme had never entered his mind, although he suspected that other bakufu officials might discredit an adversary this way. Now he realized that whatever had initially set Yanagisawa against him was nothing compared to this perceived insult. With nothing left to lose, Sano decided to pursue his investigation.

  “Honorable Chamberlain, you can prove your innocence by telling me where you were during the murders. If you have a satisfactory alibi, the matter will be dropped, and-”

  Sano gasped as the chamberlain seized his collar and yanked him so close that their faces almost touched.

  “Listen to me, sōsakan, and listen well,” Yanagisawa hissed.

  Fury drew his face into an ugly scowl. Sano tried to pull away, but Yanagisawa gripped him with a strength amazing for a man of such slender physique.

  “I am His Excellency’s highest official. You are merely his lackey for three more days. You have no right to interrogate me, and I am under no obligation to answer.” Hot, sour spittle pelted Sano’s face. “And if you persist in harassing me with impertinent questions and false accusations, I will-”

  Yanagisawa stopped just short of an open threat. Did his refined sensibilities shun such crude behavior? Or did he fear antagonizing a man who could destroy him?

  Whatever the reason, he released Sano, stepped back, inhaled and exhaled deeply. He smoothed his garments as his elegant features hardened into their customary smooth mask. But his eyes were dark, bottomless pools of hatred and anger. When he spoke again, he did so in low, deadly tones.

  “Let us just say that I will not allow you to succeed in your mission. And before I am finished with you, sōsakan, you will beg for the privilege of boarding the exile ship for Sado Island.”

  He turned and swept out the torii gate. In despair, Sano stood and watched the retreating figure. The encounter with Yanagisawa hadn’t produced any evidence of the chamberlain’s guilt, but neither had it cleared him and allayed Sano’s dread. And by forcing Yanagisawa’s hostility into the open, Sano knew he’d only worsened their relations. What would he do now?

  Sano squared his shoulders, forced a pleasant expression, and started toward shore, where he could see Noguchi, Magistrate Ueda, and the women waiting for him beside Kiyomizu Hall. But when he reached the promenade, he halted in his tracks. All thought of the failed miai fled his mind.

  To his right, Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s party was climbing into a line of palanquins attended by bearers ready to carry them back to Edo. Yanagisawa bowed to his colleagues, then entered the lead palanquin.

  The one with a snarling dragon emblazoned in red, green, and gold across the black lacquer doors.

  Sano gaped as the bearers lifted the palanquins and trotted past him. The clatter of their footsteps faded from his consciousness; his vision darkene
d. The dragon palanquin’s image burned into his mind.

  That quickly, Chamberlain Yanagisawa became his prime suspect. And Sano finally acknowledged his worst fear-the terrifying heroic act by which he might have to secure his family’s place in history. Now he could not shut out his father’s voice, speaking to him across the years:

  “Sometimes an evil spirit, in the form of a corrupt councillor, enters the house of a great lord. Such a councillor leads the lord astray with misinformation, surrounds the lord with his own cronies, and removes any opposition against himself. The councillor procures women or entertainers to seduce the lord away from business and addict him to pleasure. He squanders the lord’s money to further his own evil purposes. He causes the ruin of the lord’s health and character, and ultimately, the regime.”

  “No,” Sano whispered.

  He’d watched Yanagisawa dominate the shogun, usurp his authority, cater to his vices, and steal his wealth. If Yanagisawa had also murdered four men, this would confirm him as the “evil spirit.” Sano didn’t want to recall Bushido’s harshest lesson, but his father’s relentless voice continued as he watched Yanagisawa’s palanquin disappear around a curve.

  “The evil spirit must be destroyed, but not through open confrontation, which could cause scandal or war. The most admirable deed a samurai can do is to sacrifice himself for his lord’s sake. To rid the regime of corrupting influence, he must kill the evil spirit, then commit ritual suicide to escape capture and disgrace, and establish his clan’s honor for all eternity.”

  Chapter 23

  Astride his horse, Sano followed Chūgo Gichin into the daimyo district. This morning, he’d assigned Hirata the dangerous task of following Matsui Minoru tonight. For himself he’d claimed the even more perilous undertaking of watching Chūgo, whose formidable swordsmanship skills made him a greater threat than Matsui and his bodyguards combined-and who could command the demotion, dismissal, beating, or death of an inferior officer caught trespassing upon him. Now Sano carried out his plan, despite the knowledge that his time would be better spent pursuing Chamberlain Yanagisawa.

  He couldn’t deny what he must do should Chamberlain Yanagisawa, his prime suspect, prove to be the killer. No one would believe Yanagisawa was guilty based on the word of a man who’d lost the shogun’s favor, as Sano had. Yanagisawa controlled the bakufu. Sano could be condemned as a traitor for speaking against him. To guarantee justice and serve honor, Sano must slay the chamberlain, then commit suicide to escape the disgrace of arrest and execution.

  Yet the thought of seppuku sent terror gusting through Sano’s soul like a cold, ash-laden wind. He wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to take his sword to himself. He’d risked his family’s honor and his own career to pursue this investigation. Now his life depended on proving Chūgo’s, Matsui’s, or the woman O-tama’s guilt, rather than Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s.

  Heading south, Chūgo kept his head down, his horse to the middle of the wide boulevard, and its pace brisk, as if he feared observation by the sentries at the gates of the great walled daimyo estates. Sano followed at a safe distance. So far so good: Chūgo didn’t stop or turn his head. But when they entered Nihonbashi, the captain acted increasingly wary. He meandered and backtracked through the streets, pausing at intervals to look over his shoulder. Each time, Sano stopped his horse so Chūgo wouldn’t hear the telltale hoofbeats, because this section of the quarter was deserted, with no noise to provide cover. Sano focused half his concentration on avoiding Chūgo’s notice.

  The other half he devoted to watching his own back. Because the attack he feared could come at any time, and he was most vulnerable now-alone, at night. His preoccupation cost him. Once, when he didn’t stop in time, Chūgo’s head snapped alert at the two extra hoofbeats that echoed his horse’s. Later, when Sano turned to check behind him, he lost the captain. He galloped wildly around corners and almost ran into Chūgo at a neighborhood gate. Hastily retreating into an alley, he watched Chūgo respond to the sentries’ interrogation.

  “Otani Teruo, retainer of Lord Maeda,” the captain said when asked his name. The sentries, obviously intimidated by his stern appearance, let him pass without searching or challenging him. At the next gate, Chūgo gave his credentials as “Iishino Saburō, retainer of Lord Kii,” with identical results.

  Anticipation made Sano’s skin tingle. Was the captain traveling under a series of aliases so no one could report his absence from his post? Or because he meant to commit murder, and wanted no witnesses who could place him near the crime scene?

  The captain’s next move completely perplexed Sano. Chūgo turned down a deserted street of closed shops. From behind a public notice board, Sano watched him dismount and tie his horse outside the only lit building. Chūgo looked up and down the street, then walked up to the shop’s door. Someone opened it at his knock, and he vanished inside.

  Sano blinked at his quarry’s abrupt disappearance. His doubts about Chūgo’s guilt and Yanagisawa’s innocence resurfaced. Had Chūgo befriended his next victim, thereby gaining admittance to the man’s shop, where he could kill without fear of discovery by gate sentries or patrolling doshin? Or did Chūgo merely have a late business appointment? Sano dismounted and secured his horse to the notice board. He scanned the area, but saw no one lurking anywhere. Keeping close to the buildings across the street, he stealthily advanced on the shop until he was directly opposite it. Through the translucent paper windowpanes, he saw at least four shadowy figures moving around in the lighted room. If two were Chūgo and his victim, then who were the others? He had to see! But heavy bars secured the windows. The wooden door, plaster walls, and thatched roof appeared solid, with no apparent chinks he could use for peepholes.

  Sano crept back down the block and led his horse around the corner to an alley that ran behind the shop. The alley was wide, but crowded with stinking wooden garbage containers, night-soil bins, and public privies. Darkness enveloped the buildings, whose overhanging balconies partially blocked the moonlit sky. Sano entered, restraining his horse and tiptoeing so as not to arouse the notice of anyone inside the living quarters over and behind the shops. After secreting his horse between two privy sheds, he looked in both directions, but saw no one. Counting doors, he reached the building Chūgo had entered. His frustration increased at the sight of the shuttered windows and iron-banded door.

  He didn’t see the figure creeping toward him down the alley until it was almost within touching distance.

  Alarm blared inside him like a soundless scream. In an instant, he noted the man’s sinister appearance: the wide hat worn low over the face; the hand under a baggy cloak that surely hid a weapon. And the abrupt pause that meant he’d seen Sano, too.

  Sano didn’t wait for the attack to come. He hurled himself at the assassin.

  The impact of their collision jarred Sano’s bones and forced a startled grunt from the assassin. Together they crashed to the ground, Sano on top. He struggled to subdue his adversary, who was heavier than he, and obviously a seasoned fighter. Conscious of Chūgo inside the shop just a few paces away, Sano bit back a cry as a fist struck his cheek. He swallowed the pain when his opponent drove a knee into his stomach. They rolled over, and Sano’s head slammed against hard ground before a muscle-straining heave regained him the upper position. With his knee, he pinned the assassin’s right hand, which was scrabbling for the sword he could feel under the man’s cloak. At the same time, he fended off more blows. He managed to get both hands around the assassin’s neck. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed.

  The man gasped and coughed. His body bucked, trying to throw Sano off. His nails gouged Sano’s fingers. Sano bore down steadily, but didn’t exert enough pressure to kill. He wanted his foe alive, and talking.

  “Who hired you?” he demanded in a loud whisper, panting with his effort to restrain the thrashing man.

  Wheezing and gurgling beneath his hat, which had fallen over his face, the assassin continued to fight. His knee sought Sano’s groin
, almost dislodging him. Sano banged the man’s head on the ground.

  “Who sent you? Talk!”

  He throttled the enemy until his struggles weakened. Then he eased the pressure. This time, the assassin went limp and spread his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “All right,” he rasped. “Just please let me live.”

  Sano cautiously removed his hands from the man’s throat and sat back on his knees. “Who-?”

  He never saw the punch that exploded against his chin and sent him flying backward to smash against a wall. His ears rang; he saw angry red fireworks. As he lurched to his feet, he saw his opponent rushing at him, hat off, sword raised. Sano knew he might never learn the identity of assassin or employer; instead, he must kill or be killed. He drew his own sword.

  The instant before the assassin let loose his first cut, a ray of moonlight caught his face. Surprised recognition arrested Sano’s defensive parry.

  “Hirata?”

  The young doshin froze at the sound of Sano’s voice. Shock and horror rounded his eyes and mouth. Then he dropped his sword. “Sōsakan-sama?”

  “Shhh!” Sano put a finger to his lips. In their surprise, both of them had spoken loudly. “Hirata, I’m sorry I attacked you,” he whispered. “But what are you doing here?”

  Hirata fell to his knees and bowed. “Sōsakan-sama, gomen nasai-a thousand pardons for hitting you! I was just following your orders.” Pointing, he raised his whisper to a loud, urgent hiss: “Matsui Minoru is in there!”

  Stunned, Sano stared first at Hirata, then at the shop Chūgo had entered. What were the two suspects doing together?

  Chapter 24

  Chūgo Gichin knelt on the floor of the moneylending shop, watching Matsui Minoru pour sake. The shop’s lamplit main room was empty except for him and his host. Matsui’s clerks had long since left; their scales for weighing gold stood idle on the shelves beside the abacuses they used to count it. The desks were clear of the ledgers, writing materials, and strings of coins that would litter them during the day. Matsui’s two nightwatchmen had retreated to the back room to resume standing guard over money and records. Of Matsui’s many customers, nothing remained except the lingering smell of tobacco smoke. To Chūgo, the stench symbolized the taint of money. He felt soiled, as if being here contaminated his warrior spirit. His stomach twisted with ingrained loathing for Matsui: merchant, ex-samurai, symbol of greed and dishonor. And, unfortunately, his blood relative.