Jade Palace Vendetta (Samurai Mysteries)

by Dale Furutani

  That peak stands alone.

  There is but one highest point

  in a mountain range.

  He was not anxious to stay in Kamakura. The events at Hishigawa’s villa and the Jade Palace would be known to the authorities there. Most likely they were already searching for the perpetrators, although Kaze expected that they would be looking for a group of men, not just one, when they saw the carnage that had been wrought. Elder Grandma had taken her granddaughter out of the north entrance to Kamakura, through the kiridoshi. Kaze decided to go northwest, along the smaller coastal road.

  As he walked, he thought about his next move. Perhaps he should return to Kyoto to search for the girl. After all, that’s where Hishigawa did much of his business. The light gray of predawn was starting to illuminate the world. Kaze was close enough to the sea to get a waft of salt air that invigorated his spirit and helped him forget about the aches in his shoulders and arms.

  Kaze had proceeded along the road for a couple of ri when he became aware that someone was following him. The man was an expert and didn’t want to be seen yet, and from that Kaze guessed who it was.

  When they came to a remote part of the road, the man showed himself plainly, and Kaze stopped. He turned to look down the road and saw the man approaching him. It was Enomoto.

  A sliver of red sun was over Kaze’s left shoulder. Pink streaks of dawn started to marble the clouds.

  Enomoto’s face was grim—his jaw set, his eyes watching Kaze’s every movement. He approached Kaze, then stopped outside the reach of a sword’s blade.

  “Nani? What?” Kaze asked.

  “I’m here to fight you,” Enomoto said.

  Kaze was a little surprised. “I don’t want to do that,” Kaze responded.

  “But I do,” Enomoto said. “In fact, I must.”

  Kaze sighed. “I wish you could see your way clear not to do this. I really don’t want to fight you.”

  “You ruined a very good thing for me,” Enomoto said. “I tried to have you assassinated in Kamakura, but those fools took just three men. I could have told them it would take more than that to kill you. Then I tried a ninja, but that didn’t work either. Now I will do the job myself.”

  “Why do you want me dead?”

  “You said you had an idea so Hishigawa wouldn’t have to move gold between Edo, Kyoto, and Kamakura. I didn’t know what that idea was, but it would have put an end to my profitable game of robbing the merchant. I could have robbed Hishigawa for many years and built up a sizable fortune, not even counting what he paid me.”

  “It was dirty money,” Kaze said.

  “But it was still money. And I wanted it.”

  “Well, I don’t want to fight you,” Kaze repeated.

  “Then you’ll die,” Enomoto said, “because I intend to attack you. If you don’t wish to defend yourself, all the better. But regardless, I will defeat you. I can tell you’re tired and worn. I don’t know what Hishigawa did to you at his house last night, but I thank him for it.”

  “Hishigawa’s dead,” Kaze said.

  “Did you kill him?” Enomoto said, surprised.

  “No,” Kaze answered. “But I did kill the rest.”

  “I told you once we were all bad there. There were none there that really deserved to live.”

  “Nonetheless, it made me sad to do it,” Kaze said. “I have no feelings about killing evil, but it was sad that there should be so much evil in one place.”

  “Now you’re going to be sad to fight me? To try to kill me?”

  “Yes. I’ll be sad,” Kaze answered. “Because despite everything, I know you are a superb swordsman. I feel no need to confirm my own skills with these silly duels that seem to be so popular now.”

  “Well, I feel a need,” Enomoto said. “The honor of my name demands it.”

  Kaze sighed. “Well, then. I suppose it’s best to get on with it.”

  Enomoto stood back a few paces. Then, drawing a white sash from a sleeve of his kimono, he tied it under his armpits and across his back in a figure eight, pulling his sleeves up away from his arms and out of the way.

  Kaze remained impassive, not bothering to tie his sleeves up.

  Enomoto pulled his sword out of his scabbard and stood in the ready position. Kaze did the same.

  “I’ll give you an extra incentive,” Enomoto said.

  “What is that?”

  “That young girl you’re looking for, the one who had the plum family crest?”

  “Yes?” Kaze said.

  “I know where she is.”

  “Where is she?” Kaze asked. He studied Enomoto’s face to see if he was lying or not. In the eyes looking back at him, impassive but alert, Kaze detected truth.

  “Where is she?” Kaze asked again.

  “You’ll find the answer on a scrap of paper in my sleeve,” Enomoto said. “I don’t think you’ll be reading it. But just in case, you’ll find it there.”

  Kaze saw no further need for conversation and stood at the ready.

  The men stood watching each other, looking for the slightest hesitation, the slightest opening, so they could make an attack. With a perfect defense, a swordsman can never be defeated. He might not be able to win, but he will never lose. To go on the offense was to take a risk, but through risk was victory. Kaze was tired but alert, every fiber of his body connected to the sword in his hand. He waited, content to let Enomoto make the first move.

  Enomoto suddenly started running six quick steps to the side. Kaze followed, keeping Enomoto in front of him—always watching, waiting for the slightest lapse.

  To his left, Kaze could see the sea now marked by a bloody ribbon as the disk of the sun poked its way up the horizon. Enomoto suddenly lunged forward, picking his sword up and bringing it down in one smooth motion. Kaze parried the blow, but his abused body let him down because, instead of smoothly stopping Enomoto’s blow, his arms buckled slightly, and he felt Enomoto’s blade as it kissed his brow, cutting a small slash. He felt the blood flow down the side of his face, but he made no concession to the wound, maintaining his guard.

  “I would have expected you to be much stronger,” Enomoto said. “You must be very tired, Matsuyama-san. I guess Hishigawa-san treated you roughly. Now that I’ve drawn first blood, I know that I will be victorious and kill you.”

  Kaze made no response. Instead he started moving laterally on his own, with Enomoto following him move for move. As Kaze moved toward the sea, his path made a shallow arc and, instead of having the rising sun to his left, Kaze soon had the sun behind him.

  “Very good,” Enomoto acknowledged, “but not decisive. Our duel will be over long before the sun can blind me or give you an advantage.” He stood at the ready again. The exertions of their maneuvering left a thin sheen of sweat forming on the sides of his neck.

  Kaze attacked both to the right and the left. Each blow was parried by Enomoto.

  “You’re a strong opponent,” Enomoto acknowledged. “But there is nothing you can do to defeat me. I’ll eventually inflict a mortal blow. We’re too evenly matched, but I can see you’re weakening. And when you’re weak enough, I will prevail.”

  Kaze said nothing. He concentrated his whole being into his sword. He stood watching his opponent, looking for some small opening so he could once again press his attack. Instead of an opening, he saw that a small fly was buzzing about Enomoto’s neck, attracted by the sweat and the heat of his body. Kaze could see the muscles on Enomoto’s neck tensing, and he knew that Enomoto would soon be launching an all-out attack. In his weakened state, he also knew he would eventually succumb to that attack and die.

  In the sleeve of Enomoto’s blue kimono was a scrap of paper that would help him end his quest for the girl. But now his quest and his life would soon be over, and his promise to the Lady would be as dust caught in a whirlwind.

  The fly returned and landed on Enomoto’s neck. Enomoto twitched slightly to dislodge it, and suddenly Kaze’s blade shot out, catching the fly and
biting ever so slightly into Enomoto’s neck. Kaze’s Fly Cutter had lived up to its name.

  A red surge of blood pumped from the cut. Enomoto had felt the sting of Kaze’s blade, and he was surprised that Kaze had made such a rapid and weak cut. It was a cut that would normally be shrugged off, no more serious than the slash on Kaze’s head. The relative weakness of the blow made it seem trivial, but the speed of the blade was a maneuver he had never seen before. At first he didn’t realize that, although the cut was relatively shallow, it was nonetheless fatal. It had severed the carotid artery.

  As Enomoto stood opposing Kaze, his life’s blood was pumping out into a widening stain over his shoulder. With his mind focused, Enomoto did not acknowledge the cut on his neck. Instead, he launched his attack. His blade cut right, then left, then right again. Each time Kaze brought his own blade up to counter the blow and keep Enomoto’s sword away from him, but he felt his strength ebbing, and only will kept him from succumbing to Enomoto’s attack.

  Enomoto had observed Kaze’s tired stance, but he was surprised at his own growing light-headedness and weakness as he pressed his attack.

  He brought his blade up above his head to launch another onslaught but, instead of bringing it down, Enomoto stopped a moment. His body swaying, a sudden infirmity attacked him. Not thinking of Kaze now, Enomoto brought his sword forward and placed it down on the ground to try to steady himself. He looked down at his kimono and was surprised to see his shoulder and sleeve soaked with blood. It didn’t seem possible that all this blood could be his. But his power to comprehend what was happening was rapidly diminishing.

  As a dull, gray fog rolled over his consciousness, preventing him from thinking clearly, Enomoto fell to his knees, half expecting Kaze to attack and take his head. Instead, Kaze stood at the ready, closely watching his opponent but not moving to attack.

  Enomoto fell forward, the last few measures of his life pumping out of the severed artery and onto the ground. Blackness washed over him. He still had no comprehension of what move Kaze had used to kill him.

  Kaze stood a moment and watched Enomoto die. Then he wiped his sword and put the katana in the scabbard, guiding the blade with his left hand while his right held the hilt. He waited to make sure Enomoto was dead, then he walked up to the body and reached into the sleeve.

  He found a small piece of folded paper. On the paper, written with a neat brush, were the words “Edo Yukaku Kobanaya.” Kaze stared at the seven kanji on the note for several moments, absorbing both their meaning and their implications—“Little Flower Whorehouse Edo.”

  Kaze went to the side of the road and sat down. The duel had drained his energy, but it was not as great a blow as the note. He looked over at Enomoto. “Thank you for this,” he said, bowing and holding the note between his two hands like a prayer offering. “We men can engage in our foolishness, but the child should not suffer for it.”

  When Kaze had rested a few minutes, he got up and cut a tree branch. Taking the ko-gatana knife from its place in the scabbard, he quickly carved a statue of Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy. The face of the Kannon was the face of the Lady.

  Kaze turned Enomoto over and arranged his body into a state of repose. There wasn’t much he could do about the blood that stained the kimono, but he wiped the dirt from the dead man’s face with his sleeve. He placed the Kannon where she could watch over him until some other traveler discovered the body and reported it to the authorities.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have the time to prepare you properly,” Kaze said. “But now I have to go into the hands of my enemies.”

  Up the coast road was the junction with the Tokaido Road. At the end of the Tokaido was Edo—the new capital and the stronghold of his bitter enemies, the Tokugawas. His head wound had stopped bleeding, and he felt very tired. Still, he was glad that perhaps his long journey to find the girl might at last be coming to an end. Assuming, that is, that he could somehow survive the blades of his foes in Edo.

  Making one last bow of respect to Enomoto, Kaze squared his shoulders and started down the road, which was now bathed in a golden light by the newly risen sun.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The reception given to Death at the Crossroads, the first book in this series, by reviewers and readers was gratifying. I found the perceptiveness and knowledge of Japan communicated by some of these readers and reviewers truly astonishing.

  Many noticed that my books always have a small scene that emulates something from one of the movies of the late Akira Kurosawa. This is both an homage to Kurosawa, the finest of the Japanese film-makers, and a reminder that I should strive to capture the same spirit exemplified by a Kurosawa film. A few readers have understood that these books have comic characters in them that echo the buffoonery and delightful silliness of the kyogen roles found in Noh plays. Still other readers are practitioners of the martial arts I write about, and they understand the mechanical techniques as well as the spiritual motivation I describe.

  This book, Jade Palace Vendetta, is the second in a trilogy chronicling the life of the ronin Matsuyama Kaze. It can easily be read as a stand-alone novel, but it also advances the story of Kaze’s search for a kidnapped nine-year-old girl.

  I was inspired to write this particular book by a walk down a dirt road in rural Japan. The rice growing next to the road was nearing harvest time, and the heavy stalks of grain made the green shoots rustle and bow in the slightest breeze. The windblown ripples in the field looked like a dynamic version of the raked sand of the famous Zen rock garden at the temple Ryoanji in Kyoto. To the side of the road was a Buddhist cemetery, high on a hill. The weathered rock monuments were surrounded by ancient pines, with a few late wildflowers dotting the hillside. In the far distance was a small farm village. Except for the ubiquitous television antennas and lack of thatched roofs in the village, it might have been a scene from a Japanese ukiyo-e woodblock carved hundreds of years ago.

  The scene made me think of the old Tokaido Road. At one time, the Tokaido was so thick with traffic that people sometimes walked shoulder to shoulder. In 1603, the year I write about in the trilogy, commerce on the Tokaido was not as rich. The famous fifty-three stations of the Tokaido Road were not as established as they would be in later years, and the huge number of ronin in 1603 made travel and commerce difficult and dangerous.

  This experience on a country road inspired me to start this book on the Tokaido Road, and my love of Kamakura made me want to conclude it there, even though the road to Kamakura was really an offshoot of the Tokaido Road.

  It’s my intention to entertain with this series, although I have tried to be as accurate as my research and talents allow. It’s my hope that the reader will be transported to a different and unique age. It was an age of turmoil and violence, but so is our age. In 1603 Japan, however, the concepts of honor, loyalty, and duty seemed to have a more tangible existence than they do today.

  DALE FURUTANI is the first Asian-American to win major mystery writing awards and his books have appeared on numerous bestseller lists. He has spoken at the US Library of Congress, the Japanese-American National Museum, The Pacific Asia Museum, and numerous conferences. The City of Los Angeles named him as one of its "Forty Faces of Diversity" and Publisher's Weekly called him "a master craftsman." He has lived in Japan and traveled there extensively. He now lives with his wife in the Pacific Northwest.

  Website: DALEFURUTANI.COM

  BY DALE FURUTANI

  Death in Little Tokyo

  The Toyotomi Blades

  Death at the Crossroads

  Jade Palace Vendetta

  Kill the Shogun

  The Curious Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in Japan

  "Dead Time," Shaken: Stories for Japan (anthology written to aid victims of the Great East Japan Earthquake and tsumami)

  "Extreme Prejudice," Murder on Sunset Boulevard (anthology to benefit the L.A. chapter of Sisters in Crime)

  ace Vendetta (Samurai Mysteries)