With a sense of irony that almost made him want to laugh, Sano countered the arguments that he himself had used against Katsuragawa under different circumstances. “The conspirators are rash, ambitious young men who lack their elders’ instinct for self-preservation,” he said. “And from what I’ve seen of young Lord Niu, he is not one to let logic govern his behavior. Perhaps because of the madness that runs in his family.”
“We’re well aware of young Lord Niu’s tendencies. There is nothing you can tell us about him that we don’t already know. He is not a threat to the shogun.”
In spite of Toda’s condescending tone and unchanged expression, a sudden tenseness about the metsuke told Sano that he’d scored a point. Maybe he could win another.
He said, “Perhaps you underestimate Lord Niu because he’s a cripple.”
But Toda just looked even wearier and shook his head. Rising, he went to the shelf and took down a notebook. He knelt again, opening it upon his lap.
“Lord Niu Masahito.” He ran his finger over the columns of characters as he read. “Born with a deformed right leg, due to …” He quoted the opinions of the doctors and astrologers who had attended the birth. “Resides with his mother in Edo because his father hates the sight of him.”
Toda turned a few pages. “At age fifteen, he killed a rūnin in a duel which he initiated. In the same year, he led a gang that raided an eta settlement and killed ten people. At age sixteen, he beat to death a boy prostitute and was banned from Yoshiwara. Since then he has had boys brought to his family’s summer villa in Ueno. Prefers masturbation and superficial mutilation of a drugged partner to actual coupling. At age seventeen …”
The list went on and on. Incident after shocking incident, interspersed with the most personal details of Lord Niu’s life. Appalled by Lord Niu’s excesses, Sano was nevertheless impressed by the wealth of information that the metsuke had gathered. Had they managed to plant spies even among the Nius’ servants and retainers? Maybe they did know everything worth knowing about Lord Niu. Maybe the plot was nothing but a game of make-believe played by a group of idle young men.
“All of these incidents were suppressed with the Nius’ money and influence,” Toda finished. “But that didn’t keep us from learning of them. I think you can see that we have sufficient information by which to judge Lord Niu’s character. We don’t underestimate him—or overestimate him.”
Or maybe the metsuke assumed that, because Lord Niu hadn’t yet injured anyone who mattered to them, he never would. That assumption, plus their faith in the Tokugawa omniscience, blinded them.
“Can you be sure that your spy network is functioning as it should?” Sano asked. “It seems to me that by hiring blackmailers as informers, you run the risk that they’ll use the intelligence they collect for their own purposes instead of reporting it to you. As Noriyoshi did.”
“Noriyoshi was not an informer.” In response to the surprise that must have shown on Sano’s face, Toda explained, “You said so; I never confirmed it. He was merely an individual who came to our attention from time to time. We kept a watch on him, as we do upon all Yoshiwara inhabitants who deal with high-ranking citizens. But he was never in my employ. As you pointed out, blackmailers don’t make the most trustworthy informers.” His lips turned up in a humorless, insincere smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Sano stared at Toda in confusion. He was sure the metsuke was lying. But why? To save face? To protect the network? With Noriyoshi dead, what did it matter if anyone knew he’d been an informer?
“You granted me an audience because I knew Noriyoshi worked for you,” he reminded Toda. He couldn’t have been mistaken about that. But now he had the eerie sensation he experienced during minor earthquakes, when the subtle shifting of once-solid earth cast doubt upon his notion of reality. Toda’s bland denial shook his belief in his own story. Had he indeed fabricated it, for the reasons Toda gave? Was he such a self-deluding fool? Magistrate Ogyu and Katsuragawa Shundai would agree. As would the Council of Elders, if he went to them without O-hisa. A growing sense of despair provoked him to speak more sharply than he’d intended.
“You were willing enough to listen before you found out who I was. Do you serve the shogun by dismissing the news of a plot against him without even checking to see if it’s true?” He stood over Toda as he gestured with the rope and sandal that his hands had somehow picked up from the floor. “How can you fulfill your duties when you reject information that comes your way?”
“I granted you an audience because it would have been negligent of me to overlook the possibility that you had something of value to us,” Toda corrected him mildly. “Contrary to your opinion, we welcome factual information from all reliable sources. We run an efficient operation that has served the Tokugawas well and helped keep them in power for eighty-eight years. We investigate whatever warrants investigation.
“And now, Sano-san, I hope you will excuse me.” He clapped his hands to summon the guard. “Your moment is up. Good day.”
Cold, hungry, and almost ill with fatigue, Sano slowed his footsteps as he approached his parents’ district. Not wanting to face his father again, he still found himself drawn to the comfort and security of home. He couldn’t face the cheerless impersonality of an inn; besides, he lacked the energy to walk to one. The physical exhaustion that drained his strength brought with it a sense of defeat just as enervating.
He now had to admit that his own ambitions, for which he’d sacrificed his father’s, had come to nothing. He’d learned the truth, but failed to elicit value from it. He had discovered that Lord Niu planned to kill the shogun, but how could he stop him? Further attempts to warn the authorities would likely turn out no better than today’s. O-hisa’s broken promise had destroyed his hopes for a successful end to the murder investigation. Without her testimony, the Council of Elders would never act against Lord Niu—not on the strength of unsubstantiated theories, with a shoe and a rope as the only evidence. Tsunehiko’s death would go unavenged, as would Noriyoshi’s and Yukiko’s. Sano had already lost Katsuragawa’s patronage for good. And today he’d lost his belief in his own power to realize his desires—to expose the truth, reclaim his status and self-respect, deliver the guilty to justice, and save his father’s life. Standing outside the gate that led to the canal, bridge, and street he’d known forever, he faced the sum of his losses.
It can end here, he told himself. The danger, the frustration, the ambivalence, the uncertainty. All he had to do was go back to the life he’d lived before he’d become a yoriki. Let Magistrate Ogyu’s version of justice suffice; the real victims—Noriyoshi, Yukiko, Tsunehiko, and Raiden—were beyond caring. Let Toda and his kind protect the shogun however they chose. Such things need no longer concern him. But these consoling thoughts only increased his misery. His spirit sickened at the thought of giving up, even as reason told him it was his only choice. Bleakly he reflected that this episode of his life might end, but he would live with its consequences for the rest of his years. Then, because he had nowhere else to go, he passed through the gate and continued homeward. Maybe tomorrow he would think of a way to salvage his honor and make amends to his father—and somehow prevent the old man’s death.
As he crossed the bridge over the canal, a furious barking from below caught his attention. He looked beyond the railing. Sluggish brown water flowed between short, steep, brush-covered banks crowned with high wooden fences. Downstream, three dogs snapped and lunged at one another beneath a straggly willow tree. The largest, a sleek black hound, seemed to be guarding something partially hidden by the willow’s branches. Behind the branches and the dog, Sano could see a pale, indistinct shape. He started to move on, thinking that the starving animals had killed one of their own kind and were fighting over the carcass. The Dog Protection Edicts forbade him to interfere. But there was always a chance that a child had drowned in the canal. If so, he should chase away the dogs before they ravaged the body. He should try to identify it and locate the fam
ily.
Sano ran to the end of the bridge and skidded down the bank. He picked his way over the strip of muddy earth between water and brush. Just short of the willow tree, he halted in his tracks. Horror and disbelief drove a shaft of ice down his spine. Exclaiming in dismay, he stood and stared.
The snarling black hound stood over the naked body of a small, thin woman with tangled black hair and round buttocks. She lay facedown, one arm against her side, the other extended and bent at the elbow so that her hand would have touched her head—except that she had no hands. Both arms ended in bloody stumps, cleanly severed at the wrists. Her legs had suffered even worse damage: feet, ankles, calves, and kneecaps were missing.
Sano swallowed past a dry mass in his throat as he took in the extent of the mutilation. Deep gashes on her limbs and torso exposed bone as well as bloody tissue. Dark bruises covered her buttocks. And, as the wind lifted her hair, he saw another bruise around her neck, this one imprinted with the twisted pattern of the cord her killer had used to strangle her.
“Merciful Buddha.” His lips moved in automatic prayer.
The black dog barked and suddenly lunged at Sano, stopping just short of actual contact. At this signal, the other two began growling. Sharp teeth gleamed in their red mouths as they pressed close to him, driving him away from their prize.
Released from his horror-stricken paralysis, Sano found his voice. “Get away!” he yelled. He aimed a kick at them. “Go!”
Still growling, the dogs retreated. Sano knelt beside the corpse. After seeing Noriyoshi’s dissection and finding Tsunehiko’s body, he’d thought himself inured to further shock. But the dissection had had a purpose, and Tsunehiko’s death, however terrible, had been caused by a single cut. This meaningless savagery shook him to the core. What kind of monster would do such a thing?
Sano looked back toward the bridge and the street. He should call the guard, and the police. But first he wanted to see the woman’s face. If she was a neighbor, better that he should notify her family than some doshin or other official. Carefully positioning his hands on her hip and shoulder so as to avoid the worst gashes, he rolled her over onto her back. His stomach twisted when he saw that both her nipples had been cut off, leaving raw circular wounds. Nauseated, he looked at her face.
He saw bulging eyes that still held an expression of sheer terror. Swollen cheeks and nose. A trickle of dried blood at each corner of her mouth. Familiar features, altered by death, but not beyond recognition.
“O-hisa,” he whispered.
The world receded from Sano’s consciousness as he struggled to comprehend his terrible discovery. The dogs barked and growled on the bank of the canal; ravens shrieked overhead as they circled the kill. These sounds merely brushed against the surface of his mind. Who had killed O-hisa, and why?
The guilt and self-hatred Sano had felt after Tsunehiko’s murder returned in full force. O-hisa had died because of him. Now he had another death on his hands, this one worse because he’d known the risks. But what was she doing here? She couldn’t have been coming to see him; he hadn’t told her where he lived. Sano quickly scanned the surrounding area. There was very little blood on the ground beside the body, and no sign of her severed hands or legs, or her clothing. The fences shielded the canal from view of the houses, but surely someone would have heard screams and rushed to see the murder taking place. They would have summoned the police, if not in time to stop the murder, then at at least to remove the corpse afterward. So she’d been killed elsewhere. But then why had her body been dumped here, not much more than a hundred paces from his home?
Footsteps clattered across the wooden bridge above and behind Sano. He turned. Realization struck him in a wave of chilling sickness when he saw the three men hurrying toward him: a doshin accompanied by two assistants, one carrying a coiled rope, both waving barbed staves. He understood now why Lord Niu had left O-hisa here for him to find.
The doshin reached the end of the bridge. A heavy, muscular man, he clambered awkwardly down the bank of the canal. “Murderer!” he shouted. “For this you will die like a common criminal, Sano Ichirō. We’ll have your head on a pike beside the river by next dawn!”
It was a setup. Lord Niu, not satisfied with seeing him relieved of his position as yoriki, intended to stop his investigation by framing him for O-hisa’s murder. No matter that there was no blood on his sword, no witness to his supposed crime, and no reason for him to kill her. The Nius’ wealth and influence had already purchased his fate. Magistrate Ogyu would seal it. Although a samurai wouldn’t normally be treated like a criminal for killing a peasant, the hideous mutilation of O-hisa’s body made her otherwise unimportant murder an atrocity, a punishable offense. Not even his rank would save him from execution. Lord Niu need never worry about his interference again.
This awareness hit Sano in a flash of searing, inarticulate comprehension. While he stood immobilized by shock and horror, the doshin’s assistants slid down the slope ahead of their master. Sano knew that whatever he did, he couldn’t let them catch him. In Edo Jail, he, like Raiden and countless others, would eventually confess under torture. His only hope of survival lay in remaining free long enough to prove that he hadn’t killed O-hisa, and that Lord Niu was both murderer and traitor.
“Come along with us easy, now,” the doshin called as he lumbered and panted behind his men. “No use fighting. There’re three of us and only one of you. Accept your destiny like a true samurai.”
The assistants ran toward Sano. One began to uncoil the rope. The other raised his staff. Sano backed away as he cast about wildly for a way to escape. Simply running—the obvious, cowardly solution—would do him no good. He knew his home terrain. Just a few steps behind him, the canal’s banks grew steeper, almost vertical. Surfaced with smooth stone, they offered no footholds. He’d tried to climb them often enough in his youth, but had always failed and fallen into the water. The water itself was shallow at this time of year, no more than waist high, but with a muddy bottom that would grasp and hold his feet. And there was no use running upward. They would catch him before he could scale those high fences at the crest of the bank. Trapped, he did the only thing he could: He drew his sword.
Perhaps taking his initial hesitation as a sign that he didn’t mean to fight, the nearest assistant rushed Sano, body wide open to attack. Too late he saw the sword; too late he skidded to a stop and lowered his staff to protect himself.
Sano’s blade cut him diagonally from neck to waist. He screamed and sank to the ground, hands clutching the torn front of his kimono, which immediately darkened with blood.
The other men crashed into him. They fell back, uttering yells of outraged surprise. Before they could recover and set upon him with their weapons, Sano fled. As he swerved around them, he recognized the doshin whose arson investigation he’d commandeered, the day he’d heard of the shinjū. How long ago it seemed! Seeing the lust for revenge in the small, cruel eyes, he charged down the shoreline and up the steep bank toward the bridge. He wished he could look back to make sure that the man he’d cut was only superficially wounded, as he’d intended, and not dead. Had he misjudged the pressure of his stroke? But the others were already hot in pursuit.
“Stop! I order you to stop!” the doshin yelled.
His unhurt assistant, younger and quicker, bounded up behind Sano. Blows landed on Sano’s shoulders. He gasped as the barbed staff bit his flesh, and kept running. He didn’t want to fight and kill the man, but he refused to die for a crime he hadn’t committed. The added trauma of his arrest, conviction, and execution would hasten his father’s death. Nor could he let Noriyoshi’s, Yukiko’s, Tsunehiko’s, and O-hisa’s murders go unavenged. And now he had another, even more critical reason to live. He was the only person who believed that Lord Niu meant to assassinate the shogun, and hence the only person capable of thwarting him.
His feet hit the bridge. There onlookers greeted him with shrieks of terror.
“It’s Sano Shutarū’s son
!”
“What’s he done?”
“Killed someone, it looks like.”
That the people he’d known all his life should think him a murderer filled Sano’s heart with shame. He wanted to stop and explain that he’d been framed, but he couldn’t. He must run for his life, or forever lose the chance to prove his innocence.
“Someone stop him!” the assistant shouted, panting as he landed another blow to Sano’s shoulder.
The doshin, falling far behind now, shouted, “You are a dead man, Sano Ichirō! You can’t run forever!”
Sano waved his bloody sword. The crowd scattered. People shrank back against the bridge’s railings to get out of his way. One man jumped over the rail and landed in the canal with a splash. Sano sped across the bridge. Desperation drove his legs to pump faster. The staff no longer battered him as he pulled ahead of his pursuers. But when he reached the gate, he saw trouble waiting for him: the two guards.
“That man is a murderer,” the assistant yelled to them. “Catch him!”
Sano had hardly cleared the gate when the guards joined in the chase. His heart was pounding furiously now; his chest heaved with each frantic breath. He heard more shouts. Heard swords rasp free of their scabbards, and the stamp of four instead of two pairs of running feet behind him. As he plunged into the maze of narrow streets, a cramp shot across his left side. He could run no faster. A quick glance backward told him that the men were gaining on him. His breath came in sobs now. Though he forced himself to keep moving, he tasted defeat. His skin tingled in anticipation of a sword’s swishing descent and the mortal agony as it gashed his back.
Then he spotted his salvation: one of his neighbors, an elderly samurai mounted on a brown horse, ambling toward him.
Shinju Page 29
