Kill the Shogun (Samurai Mysteries)

by Dale Furutani

  Tokugawa Ieyasu had been ruler of the Kanto, the rich plain around the Edo area, for only thirteen years. He had been Shogun for less than a year. Many in the crowd had never seen the new ruler of Japan, and this public inspection was an occasion to gaze on the mighty. As people gathered, street entertainers and vendors gathered too, feeding off the press of people and their need to keep amused while waiting for the daimyo and Shogun.

  A captain of the guards and four men patrolled the crowd. The captain stopped for a few moments, looking at the kami-shibai puppet play. The dancing figures at the end of the skewers brought back fond memories from the captain’s childhood.

  The captain looked over the crowd gathered at the edge of the Edo-jo construction site. Before them was the wide ditch that would eventually be filled with water to form a moat. The moat was turning into a benefit of another type, because the soil excavated from it was being used to fill in the marshy land surrounding Edo, providing more room for expansion. The moat spiraled out from the castle, cutting through the city and giving it future opportunities for the creation of additional canals and water-borne commerce. Across the now dry ditch was the stone block wall that would form the outer rampart of the castle. Each block of stone was transported by boat on the Sumida River and brought to the construction site, where skilled stonecutters dressed the large blocks so they would fit together in a cunning puzzle designed to thwart attack.

  Behind the crowd, houses and shops formed a thick wall of their own. In crowded Edo, each scrap of land was precious, and the town sprang up wherever the land was not claimed by the Shogun, a daimyo, or a temple. The wooden and paper structures were prone to fire, and sections of Edo caught fire constantly. The only method for fighting the fires was to tear down structures in their path, a task done lustily by the volunteer firemen, who were mostly carpenters and roofers, and who would soon prosper as the structures were rebuilt. Sometimes the authorities had problems restraining the firefighters from tearing down structures that weren’t threatened by the fire.

  If conditions were right, fires could get out of control and destroy vast sections of the city. Fire towers, called yagura, dotted the city, where lookouts were stationed to watch for the first wisps of smoke that could lead to disaster.

  Because of the size of Edo Castle, the captain knew the inspection would take most of the day. Eventually, however, the new Shogun would want to inspect this section of wall, so the captain wanted to make sure that order was maintained in the crowd. So far, the crowd seemed to be quiet and in a festive mood. The captain had caught a thief earlier, but he knew the law would ensure that the thief would die within the week, so there would be one less villain on the streets of Edo.

  The captain and his men left the children at the puppet play and went to see what another crowd was looking at. A gasp came from the crowd, and the captain motioned for his men to clear a path for him, so he could see what was so interesting. As the crowd became aware that samurai were at its edge, people moved out of the way, bowing politely, so the officer and his men could see.

  In the center of the crowd was a free space with a lone man. He was of average height, but muscular. He didn’t have the shaved pate of the samurai, and his hair was pulled back into a topknot, but there was something about his bearing that made the captain think he was a military man. With fifty thousand samurai left defeated and unemployed after the Tokugawa victory at Sekigahara, it was not unusual to find ex-samurai trying to make a living at all sorts of enterprises. Many had become farmers, some had become robbers and brigands, some had become merchants, very few had found employment with some lord or daimyo, and many were still wandering Japan, living by their wits and trying to find employment for their blades. This last group were ronin—literally, “wave men.”

  This man had the look of a ronin, but it was hard for the captain to imagine that a real samurai would sink so low as to become a street entertainer.

  The man took a large child’s wooden top, as wide as the span of his hand, and tightly wound a hemp cord around it. Throwing it with a snap of his wrist while still holding the end of the cord, the man set the top spinning. From a scabbard lying at his feet, the man withdrew a sword. Then, with a quick sweep of the sword, the man picked up the spinning top on the flat of the blade.

  The man held the blade steady for a few moments, then he tilted the blade slightly and guided the top down the length of the shiny ribbon of steel. The captain was struck by the quality of the blade. Like all men of his class, he had been trained to judge a sword since he was a child, and this was an exceptionally fine blade. Either the ronin had fallen a great distance from his former station, or he had been extremely lucky at scavenging some forgotten battlefield.

  When the top reached the hilt of the sword, the man tilted the blade in the opposite direction and moved the top back to the sword’s tip, stopping it there. Then with a smart flip of the blade, he tossed the top in the air and caught it with the opposite side of the sword. He again guided the top down the length of the blade and back to the tip. The captain marveled at the man’s control of the sword and the steadiness of his hand. The man was so sure of himself that he even had time to look at the faces of the fascinated children sprinkled throughout the crowd around him. In fact, he almost seemed to be searching for someone.

  When the top returned to the tip of the sword, the man gave another flip, but this time he caught the top on the narrow back of the sword blade. The crowd gave another gasp, and this time the captain joined them. With total nonchalance, the man guided the top down the narrow back of the sword up to the sword tsuba, or hilt, and back to the tip again. The crowd applauded wildly.

  The man kept the top on the sword until it started to lose momentum and wobble, and he tossed it high in the air and caught it with one hand. The crowd gave him generous applause, and a few threw coins into a cloth spread at the man’s feet. The man dipped his head to acknowledge the applause, then he looked directly at the captain and smiled.

  The captain was surprised that a street entertainer, even one who might have once been a samurai, would be so bold. He was used to townspeople bowing, then keeping their heads down and their eyes averted. He wondered if he should say something to the man, but something in the back of his mind kept nagging at him. He looked at the man’s face and knew he was not someone he had met formally, but there was something so familiar about him … the captain just couldn’t place him. He was turning this puzzle over and over in his mind when someone in the crowd shouted, “There’s Ieyasu-sama!”

  Snapping to attention, the captain yelled, “Everybody down!”

  The crowd fell to their knees, most putting their hands in front of them on the dirt in a proper kowtow. A few mothers called over to their children, gathering them to their sides and showing them the proper, respectful position to assume when in the presence of the Shogun. The captain nodded with approval, and took a look around to make sure that all of the crowd was showing proper respect. He saw, to his surprise, that the man with the tops had vanished.

  Taking a quick glance to see if he could spot the man somewhere in the crowd, the captain then joined his men in kneeling, one knee on the ground in a proper military salute to a high superior. The man with the tops still bothered him, but he knew that if he thought about it long enough, he would eventually remember who the man was.

  Ieyasu was surrounded by the chief architects of the castle and several daimyo, including Honda, Nakamura, Okubo, Toyama, and Yoshida. He was marching vigorously along the wall. The others trailed him, although Okubo, who had a limp, struggled in his efforts to keep up.

  Ieyasu was generally pleased with how the castle was progressing, but didn’t let the pleasure show on his face. He had cultivated an image of stoicism and was very conscious of the role he believed he had to play in public.

  They had been walking all morning. Ieyasu was famous for his potbelly, but he was also a strict believer in military training and discipline, and was known for his ability to
walk, ride, and shoot a musket, all things he practiced diligently. He said that hawking was his favorite sport because it emulated some of the rigors of a military campaign. He was not tired by the inspection tour, but the architects were sweating. Of course, it was more than physical fatigue that had the architects sweating.

  “As you can see, Ieyasu-sama, the progress on this part of the wall has been considerable,” the chief architect said.

  Ieyasu made no comment and just stared at the man. The architect started sweating more profusely. The new Shogun demanded the best quality with all things military, including his new castle. He also demanded frugality. This was a combination difficult to achieve, and throughout the tour the Shogun had found fault with either quality or cost at almost every stop. As the absolute ruler of Japan, with the ability to put to death anyone he wished to, the Shogun was not a man the architect wanted to displease.

  “What do you think, Okubo-san?” Ieyasu asked. He picked Okubo to comment first because he was still judging this man and wanted to hear his opinion before he had a chance to see how the other daimyo felt.

  “I think only you, Ieyasu-sama, can be the judge of how pleased or displeased you are with the progress of this section of the castle.”

  Ieyasu made no comment but noted that Okubo’s reply revealed nothing about his thoughts or feelings. That kind of reply could be a virtue, and it could also be something else. “And you, Honda?”

  Honda looked at the walls on both sides of him and said gruffly, “It’s fine. Why do you make the poor architects sweat? Every castle costs too much and has problems.”

  “And you, Nakamura-san?”

  “I suppose one would have to compare the progress and cost of this part of the castle with the rest of the castle,” Nakamura began. “Then one sees if the relative progress here was better than the rest of the project. However—”

  “Thank you, Nakamura-san,” Ieyasu broke in. “And what do you think, Yoshida-san?”

  “I agree with Honda-san. The progress here is fine.”

  Ieyasu secretly agreed, and he was pleased that Yoshida was so direct. Yoshida combined the intelligence of the new daimyo with the directness of Ieyasu’s Mikawa bushi, like Honda. Ieyasu liked him.

  “And you, Toyama-san?”

  “I believe—”

  A sharp crack rang out. The daimyo, all experienced warriors, knew immediately it was the sound of a musket. Nakamura grabbed his chest and spun around, falling off the edge of the wall and tumbling like a rag doll down the sloping stone wall of the castle into the dry moat. Ieyasu looked down at Nakamura’s body and could tell from the way he landed that Nakamura was dead before he hit the earth.

  “Protect the Shogun!” Yoshida shouted, and he followed his words with actions, stepping in front of Ieyasu to shield him. Seeing Yoshida’s example, Honda joined him in shielding Ieyasu as the other daimyo took Ieyasu behind the shelter of the wall. The Shogun shrugged off their urging hands and stalked off the wall at his own speed.

  CHAPTER 3

  The mighty make plans

  as if they were immortal.

  Worms still gnaw their bones.

  It was a sign from heaven,” Toyama said. “The divine hand of the Gods, sparing Ieyasu-sama like that.”

  “Ha! It was just a bad shot. If it was a sign from heaven, heaven was a bit hard on Nakamura-san,” Honda said.

  Ieyasu entered the teahouse that had been constructed especially for this inspection tour. It was designed to allow the Shogun to rest and take some refreshments. He looked as phlegmatic as ever, although now he had a guard around him that waited at the door. Honda, Toyama, and Okubo were already in the teahouse, but, unlike the Shogun, they were still agitated by the incident.

  “Are you all right, Ieyasu-sama?” Toyama asked.

  “Of course,” Ieyasu said. Toyama’s excitement reminded Ieyasu that Toyama had relatively little battle experience. Ieyasu had been in over ninety battles and had survived several assassination plots.

  Yoshida entered the teahouse and knelt on one knee in salute.

  “Well?” Ieyasu said.

  “I mobilized my men,” Yoshida said. “They’re already starting a search for the assassin.”

  “Is Nakamura-san dead?”

  “I’m sorry, Ieyasu-sama, but Nakamura-san has gone to the void. But we will find the assassins. My men are already talking to the soldiers who were guarding that portion of the crowd.”

  “I appreciate your efficiency, Yoshida-san,” Ieyasu said.

  Toyama said, “It must have been someone in the crowd. Surely they must have caught him. It was at least eighty paces from where we were to the edge of the crowd.”

  “I shoot three shots with a musket every day for practice,” Ieyasu observed. “I agree an ordinary gun would not carry much beyond eighty paces, but I have killed a crane at one hundred twenty paces using a gun made by Inatomi Gaiki. If the assassin used such a gun, he could hide on the roof of the houses or the yagura. Have someone check this.”

  Honda, who had been disturbed by Yoshida’s willingness to take charge, jumped in and said, “Of course, Ieyasu-sama. I’ll have my men look into this.”

  Ieyasu noticed Honda’s willingness to be of help, but he said, “Yoshida-san’s men are already investigating. It would be best to let them finish the investigation, instead of having two groups do it.”

  Clearly displeased, Honda said, “Yes, Ieyasu-sama.”

  “I appreciate your standing in front of me to block any additional bullets,” Ieyasu said to Honda. “You and Yoshida-san acted quickly to shield me. It is the duty of every retainer to die to protect the life of his lord, but you two had presence of mind and acted quickly.” This was a rebuke to Toyama and Okubo, and Ieyasu could see their faces turn red.

  “But Ieyasu-sama—” Toyama started.

  “I don’t want to discuss it now.” Ieyasu said this in a calm voice, but Toyama was stopped in mid-sentence by the Shogun’s tone. Ieyasu noted with satisfaction that Okubo had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

  Yoshida excused himself to check on the housetops, and Ieyasu said, “Call the chief architect in to see me.”

  The architect was hurriedly summoned. When he arrived, Ieyasu said, “I’ve decided we should expand the size of the castle. We should also publish decrees that no building or tower may be constructed which looks down into the castle.”

  The architect was surprised that Ieyasu could be so calm after an assassination attempt and so interested in discussing military matters. Ieyasu was famous for always mulling over political and military matters. Once, during a dramatic moment in a Noh performance, an art Ieyasu was enough interested in to actually participate in performances, he leaned over to a daimyo and remarked, “I’ve been thinking, it’s just about time to cut the bamboo for military banners.”

  “How much bigger do you want the castle?” the architect stammered.

  “I think fourteen thousand paces for the outer wall will do.”

  “Fourteen thousand! Ieyasu-sama, that is many times bigger than the current plans!”

  “I think today’s events justify changing the plans,” Ieyasu said coldly.

  “Yes, Ieyasu-sama,” the architect stammered.

  “When you get the new plans done, tell me. I’ll have to alert the daimyo that they will be contributing to this project.”

  Ieyasu dismissed him with a wave of his hand; then he ordered tea and relaxed, as if totally oblivious to the attempt on his life and the death of one of his chief counselors.

  I have news,” Yoshida reported.

  Ieyasu raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, waiting for Yoshida’s report. Ieyasu had an undistinguished face, with jowly cheeks and a thin mustache. His eyes were close-set but intense, and his pate was shaved in the standard samurai fashion. His hair was now mostly gray, with only a few stray strands of black.

  “We found the fire observer killed in the yagura across from the wall. His throat was slit. So the assassin must hav
e been waiting in the fire watchtower. It’s around one hundred and forty paces from the watchtower to the wall, so you were correct that no ordinary gun was used. More importantly, we know who the assassin is.”

  Ieyasu sat impassively, waiting for Yoshida to finish, but the other daimyo in the teahouse couldn’t keep excitement and surprise off their faces.

  “One of the guard captains was patrolling the crowd when he saw a street entertainer. The entertainer looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t place his face. Then we appeared on the wall and the guard was busy making sure everyone in the crowd was showing proper obeisance.

  “After the shot was fired, there was pandemonium in the crowd. The common people were very concerned about your safety, Ieyasu-sama. The guard said he started a search immediately, because, like us, he thought the shot must have come from the crowd. The excited crowd made such a search difficult, but the guard captain swears the street entertainer who caught his eye was no longer in the crowd. Obviously, he had left the crowd to go to the yagura to try to assassinate you, Ieyasu-sama.”

  “For goodness’ sake! Who was this entertainer?” the blunt Honda broke in. Years of friendship made Ieyasu indulge his companion’s lack of proper protocol.

  Yoshida said a name. “He’s still on the list of men we are looking for after Sekigahara,” Yoshida added. Ieyasu took a quick glance at Okubo, and he saw the tall daimyo’s thin, scarred face cloud over with hate. Interesting.

  “Who is that?” asked Toyama. Ieyasu had already decided that Toyama was a fool and that he would be sending him to a new, remote fief in Shikoku or Kyushu to get rid of him. Although Ieyasu hoped to ensure peace, Toyama’s ignorance of military matters was still unacceptable.

  “He’s the one who won the sword contest Hideyoshi-sama had many years ago,” Honda said. “Okubo-san has reason to know him!” Honda’s braying laughter filled the small teahouse.