“Of course. What good is a performance without an audience?”
The gall, the heartlessness, the sheer perversion of the man! “You won’t get away with this! I’ll—I’ll—”
“Report me to the shogun?” Kira snickered. “His Excellency isn’t likely to frown on pursuits that he himself enjoys.”
Kajikawa was disheartened; he knew it was true. “I’ll tell everybody what you are!”
The smile dropped off Kira’s face. “If you utter one complaint or accusation, I’ll have you and your son both thrown out of the regime.” He raised a finger at Kajikawa, a warning that it wielded more power than Kajikawa had in the world. Then Kira turned and glided away.
Kajikawa spent a sleepless night. His fear of Kira argued with his need to protect his son and his thirst for revenge. He’d never been a brave man, and fear won out. It would be best, for him and Tsunamori both, if he did nothing rather than risk the disgrace and hardship of their becoming rōnin.
“You’ll just have to put up with it until the guards get tired of you or Kira finds someone else to pick on,” Kajikawa told Tsunamori the next day.
“Yes, Father,” Tsunamori said meekly.
As months passed, Kajikawa couldn’t meet Tsunamori’s eyes and think of what his son suffered while he looked the other way. He couldn’t bear to admit he’d let Tsunamori down.
One winter night, Tsunamori didn’t come home. The next morning, Kajikawa ran all over the castle, searching for him. He found Tsunamori at the shrine, dangling from a noose tied to a branch of a tree in the clearing where the guards had raped him. Kajikawa had come too late. Tsunamori was dead.
In his anguish, Kajikawa blamed Kira. Kira had brought about the degradation that had caused Tsunamori to take his own life. Kira should be punished. But Kajikawa was still afraid of Kira. Instead of registering a vendetta and killing his enemy, Kajikawa sought another way to settle the score. He began spying on Kira. He secretly watched and listened to Kira torment Lord Asano. He witnessed sharp exchanges between Kira and Oishi. Eventually, he followed Kira to the squalid little inn by the river.
He hid in a bamboo grove and watched Kira peek through a hole in the window of a room. After a short while, Kira left, smiling his ugly smile. Then Kajikawa saw Oishi exit the room next to the one Kira had spied on. Oishi’s expression was grim enough to turn wine into vinegar. A few moments afterward, a woman ran weeping from the room on the other side. Interested to see what had upset her and Oishi so much, Kajikawa tiptoed to the window and looked through Kira’s peephole.
In the room, Lord Asano slumped naked on the bed. A woman stood with her back to him, dressing. Her head was bowed as if in shame. Lord Asano said, “Your husband is my loyal chief retainer and best friend. I wish I could take back what I did.”
“I wish I could take it back, too,” the woman said. “Your wife is my best friend.”
They both sounded remorseful about their illicit love affair. Kajikawa deduced the women’s identities: This one was Oishi’s wife. The weeping woman from the next room must be Lord Asano’s.
“I’m sorry,” Lord Asano said.
“It’s not your fault,” Oishi’s wife said bitterly. “It’s Kira’s.”
Kajikawa realized that he and his son weren’t the only people that Kira had manipulated into a sordid scene for his own pleasure. Kira had forced Lord Asano to bed Oishi’s wife, and arranged for Oishi and Lady Asano to see it. Kajikawa was disgusted by the enormity of Kira’s perversion. He was elated when Lord Asano attacked Kira, and disappointed because Kira didn’t die.
After months of ruminating on past events, he realized that Lord Asano had presented him with an opportunity for revenge. He concocted a plan and worked up the nerve to set it in motion.
Kajikawa went looking for Oishi and discovered that the man had gone to Miyako. He traveled there, found the house where Oishi was living, and waited outside. When Oishi emerged, Kajikawa said, “Oishi-san, what a surprise. How about a drink?”
When they were seated in the teahouse and had drunk a few cups, Kajikawa described what he’d seen at the inn. He told Oishi that Kira had organized the tryst between Oishi’s wife and Lord Asano.
Oishi pounded on the table and cursed. “Kira is a dead man!”
Kajikawa felt a searing satisfaction in his heart. What he couldn’t do, Oishi would. He felt guilty as he egged Oishi into plotting an illegal vendetta, but he told Oishi, and himself, that he could protect Oishi from the consequences. They would both get their revenge, and neither would be punished.
* * *
HIRATA RACED THROUGH the torii gate that led to the Momijiyama. Temple dogs glared at him through a coating of ice. A forest of crystallized trees shivered around him as he skidded along the slippery flagstone path. He perceived a faint trace of Kajikawa’s aura and stopped. He lifted his head. The aura emanated from the forest, which was silent except for the tinkle of falling ice crystals. Hirata followed the aura, crunching on brittle snow. He arrived at a clearing where rays of pale daylight shone through the ice-draped canopy of tree branches.
The clearing was empty. The aura came from a strip of white paper that lay atop frozen leaves. Hirata picked up the paper. Written on it in shaky calligraphy were the words, Tsunamori. Your father is sorry.
Hirata laid down the paper and left the forest. On the path he met a Shinto priest, who said, “You’re too late. He left almost an hour ago.”
Hirata remembered where else Kajikawa had been sighted. He ran for the palace.
* * *
IN THE SHOGUN’S chamber, Sano realized that he had finally uncovered the truth behind the forty-seven rōnin’s vendetta. The story of the vendetta was like a tapestry, thickly woven with details. Sano had picked apart the many threads—the conflicting versions of events—before discovering that the forty-seven rōnin hadn’t been the only men bent on destroying Kira.
There was a forty-eighth avenger.
But even while Kajikawa held his blade to the shogun’s throat, he seemed the unlikeliest avenger in the world.
“I thought Oishi would kill Kira and I could feel that I’d paid Kira back for my son’s death,” Kajikawa lamented, his tiny features dripping tears. “I can’t believe how wrong everything went. All I wanted was justice for my son!”
“And you got it,” Sano said, thinking fast, searching for the words to turn the situation around. “Even though I don’t approve of the way you went about it, I think you did right by your son.” One’s son deserved vengeance even more than one’s lord did. If Sano had discovered that Kira had made a prostitute of Masahiro, he would have killed Kira on the spot instead of bringing in another injured party to do it. Still, Kajikawa had done the best he could. “Kira was a monster.”
“Yes!” Kajikawa gasped in his relief that Sano understood. “Kira deserved to die!” He spoke into the shogun’s ear. “Your Excellency thought Kira shouldn’t be punished for his quarrel with Lord Asano because Kira fooled you. He fooled everybody into thinking he was good, but he was an evil, corrupt old snake. Lord Asano never said so, but I put the words in his mouth because they’re true!”
The shogun was beyond hearing. His mouth gaped like that of a fish thrown ashore, fighting for its last breath. The other people in the room listened, silent, immobile, and helpless.
Kajikawa’s eyes shone with triumph. “We put an end to him, Oishi and I!” Then he relapsed into misery. “I’m sorry for getting Oishi and his men in trouble. They wouldn’t have gone after Kira if not for me. The supreme court is going to sentence them to death, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry about Magistrate Ueda, too.” Sobs choked him. “I’m sorry for everything except that Kira is dead.”
Sano seized on the words. “Yes, you did put an end to Kira. And now it’s time to put an end to this, before any other innocent person is hurt. Let go of His Excellency. Walk out of the palace by yourself and surrender.”
A yearning expression came over Kajikawa’s face. Sano could tell how much h
e was tempted to give up, how eager for the relief. Kajikawa said, “But if I were to surrender, I would be a coward. I was a coward when Kira abused my son and I looked the other way. But I’ll never be a coward again.” He sniffled, blinked away tears, firmed up his mouth, and said to Yoritomo, “Let’s go.”
With a desperate glance at his father, Yoritomo trudged forward. He walked through the door, his shoulders slumped and head bowed.
“Not yet,” Sano said urgently. “We’re not finished talking.”
“I am.” Kajikawa edged around Sano. The shogun was so senseless with hysteria, his body so limp, that Kajikawa was almost carrying him. “I’ve had my say. I’m going to meet my fate like the brave samurai I should have been when my son needed me.” He and the shogun followed Yoritomo out the door.
“Kajikawa!” Sano shouted.
* * *
OUTSIDE THE CHAMBER, Reiko whispered urgently through the hole in the wall to Masahiro: “Free your father! Quickly!”
Masahiro jumped up, her dagger in his hand. Voices inside the room exclaimed. Reiko heard Sano say, “How did you get loose? Where did you get that dagger?”
“From Mother,” Masahiro said as Reiko ran down the passage and around the corner.
“She’s here?” Sano sounded almost as much vexed as pleased.
“Yes,” Reiko called. She reached the doorway to see that Sano’s hands were free; Masahiro was cutting the bonds from his ankles. “Hurry!”
The blood flow to his feet had been stopped for so long that Sano could barely stand. He winced in pain. Yanagisawa writhed, grunting through his gag. The other men begged Masahiro to free them, but there was no time. Supporting Sano between them, Reiko and Masahiro toiled through the palace. Sano limped and cursed. They heard the shogun wail, but he and Kajikawa were far ahead. Sano stumbled and went down on his knee on the polished floor of the corridor whose walls were decorated with paintings of pine trees. The Corridor of Pines, Reiko thought. This was where Lord Asano had attacked Kira, where everything had started.
Reiko and Masahiro helped Sano rise. They caught up with Yoritomo and Kajikawa near the main entrance. Kajikawa lumped the shogun along the hall like a sack of radishes. The shogun screamed every time his knees hit the floor. Kajikawa panted, straining to lift the shogun and urge him ahead while holding the sword to his throat.
“Wait!” Sano called.
Yoritomo reached the door and opened it. Daylight shone in. Reiko heard a roar of voices rise as Yoritomo led Kajikawa and the shogun outside. Another roar came from behind her and Sano and Masahiro. Reiko turned and saw Yanagisawa hobbling down the corridor. Somehow he’d gotten free. While she and Sano and Masahiro labored toward the door, Yanagisawa was in hot pursuit.
38
BREATHLESS AND SWEATING, Hirata arrived at the palace to find a noisy, agitated mob outside and hear the words that passed from one person to another: “Kajikawa is holding the shogun hostage!” He pushed through the mob and came up against a ring of troops stationed some twenty paces from the palace. They spread their arms to prevent people from moving closer.
“Stand aside!” Hirata shouted at the nearest guard.
The guard recognized him but didn’t budge. “My orders are to keep everybody away from the palace. If you go in there, you could get the shogun killed.”
A cry went up from the crowd: “Somebody’s coming out!”
The palace door opened. Guards drew their bows, aimed arrows at it. Yoritomo stepped onto the veranda. His face blanched with terror. His hands flew up.
“Don’t shoot!” he cried. “His Excellency is coming!”
The shogun stumbled out the door. The crowd gasped. His knees buckled; his feet dragged; his eyes rolled. His hands clawed at an arm clamped across his chest. The arm belonged to Kajikawa, who walked behind him. They looked like a Bunraku puppeteer and puppet—a puppeteer who held a sword against his living puppet’s throat. Kajikawa’s expression was defiant as he pushed the shogun forward. The guards lowered their bows. Apprehension chased through Hirata.
Kajikawa was insane. He would never survive this. Neither might the shogun. And what had become of Sano?
Yoritomo descended the stairs, his hands raised in supplication. “Kajikawa wants to leave the castle. You have to let him go, or he’ll kill His Excellency!”
People moaned, exclaimed, and passed the news to others behind them. Guards frantically conferred among themselves, trying to figure out what to do. Hirata seized control.
Shouting, “Clear a path!” he plowed through the mob, pushing people right and left. Troops hurried to help. A path opened from the palace to the gate. Troops held back the mob while Hirata stood at the edge of the path, ready to grab Kajikawa when he passed. With Yoritomo leading the way, Kajikawa lugged the shogun down the stairs. Anxious murmurs swept the audience. Yoritomo drifted sideways and lagged behind Kajikawa. Kajikawa dragged the shogun across the empty space around the palace.
They’d traversed half the distance, when four figures burst out the door.
The first figure was Sano, followed by Masahiro and Reiko. The last was Yanagisawa. The crowd roared.
“Kajikawa!” Sano ran down the stairs.
Kajikawa half turned but kept walking.
“Don’t do this. Let His Excellency go.” Sano gestured toward the troops, the mob. “Wherever you go, this is what you’ll meet. You won’t get away.”
Kajikawa seemed to notice the pandemonium for the first time. Fear cracked the shell of his defiance. He paused. Reiko descended the stairs with Masahiro; they stopped at the bottom, her arm around him. Yanagisawa clutched the railing and panted, out of breath.
Suddenly Hirata felt the familiar aura. He looked across the cleared path. Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano stood in the crowd on the other side. They returned his gaze, impassive. A movement on the periphery of his vision turned Hirata’s head. He saw Yoritomo stoop to pick up something from the ground. It was a branch. Yoritomo raised it in both hands as he sneaked up behind Kajikawa. His expression wavered between terror and determination. Hirata’s gaze homed in on the branch like a falcon sighting a sparrow aloft in a vast sky. The branch was black, as long and almost as thick as a man’s arm. It was coated with ice from the storm. Hirata recognized the kink near the end where Yoritomo gripped it. A broken-off stub protruded above Yoritomo’s hands.
The branch was the one Tahara had thrown.
Flabbergasted, Hirata looked at Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. They were intently watching Yoritomo.
Cheers blared as the crowd noticed Yoritomo preparing to attack Kajikawa. Kajikawa frowned, puzzled and suspicious. Yoritomo was within striking distance when Kajikawa turned, slewing the shogun around with him. Kajikawa saw Yoritomo ready to bring the branch down on his head. Surprise and dismay appeared on both men’s faces. Kajikawa flailed his sword at Yoritomo. It seemed more reflex than deliberate. Yoritomo had no time to dodge or strike back. The blade swiped the left side of his throat.
The crowd’s cheers deepened into groans. Shock altered Hirata’s perception. Time seemed to slow down, as if cosmic forces had stayed its flight.
Sano’s expression filled with horror. His lips parted. He uttered words that were drawn out like the sonorous notes from a war trumpet, unintelligible.
The cut on Yoritomo’s throat was a thin red line that broadened like a river during the rainy season. Blood spurted, gushed, and stained his clothes. His eyes and mouth opened wide. Pain twisted his features. He let go of the branch. It drifted downward through the air, like a feather, while his arms fell to his sides and his legs gave way. A dull sheen spread over his gaze. He crumpled to the ground. The branch landed, bouncing twice before it came to rest.
Reiko pressed her hand to her mouth. Beside her, holding a dagger, Masahiro gaped. Kajikawa’s mouth flexed, forming a smile, then a downturned grimace, smile, then grimace, childlike glee, then ghastly horror. His arm around the shogun loosened. The shogun collapsed like bamboo blinds folding.
; A loud bellow, as if from a wounded animal, drowned out the exclamations from the crowd. Yanagisawa staggered down the steps and dropped beside his son. He hauled Yoritomo into his lap. He shouted into Yoritomo’s lifeless face.
Hirata was dumbstruck by the consequences of a trivial action, a branch selected at random and casually tossed. The crowd heaved around him, buffeting him, squeezing him, in a wave of mass shock. He turned to the secret society.
Tahara smiled, as if to say, I told you so.
* * *
“YORITOMO!” YANAGISAWA SHOUTED, cradling his son in his arms. “Yoritomo!”
Dread was a cold iron cage crushing his ribs, his heart. Nobody else spoke. A hush fell over the crowd. The only sound was water dripping. The ice on the trees and palace roofs had begun to melt.
Yanagisawa patted Yoritomo’s cheeks, which had turned pale. Horror sickened him. He pressed against Yoritomo’s neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. “Speak to me!”
Yoritomo didn’t speak or move. Yanagisawa saw nothing but the reflection of his own terrified face in his son’s opaque eyes. Yoritomo was dead.
“No!” Yanagisawa cried.
Disbelief and denial passed in an instant.
All meaning, hope, and happiness in his life vanished.
Grief assaulted Yanagisawa like a storm that exploded up from the depths of his spirit. Past concerns suddenly seemed trivial. He didn’t care that he’d lost his advantage over his enemies, his potential heir to the Tokugawa regime, his chance to rule Japan. All he wanted was his son back, his beautiful, beloved Yoritomo alive again. But all his power, all his clever scheming, couldn’t resurrect the dead. Yanagisawa threw back his head and howled.
Through the storm of his grief screamed a primitive desire for revenge, for someone other than himself to blame.
* * *
SANO STARED, OPEN-MOUTHED with shock, at Yanagisawa and Yoritomo.
He’d never expected Yoritomo to try a sneak attack on Kajikawa. He’d thought Yoritomo was too timid. That the young man had found the courage! That it had been so foolhardy! Pity and regret pained Sano. He wondered what he could have done differently, and he cursed himself for letting this happen.
The Ronin's Mistress: A Novel (Sano Ichiro Novels) Page 32