From inside the cave, an officer called, “We found it, Ota-san.”
The yoriki smirked at Sano. “How can you deny your guilt when we’ve caught you here, with the loot and your partner in crime?” He jerked his chin toward the weeping Kiyoshi, then grimaced in disgust. “Fighting over the profits. Shameful behavior for samurai!”
“I’ve already explained,” Sano insisted furiously, as a knot of fear tightened in his stomach. Were these men the smugglers? Had they come to pick up the loot, realized their operation had been discovered, and decided to protect themselves by incriminating him? “Untie me at once!” he ordered. “Why are you here, anyway?”
Yoriki Ota said impatiently, “We received an anonymous message saying that smugglers were using this cave. So where’s your assistant?”
Sano’s heart clenched. Hirata! If only he’d obeyed orders, or Sano had sent him back to Edo. “I don’t know,” Sano lied. Merciful gods, this was a setup, and what would happen to them?
A doshin said, “Hirata got away from the man who was watching him this afternoon. I bet he’s out here somewhere.”
The harbor patrol officers emerged from the cave. “Bring out the loot,” Ota ordered two of them. “The rest of you go and find the sōsakan-sama’s assistant.” The officers climbed the rocks and headed into the woods, torches lighting the way. Yoriki Ota said to the doshin, “We’ll take our prisoners to Governor Nagai.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” Sano shouted with desperate bravado as the police hauled him away. “You’ll pay for this!”
Yoriki Ota snickered. “We’ll see about that.”
They traveled back to town in an oxcart that Sano guessed had been brought by the police to transport the smuggled goods. At Governor Nagai’s mansion, guards locked Sano and Kiyoshi in separate chambers until, hours later, the summons came. The guards untied Sano’s hands and escorted him into the audience hall, where Governor Nagai, dressed in formal black robes, occupied the dais. At either side of him, aides sat behind desks that held the brushes, paper, and seals used for recording official proceedings. In a row in front of the dais, at Governor Nagai’s right, knelt Yoriki Ota, Interpreter Iishino, and Chief Ohira. Facing them were three samurai Sano didn’t recognize. Lanterns cast a menacing ocher pall over the assembly’s grave faces.
“What is this?” Sano demanded as the guards pushed him to his knees. Hearing a scuffle behind him, he turned and saw more guards drag a trembling, white-faced Kiyoshi into the room. They dumped the youth beside him. “What’s going on?”
No one looked directly at him. Governor Nagai kept his eyes on his desk as he said, “We are here to review your transgressions against the law, including your attempt at smuggling.”
So it was a trial, and for what other alleged offenses? “Someone did smuggle foreign goods from Deshima,” Sano said, forcing himself to stay calm despite the alarm that compressed his lungs, “but it wasn’t me. I’ve already explained to Yoriki Ota that I followed the flashing lights to the cove and found the boat.”
Nagai’s thick lips formed a brief, skeptical moue; his hooded eyes avoided Sano’s. “Yes. Well. We shall see what your partner has to say. Kiyoshi?”
The youth slumped wretchedly, shoulders hunched to his ears, his face almost touching his knees. In a barely audible mutter, he said, “The sōsakan-sama came to the watchtower when I was on duty yesterday. He ordered me to steal goods from the Deshima warehouse and bring them to the water gates. He said he would kill me if I refused.”
Aghast at this unexpected treachery, Sano leapt to his feet and grabbed the young samurai’s collar. “That’s a lie! Kiyoshi, you know I never did any such thing. Why—”
“Silence!” thundered Governor Nagai. The guards pulled Sano away from the boy and pushed him back onto the floor. “Continue, Kiyoshi.”
“I told the Deshima guards that my father wanted them to stay away from the warehouse. I got the goods and carried them to the water gates.” Kiyoshi’s voice quavered; his tremors shook the floor. He did not look at Sano or the assembly. Chief Ohira’s face was a rigid mask that concealed all emotion. The aides wrote diligently. “The sōsakan-sama ordered me to help him and his assistant load the goods into a boat.” Kiyoshi seemed reluctant, but determined, to speak. “He made me row to the cove. When I tried to run away, he attacked me. Then the police came.”
Sano couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I was trying to catch the smugglers. I thought Kiyoshi was one of them.”
Ignoring Sano, Nagai addressed Yoriki Ota. “Has Hirata been found yet?”
“No, Honorable Governor.”
“Send out the troops,” Nagai told one of his aides. “He must be punished for his part in the crime.”
The aide bowed and departed. “We’ve committed no crime!” Sano argued vehemently, more worried for Hirata’s sake than his own. When the troops caught Hirata, they might kill him. After all Sano’s efforts to protect the young retainer! “The smuggling has been going on since before we came to Nagasaki. Jan Spaen was killed in the cave. The boat we used to follow the lights is still on the—”
At last Nagai met his gaze. “Any more such outbursts can only make matters worse for you,” he said coldly. To Kiyoshi, he said, “Because you were forced to break the law, I shan’t punish your family for your crime, as would be the usual penalty for smuggling.” Chief Ohira’s eyes closed briefly; otherwise his expression didn’t change, and he made no move to defend his son. “But you must pay for allowing yourself to be coerced. You shall be held in Nagasaki Jail until your execution.”
Supported by two guards, the weeping youth stumbled from the hall. Comprehension fed Sano’s anger. Kiyoshi was not evil, just very young and frightened. Surely he’d incriminated himself and Sano to protect someone else. But who? His father, Chief Ohira, his teacher, Interpreter Iishino, or his patron, Governor Nagai—the men to whom he owed his greatest duty and loyalty? Which of them had he wanted to “warn”? Sano studied the faces of the assembly; all remained closed, giving nothing away.
“Now we shall hear the testimony of the other witnesses,” Governor Nagai said.
In turn, they spoke. “I followed the sōsakan-sama on his inquiries in town,” said one of the strange samurai. “He interrogated the merchant Urabe and the courtesan Peony, as if he was looking to punish a Japanese for the barbarian’s murder, instead of the Dutch.”
“I followed the sōsakan-sama to Nagasaki Jail, where he had a private conversation with a prisoner, who converted him to Christianity,” stated the next stranger.
The last stranger said, “I observed a meeting between the sōsakan-sama and Abbot Liu Yun. The sōsakan-sama offered Liu Yun money to import Chinese troops into Japan.”
Sano grudgingly admired the agents’ efficiency even as their lies condemned him. The paunchy guard had been a decoy, meant to distract him from the real spies. And he’d fallen for the trick. Such stupidity!
Yet the most damning testimony came from Interpreter Iishino and Chief Ohira. “I translated conversations between the sōsakan-sama and the Dutch ship captain,” Iishino said. “The food sent aboard by the sōsakan-sama was payment for weapons he agreed to purchase from the barbarians, the barbarians.” Iishino slid Sano a grin that was at once apologetic and sly. “And I listened outside the door during his private interview with Dr. Huygens. The sōsakan-sama proposed an alliance between himself and the Dutch. If they would help him become shogun, he would grant them unlimited trading privileges with Japan.”
In a remote, toneless voice, Chief Ohira said, “I observed how the sōsakan-sama favors the Dutch. He treats them with unnecessary mercy and seems generally infatuated with them. I can assure you that I did my best to discourage such fraternization, but he defied my efforts.”
“Now that we have heard the evidence against you, Sōsakan Sano,” Governor Nagai said, “you may speak in your own defense, or confess to your crimes and commit seppuku to preserve your honor.”
Sano emitted a h
arsh, humorless laugh. “I will not confess! The evidence is false. The witnesses have twisted everything I’ve said or done. This trial is a farce!”
Nagai shook his head gravely. “Your objections are duly noted. But the evidence—presented by trustworthy witnesses—supports my own judgment of your poor character and evil motives. You have chosen the way of the traitor over the way of the warrior. Therefore I charge you with six counts of treason: running a smuggling ring; using a murder investigation to persecute Japanese citizens; conspiring with Dr. Huygens to overthrow the government; giving the Dutch captain supplies in exchange for weapons; enlisting Chinese military support through Abbot Liu Yun; and practicing Christianity.”
Treason! A samurai’s ultimate disgrace; punishable by death. Horror sickened Sano. “The charges are ridiculous and totally unfounded. I’ve been framed. I’m innocent!”
Too late Sano realized how perilously his negative attitude, his fascination with the Dutch, and his desire for truth and justice had jeopardized his life and Hirata’s. His actions had landed him in the power of Governor Nagai, Interpreter Iishino, and Chief Ohira. Sano was sure that one or all of them were involved in the smuggling, and had framed him to protect themselves from the consequences of his discovery. Perhaps this had all been planned in advance, with Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s sanction. Again Sano had a sense of strange tensions among Nagasaki’s bureaucrats. He recalled his suspicion that they didn’t want Jan Spaen’s murder case solved. Had they killed Peony and shot him?
“However, because of your rank,” Nagai continued, “you can’t be imprisoned, or tried and sentenced immediately. A special tribunal, composed of magistrates from three provinces, shall convene to hear your case. It will take approximately three days to gather them in Nagasaki.”
Sano could guess the outcome of his trial. The magistrates, like the local authorities, were undoubtedly Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s minions; he needn’t expect fairness or leniency from them. He could already feel the weight of iron shackles around his wrists and ankles; he could see soldiers leading him to the execution ground, and hear the hiss of the sword that would sever his head.…
“I won’t tolerate this charade!” he burst out.
“Yes. Well.” Governor Nagai’s heavy shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I regret to say that you have no choice. Also, I am relieving you of responsibility for the murder investigation.”
“But I’m making progress on it,” Sano protested. “If the Dutch captain doesn’t receive the head of Jan Spaen’s killer in two days, he’ll attack Nagasaki. I must be allowed to—”
Nagai cut off the interruption: “That no longer concerns you, and the subject under discussion is your fate. Until the tribunal convenes, you will enjoy the temporary freedom due a man of your samurai status and high position under these circumstances. But do not misbehave, or try to leave town. We will be watching you.”
As the guards escorted Sano from the hall, he turned for a last outraged glare at Nagai, Iishino, and Ohira. “You’re not going to get away with this!”
The door slid shut on the three men who were now his enemies, and his prime suspects in the murder of Jan Spaen.
At daybreak, Sano, escorted by Governor Nagai’s men, returned home to find troops stationed outside his mansion. More troops swarmed the corridors; in the reception room, the commander had lined up the frightened servants.
“Where is Hirata?” he barked at them. “Has he been here? Speak up, or die!”
A mixture of relief and concern filled Sano as he hurried to his chambers. Hirata was still free. But for how long, and would he survive?
Sano thought of what he might have done to avoid this catastrophe. He should have ended the investigation after Peony’s confession and ignored the mysterious lights. He shouldn’t have boarded the Dutch ship, or sought acquaintance with Dr. Huygens and Abbot Liu Yun. He should never have taken the job in the first place! Now he rued the inner compulsions that had inspired his rash actions. Yet there seemed nothing to be done except continue as he’d begun.
He grabbed the wooden pass that would admit him to Deshima. Fortunately he hadn’t been carrying it at the time of his arrest. He hated to risk more treason charges by associating with the barbarians, but he saw only one way to exonerate himself and Hirata: He must defeat the enemies who had framed them. He must prove to the tribunal that his motives were proper and his investigation was legitimate by exposing the smugglers—the real traitors—and Director Spaen’s killer. Only then would he regain his freedom and honor. Also, Sano felt responsible for averting the threat of war. Now he must reinterrogate the Deshima barbarians, who were once again murder suspects and surely involved in the smuggling.
“Master, master!” Old Carp rushed into the room. “Is it true that you and Hirata-san are accused of treason?”
“Falsely accused,” Sano corrected. Tucking the pass inside his cloak, he said, “If Hirata contacts you, tell him …” To give himself up, and face execution? Resist arrest and die? Or run away to live as a fugitive outlaw? “Tell him to hide and pray.”
Sano hurried to the kitchen for a quick meal of rice cakes and dried fish, washed down with water, to fill his empty stomach. Then he rode out the gate, hoping to evade any secret pursuers.
The sun’s hazy scarlet disk rose over the city like a battle standard, pouring a sullen, ruddy glow over buildings, streets, and morning crowds. A warm, damp wind blew. The sea was opaque, colorless, and edged with whitecaps. Huge, dark storm clouds smudged the sky. At the Deshima guardhouse Sano presented his pass.
“This is no longer valid,” the guard said.
“On whose orders?” Sano demanded.
“Governor Nagai’s.”
He should have expected the governor to revoke his access to the island, Sano thought bitterly. Nagai didn’t want him to gather evidence against his accusers, or clear his name. Then an alternative plan occurred to Sano.
“When is Director Spaen’s funeral?” he asked.
“This morning. At the hour of the snake.”
According to custom, the Dutchmen would leave Deshima and accompany their dead comrade’s body to the burial ground, offering Sano a chance to find out what Assistant Director deGraeff and Dr. Huygens knew about the smuggling. For now, perhaps a talk with Chief Ohira would reveal the criminals’ identities, enabling Sano to appease the Dutch captain before tomorrow’s deadline, and prevent a war.
In addition to his duties as commanding officer of Deshima, Chief Ohira was responsible for upholding law and order and resolving civil disputes in the street that led to the island’s bridge. His mainland headquarters consisted of a shopfront beside the gate. Sano reached it just as rain began to pelt the city in windswept bursts, clattering on the tile roofs. Umbrellas sprouted; pedestrians took cover. Sano dismounted and left his horse beneath the building’s deep eaves. Barred windows gridded the plaster walls; blue curtains printed with the Ohira family crest covered the doorway. Through it Sano followed two samurai, who dragged between them a peasant whose hands were tied behind his back.
The sparsely furnished office smelled damp from the rain. Flanked by two sergeants, Ohira knelt behind a desk on the dais before an assembly of townspeople. The two samurai dumped the captive peasant on the floor. Curious about the stoic man whose son awaited execution, Sano knelt to watch the proceedings, which evidently concerned minor crimes that fell under Ohira’s jurisdiction.
“Who is this person, and what is his offense?” Chief Ohira asked the sergeants.
“Yohei, a servant on Deshima. He tried to enter the island without a pass.”
Ohira frowned. “What have you to say for yourself, Yohei?”
The servant bowed. “Honorable Chief, I had my pass when I left home.” He was a meek-looking man with dazed eyes. “But it was gone when I got to Deshima; I must have lost it along the way. If I’d known, I would have come straight to you and reported the pass missing. I never would have tried to enter the island, I swear.”
; Sano expected Ohira to let the servant off with a warning and send him to Governor Nagai’s office for a replacement pass. But the chief’s frown deepened. “Attempting to enter Deshima without a pass is a serious offense,” he said sternly. “As a punishment, you shall spend the rest of the day chained to the gate; your shame and disgrace will deter would-be criminals. Dismissed.”
“No, please, I beg you!”
The servant prostrated himself before the chief, whose unyielding expression didn’t change. From the back room the sergeants fetched iron chains and shackles, fastened them around the servant’s wrists and ankles, and dragged him outside. Sano wondered whether Ohira’s personal troubles had occasioned his extreme punishment of an honest mistake. Was the chief venting his anger on the unfortunate servant—or might he actually approve of cruel justice, even for his son?
Chief Ohira turned to Sano, and his guard went up, as if an invisible suit of armor had suddenly grown on him. He said to his sergeants, “Clear the room, then see that no one disturbs myself and the sōsakan-sama.”
Unflinchingly he held Sano’s gaze while the sergeants obeyed, then said, “I should have thought you’d be meditating on your wrongs, cleansing your spirit, and preparing to die like a proper samurai.” Bitter antipathy roughened his tone. “What do you mean by coming here now?”
“What do you think?” Sano strode up to the dais, hot with fury at this man who had incriminated him.
Then a closer look at the chief unexpectedly awakened his pity and admiration. Ohira’s ashen skin was so taut that Sano could see every brittle bone in his face. The shadows rimmed his eyes like bruises; his emaciated body seemed little more than a skeleton beneath the folds of clothing. Ohira must be mortally ill with grief for Kiyoshi; yet, like a true samurai, he continued to perform his duties. Sano spoke more politely than he’d intended.
“I want to know why you framed me for treason.”
Ohira glared. “I can assure you I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said through clenched teeth. “Your accusation is ridiculous, though criminals often try to shift the blame for their misdeeds. What I fail to understand is how you could corrupt a decent, honorable youth like my son. When you arrived in Nagasaki, I knew you would be trouble. But I’ve underestimated your evilness.”
The Way of the Traitor Page 19