“I see I’ve not misjudged you, Sōsakan Sano,” Judge Takeda said. His colleagues murmured a grudging assent. Takeda and the retainers drew their swords. “It will be our pleasure to help capture these criminals.”
“Wait,” Sano cautioned, seeing lights beyond the left side of the hall. Through a gate in the temple wall came a parade of samurai, some lugging crates, others holding torches. From the opposite direction, two more samurai led a group of cloaked, hatted men without swords. They all converged on the hall’s entrance, where Nirin beckoned impatiently.
“Let them get inside,” Sano whispered, counting at least ten samurai outside the hall. How many more were inside? The unarmed commoners might not pose much threat, but still his party was outnumbered. Sano doubted whether the smugglers would surrender any more easily than Miochin and the body thieves had. He expected Ohira to be useless in a battle, Judges Segawa and Dazai not much better. That left Takeda—an old man; Hirata—exhausted after three days as a fugitive; four retainers of questionable swordsmanship skill; and himself, with his wounds. The element of surprise was their only advantage.
The new arrivals entered the hall. Nirin followed, closing the door. One samurai remained on the veranda as a lookout. The chants of frogs and crickets filled the sudden hush. Sano said, “Takeda-san, you and I and two of your retainers will storm the door. Hirata, take the other two and go around front. Clear the entrance. Wait until you hear me, then come in.”
Hirata and his team slipped away into the darkness. “What about us?” Judge Segawa said, cowering beside Dazai. “We don’t want to go in there.” Pointing to Chief Ohira, he added, “And what about him?”
Sano made a quick decision. “You stay here.” He would have no time to defend them, and he didn’t trust the chief not to sabotage the raid. “Make sure Ohira doesn’t leave. And keep him quiet.”
“How will we get past the sentry?” Takeda asked.
Sano picked up a rock. He heaved it into the darkness to the right of the hall, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. The rock landed with a clatter. This was the oldest trick in history, but it worked. The sentry turned toward the sound, then went to investigate. Sano crept out from behind the pavilion and followed.
In a garden, the sentry stood with his back to Sano, looking for the source of the noise. Sano stole up behind the sentry and clapped both hands hard against the man’s ears. The sentry reeled, then collapsed, unconscious. Sano untied the man’s sash, tore it into three lengths, then bound and gagged him. Hopefully Hirata was having similar luck with the sentry at the front door. Sano returned to Takeda.
“Let’s go.”
Keeping watch for more lookouts, Sano crossed the open space outside the worship hall. He tiptoed up the steps. The other men joined him on the veranda. He cracked open the heavy carved door and peered inside.
In the hall’s vast interior, lanterns hung from the coffered ceiling. Their smoky golden light gleamed upon red-lacquered pillars, statues of scowling guardian deities, and brilliantly colored murals depicting a Chinese paradise of castles, lakes, and forests. Candles burned on the altar, where a many-armed Buddha sat enthroned amid gilt flames and sacred lotus. Twelve samurai, whom Sano recognized as Deshima guards, were prying the lids off four crates. The ten commoners had shed their hats and cloaks, revealing shaven heads, tattooed arms and legs: gangsters.
Nirin lifted items out of the crates for their inspection. “Spices. Silks. Medicines.”
Sano didn’t believe that Nirin, despite his air of authority, led the smuggling ring. He could see two men facing away from the door and partially hidden by the statue of an armored warrior. One wore the black hat of the Dutch, the other an ordinary Japanese wicker hat. Turn around, Sano urged silently. He knew the barbarian was Dr. Huygens; he just knew it. But who was the other man? Abbot Liu Yun?
Out of a niche in the hall moved a slight figure dressed in saffron robe and brocade stole. Hands tucked inside his flowing sleeves, Liu Yun silently watched the Dutchman.
Maybe the Japanese was Urabe, whom Hirata had linked with gangsters. Or Governor Nagai, not trusting his subordinates with the sale of the loot? But the barbarian’s presence clued Sano to the man’s identity.
“All right, we’ve seen enough,” the lead gangster told Nirin. To his men, he said, “Close up those crates.” Then he untied a bulky cloth pouch from his sash and offered it to Nirin.
“Pay the boss,” Nirin said, pointing.
The Dutchman rose and walked around the crates. It was Assistant Director deGraeff. Sano felt a melting sensation of relief—his trust in the doctor hadn’t been a mistake after all—and guilt, for wrongly suspecting his friend. Then the Japanese followed, and Sano’s guess was confirmed.
Clutching a portable writing desk, the man jittered with nervous excitement; his toothy grin flashed. It was Interpreter Iishino, who spoke Dutch and whose presence was therefore required for negotiations with barbarians. The “boss”; leader of the smuggling ring.
“I’ll take that,” Iishino said. He put down the desk, a flat rectangular box with a hinged, sloping lid. Then he cupped his hands, gloating as the gangster poured gold coins into them. “Thank you, thank you.” Kneeling, he counted the money into stacks on the floor. The gangsters repacked merchandise in the crates. Abbot Liu Yun, de Graeff, and the other Japanese lined up in front of Iishino.
“To Assistant Director deGraeff, for the goods he and Director Spaen so kindly imported,” Iishino said, handing coins to deGraeff. He took brush, ink jar, and a small book from inside his desk and recorded the payment. “To Abbot Liu Yun, for the use of his temple, and for acting as liaison with the black market.”
Keeping his right hand in his sleeve, Liu Yun took the money and stood beside deGraeff, who was counting his coins. Iishino continued doling out and recording payments. “To Commander Nirin and the Deshima guards for providing security and transport.” The gangsters finished packing and sealing the crates; the last guard received his money. Iishino stoppered his ink jar. The smugglers’ hierarchy was clear, though not the identity of Spaen’s or Peony’s murderer. But Sano must act before the smugglers and goods left the hall. He only hoped he’d given Hirata enough time to secure a position outside the front door.
“We’ll go in now,” Sano told Takeda.
He drew his sword, flung open the door, and burst into the hall. “Nobody move!” he shouted. “You’re all under arrest!”
Silence descended upon the hall as the smugglers stared at Sano and his comrades in shocked dismay. Fragmented scenes coalesced in Sano’s vision: tiny Abbot Liu Yun and tall Assistant Director deGraeff standing rigidly side by side; Nirin’s fading smile; Interpreter Iishino’s stricken face; the Deshima guards clutching their money; a glaring gangster, his arms blue with tattoos. Then chaos erupted.
“Run!” shouted the gangster chief.
His men bolted for the opposite door. At the same time, Hirata’s team burst through it, swords drawn, halting their flight. The Deshima guards had started to follow the gangsters, but Nirin called, “Come back, you cowards! Kill them, and we’re safe!”
He drew his sword. His men faltered, then rallied around him, unsheathing their blades. With Nirin in the lead, they advanced on Sano and Takeda. As Sano prepared for battle, he tried to watch everyone at once. DeGraeff was running toward a side exit with Abbot Liu Yun hurrying after him. Interpreter Iishino picked up his desk and fled. Hirata’s team faced off against the gangsters. One of them hurled a knife, and the retainer on Hirata’s left cried out and fell dead with the blade sticking in his chest.
“Let the gangsters go!” Although Sano would have liked to arrest all parties to the smuggling, his small force couldn’t handle everyone. “Catch Iishino, Liu Yun, and deGraeff!”
Nirin lunged, sword flashing. “Now you’ll pay for throwing me down the well.”
Sano parried while a tornado of blades churned around him. His counterattack merely slashed Nirin’s sleeve. He dodged a cut aimed at his h
ead, then whirled just in time to deflect slices from two Deshima guards. Takeda and his retainers fought the other ten. Energy poured from Sano’s spiritual center, bringing with it a heightened awareness, an expanded vision. As he advanced and retreated, he saw Hirata chasing Liu Yun and the Dutchman. The abbot held a dagger in the hand he’d earlier kept hidden under his sleeve.
“Your partner killed my brother,” he screamed, tearing after deGraeff. He must have been waiting for the right moment to attack, and the raid had spurred him to action. “Now you’ll join Jan Spaen in death. Order will be restored to the universe—the I Ching does not lie. I shall have my revenge on you vile, mercenary Dutch at last!”
The terrified barbarian raced around the hall. Abbot Liu Yun shrieked curses in Chinese.
With a quick cut, Sano laid open a Deshima guard’s throat. The man fell dead beside another slain by Takeda. Sano leapt over the bodies and continued battling Nirin and three other guards. One of Takeda’s retainers cleaved a guard’s skull, slashed another’s chest, then took a fatal cut across the belly. The supreme judge fought expertly, but his garments hung in shreds, and cuts bled on his exposed legs. Sano felt his own strength diminishing, his reflexes slowing, and his sore shoulder leaking blood. He drew his short sword, fighting two-handed to parry strikes and reduce the stress on his injury.
Abbot Liu Yun cornered deGraeff against the altar, shrilling, “Die! Die!” and stabbing at deGraeff. The barbarian threw up his hands in self-defense. The dagger gashed his palms, then pierced his chest. DeGraeff screamed and fell. Hirata tried to pull Liu Yun away, but the abbot jumped on deGraeff and kept stabbing. Then deGraeff seized the dagger, and they grappled in a desperate struggle for its possession. Dutch and Chinese curses filled the hall.
Ducking a slash, Sano swung his blade in an arc and cut a guard’s legs out from under him. As he rose, he saw deGraeff win control of the weapon and turn it on Abbot Liu Yun. Now the Chinese man’s cries of agony drowned out the ring of blades. Two more guards replaced the fallen man. Sano took a cut to his thigh and stumbled. His opponents closed in for the kill.
Then a figure moved swiftly behind them. They both grunted; their faces went slack, and they fell forward. Blood poured from wounds across the backs of their necks. There stood Hirata, dripping sword raised.
“Liu Yun and the barbarian are killing each other,” he told Sano. “Get Iishino. I’ll handle this.”
He joined Supreme Judge Takeda and two surviving retainers in the battle against Nirin and seven remaining guards. Sano hesitated, loath to abandon his allies. Then he looked around. Interpreter Iishino was nowhere in sight. Sano raced down the hall, past hulking statues and gleaming murals, fearing that the leader of the smuggling ring had escaped during the confusion. Then he spotted Iishino.
In a niche near the altar, the interpreter squatted beneath an arch of gilt flames, his desk in front of him. Anticipating a victory for his side, he’d apparently chosen this spot as a safe place from which to view the battle. He blanched when he spied Sano. Clutching his desk, he scooted farther back into the niche.
“Sōsakan-sama, this is not what you think.” He flashed a sickly version of his grin. “I can explain everything, everything.”
Sano stopped before the despicable man who had framed him and left his cohorts to fight alone. “Come here, Iishino.” He wouldn’t kill the interpreter, but oh, how he would enjoy seeing Iishino tried and executed.
Iishino flapped his hands. “Wait, wait. I am not one of them.” His eyes darted with anxious cunning. “I—I discovered the smuggling and infiltrated the ring to learn who the criminals were. I was going to report them to the authorities in time to save you.” Iishino smiled and bobbed his head. “It’s the truth, I swear!”
“He’s … lying.”
The hoarse croak came from Abbot Liu Yun, who lay beside the altar. Blood from stab wounds on his torso stained his saffron robe crimson. His face was a mask of agony. Nearby, Assistant Director deGraeff lay dead, the dagger beside his hand. Liu Yun coughed, gasped, then continued:
“Iishino … started the smuggling.… Paid me to make the mysterious lights … and arrange contact with … black market. And he … killed Spaen.… I saw. He stole … my revenge. But the I Ching was right. I have crossed the abyss … and killed … my brother’s Dutch murderer’s comrade. Now I can die … in peace. Hsi! I join you now …”
His face relaxed; his eyes dulled. Sano marveled at the revenge lust that neither time, faith, nor reason could obliterate. Then he looked back at Iishino—and down the bore of a gun the interpreter aimed at him.
“Get away from me, get away!” Iishino quavered.
The tubular pistol with carved ivory grip and long metal barrel wobbled in his shaky hands. Sano had instinctively raised his swords to ward off the threat. Fear paralyzed him, even as he registered satisfaction at learning the identity of Spaen’s killer. His lungs seemed made of iron, incapable of inhaling or exhaling air. He’d never faced a gun before, and his knowledge of firearms came from reading war manuals. Now he truly recognized the power of the foreign weapon. In a swordfight, he could have easily defeated Iishino. The gun made Sano the weaker of them.
“Drop your swords!” Iishino ordered.
The lid of his desk lay open; he’d taken the gun out while Sano was watching Abbot Liu Yun. Deploring his lack of foresight, Sano let both swords clatter to the floor. He’d known the smugglers had access to guns. He should have expected the cowardly Iishino to own one. He should have killed Iishino when he’d had the chance!
“Put the gun down, Iishino.” Sano’s voice sounded thin in his own ears. Hirata and Takeda were still battling Nirin and three guards; the other retainers lay dead. Now a core of angry determination hardened within Sano’s fear. The venal, corrupt interpreter was a ruthless killer. Sano refused to let him win. Though unarmed, he still had his wits to match against the interpreter’s advantage. He stepped forward and said evenly, “My men will defeat yours. Kill me, and they’ll be witnesses. You won’t escape. So put the gun down.”
As Iishino cowered in the niche, his gaze slid back and forth; his mouth worked. Yet he kept the gun aimed at Sano. With his left hand, he reached inside the desk and grabbed his account book—a narrow sheaf of paper bound in black silk and tied with scarlet cord. Tucking this in his sash, he stood. “Move, or I’ll shoot!”
He thrust the gun forward in both hands. Sano leapt back. Iishino sidled out of the niche and toward the door. Sano eyed the gun’s firing mechanism, a raised clamp holding a pointed flint that would ignite the powder when the trigger was pulled. “Guns aren’t as reliable as swords, Iishino,” Sano said. Swallowing panic, he followed the interpreter. “The powder may not light.” It was a common problem. “And you only get one shot.” Guns recoiled when fired; even at close range, the bullet could miss its target.
Iishino giggled. “This is a very superior gun. It belonged to Director Spaen. It fires every time, every time—he showed me. Don’t come any closer, I’m warning you.”
His voice had a hysterical pitch. The gun shook wildly. As Sano imagined death exploding from the barrel’s round, black opening, his heart thudded. He hurried to calm the interpreter.
“Iishino, why did you smuggle?” he asked, knowing that criminals often liked to justify their actions.
“I had no choice, no choice.” As Sano had hoped, Iishino’s voice leveled; the gun steadied, and he slowed his backward flight to the door. “Governor Nagai made a secret deal with the barbarians. He told me to arrange everything.” When Sano moved closer, he flinched. “Get away from me!”
Sano hastily obeyed. Iishino babbled, “How could I refuse Governor Nagai? I would lose my position. Besides, he pays me very well, and I need the money. It’s very expensive to be always buying gifts for my superiors. It’s not enough to do them services.”
“Services like helping to frame me?” Sano interjected.
“Yes—I mean, no! Oh, but you wouldn’t understand.” Iishin
o grew angry and more agitated as he spoke. “You don’t know what it is to be so lonely that you would do anything to be accepted. You’re just like everyone else who shuns and ridicules me!”
Hastening to placate the interpreter, Sano saw a way to learn the motives behind the murders. “I do understand,” he said. “I know how cruel people can be, no matter how hard we work or how much we deserve respect.”
“Yes. Yes!” Responding to Sano’s genuine sincerity, Iishino nodded vigorously.
Sano edged between the interpreter and the door. “Did Director Spaen also mistreat you? Is that why he died?”
Iishino’s face crumpled. “I thought he was my friend.” The gun dipped, and Sano wondered if he should grab it. No, not yet … “Oh, I know he was obligated to be polite to me—especially since I helped sell his private stock of goods. But he was always so nice that I thought he really liked me. I thought a barbarian could appreciate me the way my countrymen didn’t. I was so happy,” Iishino wailed.
He took a hand from the gun and wiped tears off his cheeks. Sano moved closer, summoning his nerve. “But then, that night at the cove, I realized I’d only been fooling myself,” Iishino continued. “We’d just brought the boat into the cave—Spaen, Commander Nirin, and I. We were waiting for Liu Yun to bring the gangsters. I was so excited; I laughed and hugged Spaen and said, “We make the best partners in the world, you and I—though of course, you Dutch are not as smart as we Japanese.”
Iishino smiled through his tears in remembered pleasure; he didn’t seem to know he’d offended his “partner.” Then his expression darkened, and he lifted the gun. “Spaen sneered at me, then said I was a piece of dung who wasn’t fit to lick his shoes, and if not for the smuggling, he wouldn’t have anything to do with me at all! I saw that our friendship was all in my imagination, my imagination. He scorned me—just like everyone else!
“I was hurt, then angry. To be rejected even by a barbarian!” Indignation flared in Iishino’s eyes. “He was wearing his gun—I kept it in my office on Deshima, and let him have it for games with his whore, and whenever he left the island. When he turned away, I grabbed it and shot him.”
The Way of the Traitor Page 30