The chief clerk spoke from his desk without looking up from his ledgers. “You are wanted in Magistrate Ogyu’s reception chamber, Yoriki Sano-san.”
With apprehension tensing his muscles, Sano walked through the corridor to the reception chamber’s door. He hesitated there, hearing low conversation within cease at his approach. He took a deep breath and knocked.
“Enter,” Ogyu’s voice called.
His mouth dry and his hands clammy, Sano opened the door. He swallowed hard when he saw the three men kneeling, two to the right and one to the left of Ogyu’s desk.
Bowing, he said, “Good day, Honorable Magistrate. Hayashi-san. Yamaga-san.” And to the broad man with bold features who sat by himself on Ogyu’s left, the last person in the world he wanted to see right now: “Good day, Katsuragawa-san.”
What did the presence of the two yoriki mean? And, more important, what was his patron doing here? He hadn’t seen Katsuragawa Shundai since the visit he’d paid with his father.
The men returned his greeting with solemn formality. Ogyu motioned for Sano to kneel. Sano did, trying to read the four carefully expressionless faces.
“After much consideration,” Ogyu said, “I have decided that you were correct about Niu Yukiko and Noriyoshi.”
Sano blinked in surprise. “You have?”
“Yes. They did not commit shinjū. They were murdered.”
In his relief and elation, Sano didn’t think to ask why Ogyu had changed his mind. He thought only of the ease and joy of conducting an official investigation instead of an unofficial one. He imagined all the city’s doors opening to him. With Ogyu’s capitulation, the largest obstacle in his path to the truth had vanished. Already bursting with plans, he started to thank his superior.
“Honorable Magistrate, I—”
Ogyu raised a hand, silencing him. “Because you were absent from your post, I had no choice but to turn the investigation over to Yamaga-san and Hayashi-san. They will explain to you what has transpired.”
It was all Sano could do to keep his composure as he turned to face his colleagues. The investigation for which he’d risked and suffered so much, turned over to someone else! A terrible sense of loss burgeoned inside him.
“After making the appropriate inquiries, we had the wrestler, Raiden, arrested,” Yamaga said. “Yesterday he was convicted of murdering Niu Yukiko and Noriyoshi. Early this morning, he was executed.”
“No.” Horrified, Sano turned an incredulous stare on Ogyu and Katsuragawa. Ogyu’s expression remained impassive; Katsuragawa’s watchful. “This can’t be. What inquiries? What makes you think Raiden killed them? What’s going on here?”
Hayashi cleared his throat. “Raiden confessed,” he said.
Sano laughed, a loud, harsh sound that made his colleague flinch. “Well, of course he did!” he shouted, remembering the tortured prisoner he’d seen at Edo Jail. “But I want to know what proof you had that he murdered anyone. Come, tell me about these so-called inquiries!”
“You dare insult me?” Hayashi’s face reddened. He started to rise, reaching for his sword.
Sano rose, too. Much as he abhorred useless violence, he would gladly have taken out his anger on Hayashi if Ogyu hadn’t interceded.
“Please, please.” The magistrate shook his head. “Let us not squabble like children.” To Sano he said, “Did you yourself not identify Raiden as a suspect?”
Sano, sinking to his knees again, understood now. Ogyu was still protecting the Nius; he’d merely switched tactics. How better to close the investigation than by arresting, convicting, and executing a scapegoat? And Sano had delivered that scapegoat straight into Ogyu’s hands. Yamaga and Hayashi had probably chosen Raiden over Kikunojo out of reluctance to offend the actor’s high-ranking patrons. The lowly Raiden had had no such protection. With growing despair, Sano felt the blood of another death upon his hands.
“I never believed Raiden was the killer,” he protested. His defense could no longer help the wrestler, except to clear his name, but he couldn’t let Ogyu close the investigation with the real killer still at large.
“Raiden told his jailers he didn’t remember committing the murders,” Hayashi said coolly, his anger under control now. “Which only means that the madness that prompted his crime also allowed him to conveniently forget it.”
The words gave Sano pause. Maybe Raiden’s “demon” had made Raiden kill, then forget. Could he have been so wrong? Had Tsunehiko died because he’d failed to see Raiden’s guilt and arrest him before the fatal trip?
“Raiden wasn’t the only one Noriyoshi blackmailed,” Sano said, fighting doubt and guilt by stubbornly sticking to his theory. “He had no reason to kill Niu Yukiko. And I think I know who did.”
“Mere supposition,” Yamaga scoffed. Hayashi murmured in agreement.
Although Sano was reluctant to reveal more of his findings after seeing how they’d just used his earlier ones, he needed the magistrate’s official sanction. Quickly he explained what he’d learned in Hakone. “I believe young Lord Niu merits scrutiny,” he finished. “And I should start by determining whether he or one of his men followed me to Totsuka and killed my secretary.”
Prudence kept Sano from accusing Ogyu outright of covering up for the Nius. To give in to the angry urge to demand explanations, to vent his fury in an outburst, would only offend his superior. He would have to be satisfied with laying out his guilty secrets and dangerous theory. With forced resignation, he waited for the reprimand he knew would come.
But Ogyu just sighed and shook his head. “The fantasies of a girl-child. And I am not sure that you are any less prone to fantasy yourself, if you attribute your secretary’s unfortunate demise to anything but a common highway murder. As to inflicting any more trouble on the Nius, that is out of the question. The true murderer has been … dealt with.”
“But—”
“The matter is closed.” As if to underscore his statement, Ogyu nodded to Yamaga and Hayashi. “You may go now.”
With a swish of silk robes, the two yoriki rose and made their bows. Sano could feel their contemptuous stares on him as they left the room.
“I wish to continue the investigation,” Sano said, although he knew that such open defiance could only worsen his position.
Ogyu exchanged an oblique glance with Katsuragawa before replying. “I am afraid you will not be investigating this or any other matter any longer, Sano-san. As of this moment, you are relieved of your post as yoriki of the city of Edo, and all its attendant duties and privileges.”
The words hit Sano like a physical blow. He actually swayed under its impact. Such a disgrace, both for him and his family! Ogyu’s face wavered before him. Sounds echoed; the room dimmed. Of the magistrate’s words he registered only a few disjointed phrases.
“… insubordination … incompetence … disloyalty … mistake to appoint you in the first place … character unsuitable … If you would please vacate your office and your quarters at once …”
He almost forgot the investigation that had seemed so important a moment ago. How would this affect his father?
“Sano-san. Do you understand why I am dismissing you?” Ogyu asked.
Sano opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Ogyu must have thought he intended to argue or plead, because he said, “My decision is final. There will be no appeals. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Honorable Magistrate,” Sano managed to whisper.
“And, if you would be so good as to leave Hamada Tsunehiko’s ashes with my clerk, an official representative will deliver them to his parents and offer condolences on behalf of the city.”
Sano felt no relief at being spared the task. How could Ogyu deprive him of the chance to fulfill even this responsibility? But the numbing paralysis of shock kept him from speaking. He nodded, obedient when it no longer mattered.
“Then you may go.” Ogyu paused, then added, “I hope you will find success in your future endeavors.”
Like a sleepwalker, Sano rose.
Katsuragawa spoke for the first time. “I’ll go with you.”
Sano looked at his patron in dismay. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He wanted to clear out his office and rooms in the barracks and leave as quickly as possible. He needed time to plan what he would say to his father. But Katsuragawa stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder.
“We need to talk, Sano-san,” he said.
He firmly guided Sano to the entryway where they both retrieved their shoes. Once outside, he led the way down a quiet lane that ran between the mansion’s wall and its neighbor’s.
They walked in silence for a while. Sano glanced sideways at his patron, noticing again the features that had impressed him at their first meeting. The heavy shoulders that almost swallowed Katsuragawa’s short, thick neck. The distinctive profile, with its full lips, large-nostrilled nose, and wary, unblinking eyes. The great curve of his generous but firm belly. Katsuragawa’s posture exuded confidence; his controlled movements and slow, deliberate pace suggested power held in check. Beside him, Sano felt small and diminished, although he was taller than Katsuragawa.
“As your patron, I accept some degree of responsibility for what has happened to you,” Katsuragawa said, looking straight ahead. “Perhaps, in my eagerness to discharge a long-standing obligation, I acted too hastily. I should not have directed you into a position for which you are so unsuited. But the ultimate blame lies with you, does it not?”
He turned to face Sano. “Did you even try to conform to your superior’s requirements? Did you even try to make up for your lack of qualifications and aptitude with loyalty and obedience?”
Jolted out of numbness by Katsuragawa’s reproach, Sano retorted, “What have my shortcomings got to do with anything? I was dismissed not because I performed badly, but because I performed too well. I uncovered a murder that Magistrate Ogyu wanted to keep hidden.” He flung out his hands. “How can you expect me to give my loyalty to a man so corrupt that he would sentence an innocent man to death in order to perpetuate this cover-up?” He was shouting now, but he didn’t care who heard or if he offended Katsuragawa. His urge to defend himself—against his own as well as everyone else’s accusations—was too strong. “Do you deny that there is a cover-up?”
“Sano-san.” Katsuragawa stopped walking and folded his thick arms across his chest. In a condescending tone he said, “This is exactly what I mean by your lack of aptitude. Of course there’s a cover-up! And if you’d been the right man for your job, you would have immediately understood why it was necessary.”
Ignoring Sano’s shocked exclamation, he demanded, “What do you think would happen if it became known that someone in Lord Niu’s household had murdered Yukiko? And what if you proved that the ‘someone’ was another member of the family? What if the shogun saw fit to put the entire clan to death and confiscate its lands as punishment? Imagine the effect this would have on the country!”
Katsuragawa lifted his hands skyward. “Thousands and thousands of rūnin, eager to avenge their master’s death. The Niu allies and other daimyo, restless after ninety years of Tokugawa rule, looking for a reason to start a rebellion. Put these together and what do you get?”
He leaned so close that Sano could see the pores in his swarthy skin. “Bloodshed. Another five centuries of war. You would have this? Just to satisfy your curiosity about the deaths of a common peasant and one insignificant woman? You would not sacrifice the life of a wrestler—a cretin who injures because he cannot control his temper—for peace?”
Sano hadn’t considered the larger implications of the murders, and Katsuragawa’s explanation had a certain terrifying logic. But something about it rang false. In the first place, Sano couldn’t believe that national peace alone had motivated Ogyu.
“Why didn’t Magistrate Ogyu explain this to me?” he asked.
“He probably assumed you understood.” Katsuragawa turned and resumed his slow walk.
Sano followed. “Do you really believe what you told me? Does Magistrate Ogyu? Wouldn’t the murderer, if he is a Niu, be allowed to commit seppuku? The family wouldn’t be punished, like commoners would. And the Tokugawas are strong. The daimyo wouldn’t risk a revolt. They have more to gain by holding on to their lands, their wealth—and their heads.”
When Katsuragawa didn’t respond at once, Sano said, “Please, at least consider what I’ve said. And if you decide I’m right, will you use your influence to reopen the murder investigation?”
Instead of answering, Katsuragawa bent a glance on Sano that simultaneously pitied him for his naïveté and expressed outrage at his effrontery. Sano saw the futility of asking for Katsuragawa’s help. Even if Katsuragawa didn’t believe in the disaster scenario, he and Ogyu and the other officials were bound by their own complex web of obligation, which Sano couldn’t hope to unravel.
Katsuragawa said, “Sano-san, I am prepared to help you find a new position. Perhaps a better one than you’ve just lost. I have many contacts.” His shrug indicated that he had only to wave a hand, and a new place would open for Sano. “There is also the matter of your marriage, which I understand your father would like arranged as soon as possible. I would be glad to offer my services as a go-between, and to act as guarantor to the extent that I am able.”
A new position, possibly a higher one with a larger stipend. And, with Katsuragawa negotiating for him and ensuring his financial security, a chance to marry into a high-ranking family. Sano could reclaim his social standing and some part of his honor. Such prospects would greatly ease his father’s disappointment. Katsuragawa’s offer was generous, and Sano had to consider it. But he knew a bribe when he saw one. And the ghosts of Tsunehiko and Raiden stood between him and his acceptance of it.
“You’ll help me—if I stop investigating the murders?” he said, naming the obvious catch.
Katsuragawa’s mouth twisted with distaste at Sano’s bluntness. “All right, then: yes.”
“I can’t do that.”
Katsuragawa halted in his tracks. “Are you a fool, Sano Ichirō?” he demanded. He grabbed Sano by the shoulders and shook him. “Can you not see what you’re doing to yourself, to your father? Besides, you can do nothing about the murders now. You’re not a yoriki anymore. No one is obliged to answer your questions or follow your orders. If you attempt to conduct a private inquiry, you will be arrested and severely punished for interfering with government affairs. It’s over, Sano-san. Give up!”
“No.” As he pulled free of Katsuragawa’s grasp, Sano realized that with one word, he’d severed his relationship with his patron. An exhilarating sense of liberation came over him, tempered by fear. An influential patron who could provide introductions to the right people was an absolute necessity for a samurai who wanted to rise in the world. Without one, Sano could relinquish any hope of advancement. What had he done?
“Then you are a fool.” Katsuragawa brushed his hands together as if dusting off the last vestiges of his obligation to Sano and his family. He started away down the lane. Before he’d gone ten paces, he turned.
“Do you know why Magistrate Ogyu and I decided you would make a good yoriki?” he said. “Because we thought your inexperience would render you so incompetent as to be harmless. Because your indebtedness would make you easy to control.” Katsuragawa laughed in derision. “We were wrong about you then, but not now. If you pursue this ridiculous course, you are as good as dead.”
• • •
Twilight was falling by the time Sano reached his parents’ home, his horse still laden with the baggage from his trip, except for Tsunehiko’s ashes, which he’d reluctantly left with Ogyu’s clerk. Behind him trailed the two porters he’d hired to carry his possessions from the barracks. Dismounting, he helped them unload the bundles outside the gate, paid them, and sent them on their way. Then he stood alone in the gathering gloom, contemplating a thought just as dark.
As a samurai, he’d always known there might come a time when he must
commit seppuku to avoid disgrace, or to atone for it. His training told him that time had come. After what had happened, only his ritual suicide could restore honor to his name and family. But although his warrior’s spirit welcomed the release and purification of death, he must forswear it. His life was not his to take until he had avenged Tsunehiko’s death, cleared Raiden’s name, and achieved justice for Yukiko, Noriyoshi, and Wisteria.
Sano roused himself to stable his horse and put his bundles in the entryway of the house. He slid open the door to the main room. To drive a dagger into his own stomach would have been easier. He dreaded facing his father, dreaded also seeing again the mark of death on the old man. So at first he was relieved to find the room empty. Then he saw something that disturbed him far more.
The door that connected the main room with the bedchamber stood open. Through it he saw his mother standing by the window, her back to him, despair evident in the slump of her shoulders. His father lay on the futon. His eyes were closed. Low, rumbling coughs shook his body almost continuously. Fear shot through Sano. He’d never seen his father take to bed so early. And the amount of sickroom paraphernalia arranged by the bed—tea bowls, washbasin, crumpled cloths, medicine jars—indicated that he’d been there all day, or longer.
“Otōsan?” Sano said.
His father stirred. Slowly he opened his eyes. A frown crossed his sunken face. Then the frown disappeared, as though the slight movement of facial muscles had exhausted him.
“Ichirō,” his mother said, turning with a strained smile. “What a surprise. We were not expecting you.”
Sano walked over to his mother and embraced her. Always a sturdy, robust woman, she now seemed smaller and more frail, as if weakened by her husband’s illness. Then he knelt beside his father.
“My son,” his father whispered. “Why have you come? Shouldn’t you be at your post? Even if your work is done for the day, the others will want you in the barracks.”
Should he make up some excuse, Sano wondered, and tell his father that he’d lost his position and his patron only when—or if—the old man grew stronger? Surely it would be an act of mercy.
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