He leaned down over a small stream running across the garden and splashed his face and torso with water. Koyata, observing all this from his breakfast table on a veranda, winced, imagining the hiss of freezing cold water striking the hot skin. The man spluttered and shook his head like a wet dog, and went to pick up his clothes from the straw basket.
Now is the time we should attack, thought Koyata, gritting his teeth. If it was up to him, he would charge the bath house with all the men. But he was only a deputy chief of the city guards in Heian — his benefactor, daimyo of Saga’s power reached only so far — and had to obey the orders of one Lord Sasaki, an old fashioned aristocrat who believed that attacking a nobleman in his bath was “dishonourable”.
It had been the oddest capture order Koyata had ever seen. The man with the tiger tattoo, and the small group of swordsmen accompanying him, were wanted both by the Taikun and the Lord of Satsuma. What crime did they commit that so angered two most powerful men in Yamato, Koyata didn’t know. In the conflicting missives they were branded variously as rebels, assassins, and thieves. They were accused of burning down a shrine, of stealing from the daimyo’s treasury, of fostering murderous intent towards Edo officials… quite a dossier. One thing was certain — these men were brutal and dangerous.
A tip-off from a trusted source had led them to this small hot spring village on the northern outskirts of Heian, and Koyata had been observing the outlaws’ movements for the last few days. He had learned they were heading for the shores of Lake Biwa, and then to Edo, taking the longer, less travelled way across the mountains — and today was the final day before their departure.
Koyata finished his breakfast and settled the bill for the guesthouse — all the while not letting the Tiger Tattoo from his sight – and moved outside to meet his men, positioned around the only road. To the south, it led back to the wide-open Heian plain, but in the north it narrowed to a single-file path as it cut through the Momoi Pass — and that was where the chief of the guards had planned his ambush.
The Tiger Tattoo’s group counted merely half a dozen men; judging by their accent, they had come from somewhere around Kumamoto. They bore unmarked clothes of the rōnin, but had the manner of people used to court living. None of that mattered to Koyata as much as what he could tell at a glance: that they were all strong and fierce warriors, no doubt members of the bodyguard of some rich southern family. This was not going to be an easy fight, even if the guards had come in with the full force of fifty-odd men.
If anyone wanted to raise trouble in Heian, today’s the day, thought Koyata.
About half an hour after he left the guest house, the man with the tiger tattoo and his group followed. They moved cautiously, but nonchalantly, like men aware of being pursued, but not willing to show it.
As they passed him, Koyata rubbed the smooth ivory grip of his teppo and checked if the charge was full. Ordering the thunder gun from Master Tanaka had cost him most of his life savings, but after witnessing its effectiveness in the battle on the volcano, he decided he simply had to have one to stay ahead of the increasingly sophisticated criminals roaming the streets of Heian.
“Stay in formation,” he told his men, “this may get ugly.”
They moved on, disguised as a train of servants and porters following their master — Koyata — on a leisurely trip to the hot springs. He had hand-picked them himself from among the city guards, not by how tough they were, but by how clever and loyal they seemed. Among them was Tokojiro, the one-eyed interpreter, who proved surprisingly deft with the sword once some of his confidence had been restored.
“And listen only to my orders,” he warned them as they neared the spot where the trap had been set up.
“What about Sasaki-dono?” asked Tokojiro.
“What about him?” Koyata replied with a grin, and the others chuckled. They knew there was no love lost between the Chief and his Deputy.
“Let’s just hope he doesn’t do anything too… rash.” He wanted to say stupid, but that would not be proper, not even among his loyal subordinates. “Slow down, we’re almost there.”
The road descended down a steep slope, entering a small hollow carved by a shallow stream running across it. Looking from above, Koyata had good view of the six fugitives as they stopped before the ford.
“He’s good,” Koyata murmured to himself. “He knows it’s a good place for an ambush.”
He gestured to his men to crouch down out of sight and prepare their weapons. But there was no need for stealth. A large group of guardsmen — Koyata counted at least thirty, meaning between them and his own men, there were very few left to guard any escape routes — approached openly from the north, led by lord Sasaki. They stopped on the other side of the stream, and the Chief stepped forward, his hand on the sword.
“Kawakami Gensai!” he cried. “You are under arrest. Lay down your weapons and surrender peacefully.”
Koyata shook his head. What is he doing? Where are the archers? Reserves? Is he just planning to swamp them with numbers? They were trained samurai, after all — each worth ten of our men in hand-to-hand combat…
“Under arrest? By whose authority?” replied the Tiger Tattoo.
“I have warrants on your heads signed by both Shimazu Nariakira-dono and the Taikun.”
The man laughed. “At last, the two houses are well and truly allied! And all because of me. How utterly delightful.”
“You are an outlaw, Kawakami. A rōnin. Your lords denounced you. Surrender now and you will be granted the right to die like a man — and your families will be spared.”
Koyata winced. It was a good offer, but he would have hated to be in the position of the six men in the valley, to be given this choice. Whatever they did, he was certain, they did with conviction — they didn’t look like the common rōnin cut-throats and robbers he was familiar with. He almost felt sorry for the Tiger Tattoo. But he needn’t have.
“Our families are dead to us,” the Tiger Tattoo said, “and we are to them. And soon, so will you!”
He charged, drawing the short wakizashi — the big sword remaining in the harness on his back. In one great leap he jumped over the stream, landed in front of Lord Sasaki, and cut him right across the chest. The Chief fell backwards with a cry, his arms apart. The other five samurai followed in grim silence, their katanas as cold as their resolve.
“Kuso,” swore Koyata. “Tokojiro! Stay here in case any of them tries to get back to Heian. Ishida, Hirata, take half of the men and follow me. We’ll cut them off at the head of the valley.”
He ran parallel to the road through the thin cedar forest, tripping and falling several times on roots and brambles. By the time he reached his intended destination, he was tired, irritated, and in pain. His knees ached, unused to such effort. He leaned against a cedar tree trunk, catching his breath, and looked back to the road.
To their merit, the Heian guardsmen stood their ground bravely, even if their chief had fallen. The fugitive samurai all fought with the fierceness of men with nothing to lose, and with skill of highly trained martial artists but, to Koyata’s surprise, they were slowly being overwhelmed by the sheer number of the enemy. The reason became clear to Koyata as he watched the fight unfold and he studied the movements of the swordsmen: most of them already struggled with injuries from some previous encounters, and fought, at best, at only half their strengths.
The Tiger Tattoo, in the midst of this mayhem, remained calm and composed, his wakizashi carving the path through the guards like a farmer’s sickle through a field of barley. A short glimpse at the way his arms and legs moved as if in a delicate, precise dance, was enough for Koyata: this was, by a long way, the finest swordsman he had ever seen.
Why won’t he draw the big sword? he wondered, uneasy. He could finish this in no time.
Slowly but inevitably, the swordsmen cut through the ambush, leaving a bloody trail of slain guards in their wake. Koyata positioned himself in the fork formed by twin trunks of an old maple
tree, and aimed the thunder gun at the approaching group.
Even in flight, the six men retained order and tight formation: two in front, then the Tiger Tattoo, then the remaining three, two of them limping and bloodied. Koyata waited until he was certain of the shot and squeezed the trigger.
Through trial and error, he had learned a lot about how the weapon worked over the previous weeks. He knew that if timed well, and with the targets close, he could hit two with one forked lightning. He learned how to adjust the power of the charge so that it would merely stun rather than kill outright. He taught himself the best way to aim to compensate for the recoil and lack of precision of the copper electrodes that produced the shot. The only thing he didn’t know was how, exactly, the weapon worked. Not that it mattered. It’s magic, was all he needed to know.
The sudden thunderbolt rolled through the valley. A murder of crows fluttered from the treetops. Just as Koyata intended, the lightning forked, hitting both men in front at the same moment. One fell down instantly, but the other, astonishingly, remained standing, staggering backwards, clutching his chest, where a hole in his kimono smouldered.
“Gensai-sama! Run!” the man yelled. “I will stop them!”
“Miyabe, don’t — ” The Tiger Tattoo cried, but was too far to stop his companion.
“The Blade must reach Edo — it’s our only chance!” the first one replied, and charged straight at Koyata’s position.
The Deputy watched the dial of recharge move excruciatingly slowly, as the samurai ran towards him. He kept squeezing the trigger frantically.
Move, move, move!
In the corner of his eye he saw his own men running to intercept the swordsman, but he knew they would be too slow.
At last, the dial reached its final stop and the gun thundered again. Just as it did, Koyata realized his mistake. The lightning was still set to fork — and the samurai was now only a few feet away. The discharge struck them both; the feedback blew the gun in Koyata’s hands apart, and a split second later the acute pain in his chest knocked out the air from his lungs. He fell on the grass and the maple trees whirled around him.
Deputy Koyata stumbled out of the lectern and took the crutch from the porter. Limping, he climbed up the stone stairs of Lord Matsudaira’s residence.
His chest ached when he breathed, and his right hand was still out of use — the doctor warned him it might never be fully functional. But the summons from the man of Matsudaira’s stature — brother of the daimyo of Aizu, and the closest kin the Taikun family had in Yamato — could not be refused, even in his state.
The villa, overhanging the slope of a low mountain in the eastern suburb of Heian, was a simple building, exhibiting the kind of deliberate scarcity and modesty that only the very rich and powerful could afford. A small vestibule led straight to the main room, whose walls slid open revealing a meticulously maintained small garden and a stunning view over the entire city bathing in green summer haze below.
Lord Matsudaira turned towards him and frowned.
“I wasn’t told you’re still in such a condition,” he said, “I would have waited.”
“It’s nothing, tono,” Koyata replied, bowing with some effort. “May I sit down?”
“Of course!”
A servant brought an extra pillow, and another gave him a cup of ice-cold cha, which Koyata drank in one swallow.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” said Lord Matsudaira.
“Respectfully, I’m wondering why I’m here,” replied Koyata. The nobleman chuckled.
“We’ll get to that. But first things first. Much like you, I was summoned here, to take over a new office. Since yesterday, I am the new Head of Security in Heian.”
“Head of Security? What about Sasaki-dono?” Koyata asked hopefully. The Chief of Guards somehow survived the battle; the Tiger Tattoo’s cut turned out to be shallow and never much of a threat, despite Lord Sasaki’s dramatic performance.
“Oh, he will remain in his position. He’s a good administrator, regardless of what you may think of his prowess in the field.”
“Ah.” Koyata slumped.
“You see, the situation in the city grows more difficult with every passing day. Not only in Heian — in all of Yamato. The seeds of rebellion are spreading. Lawlessness is on the increase. And now that the Taikun is dead and old loyalties are put to the test, the government fears things might get even worse. We even begin to fear for the Mikado’s safety.”
“That would be unthinkable.”
“The unthinkable is already happening, Koyata-sama. A hatamoto retainer was recently slain in Mito, in broad daylight!”
“I was not aware of this, tono.” Koyata raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise, less at the assassination, more at the mention of Mito. Wasn’t Mito one of Tokugawa family’s personal domains?
Have things turned that bad already?
“No, we managed to keep it under wraps for the time-being. But that brings us to you, Koyata-sama. I hear your name mentioned a lot lately,” said Matsudaira with a thin smile, “not only in Kurama, but in many other actions; you and your men keep distinguishing themselves with no regard to your own safety. Rest assured, it did not pass unnoticed.”
“I only do my duty, tono.”
The man with the Tiger Tattoo had fled safety from the ambush at Kurama, but for Koyata, despite his injuries, the battle was a resounding success: his men managed to capture three of the fugitives, including the man called Miyabe, who turned out to be the brains of the entire operation, of which the Tiger Tattoo was mere muscle.
“If only more Yamato did their duty with such diligence!” Lord Matsudaira sighed opening a fan. “Your words are modest, but your actions speak for themselves. Putting you under Sasaki-dono was a mistake. How would you like to lead your own force, independent of the city guard?”
“I would like that very much, tono. But… ”
“Yes?”
“Where would I get the men? I have some under my command right now — I even brought some from Kiyō — but they are too few to be effective in any major action. I would feel bad about taking any more of Sasaki-dono’s troops from him.”
Matsudaira nodded. “Ever the practical mind. Don’t worry, I’ve thought of everything. As it happens, I was recommended a group of rōnin in search of employment passing through Heian. Their loyalty to the Taikun, I was assured, is impermeable.”
Rōnin…? Loyal…? That’s a first…
“Assured by whom?” asked Koyata, incredulously.
“Men whose authority will not be questioned by either you or me,” replied Matsudaira vaguely. “The leader of the rōnin is here today, and I wanted you to meet him. Hajime-sama!”
A side door slid open and in came a man at the sight of whom Koyata jumped up, forgetting his injuries. His hand wandered to the grip of the short sword at his belt.
“You!”
“You two know each other?” Lord Matsudaira asked.
“Yes — ” replied the other man with a smile. In the corner of his mouth hung a half-lit cigarette, “I do believe we’ve… met.”
Koyata prided himself on never forgetting a face, but even without his skill, it was impossible to forget this one. The broken nose, the crooked eye, the scars… there was no doubt — this was the commander of the grey clad rōnin who had attacked the Magistrate prison in Kiyō. Only the uniform was different this time — not plain grey, but white with blue teeth-like chevrons along the edges.
“You — scoundrel!”
“Come now, I was merely following orders. That’s what I’m best at, you’ll find out.”
“Koyata-sama, Hajime-sama!”
Lord Matsudaira struck the floor with his fan. He glowered from one man to another.
“Whatever your history, you’re working for me now. I need you both — you for your wit, and you — ” he pointed at Haijme, “for your swords. Understand?”
“Of course,” the broken-nosed man replied. The mocking smil
e did not vanish from his lips.
“Koyata-sama?”
“I — yes, Matsudaira-dono,” Koyata surrendered with a bow, “I will not fail you.”
CHAPTER VII
The great crowd pouring down the main street of the town of densely packed inns, guesthouses and shops that had grown around the Miya-juku checkpoint was relentless; it waited for no one, it parted for no one… except a giant, broad-shouldered man in exotic clothes, with a long, thick mane of hair and the beard of a mountain hermit, walking briskly through the middle of the road — and a small, young priestess following a few steps behind him.
The pair reached the long lawn before the checkpoint gate. Low guardhouses ran along both sides, where bored spearmen on the verandas peeked from under the shade of white cloth adorned with the black hollyhock emblem of the Owari-Tokugawas — the ruling clan of Nagoya, a close branch of the Taikun’s family. The entire courtyard was filled with a long, winding queue of people trying to make their way along the Tokaido highway from Edo to Heian, and all points in between. Here the tensions reached the zenith, and nobody would make way, not even for Torishi and Nagomi.
The queue moved steadily until at last Nagomi found herself before the low black table and a grumpy samurai sitting cross-legged behind it.
“Itō?”
She gulped; she had never before had to queue at the Tokaido checkpoint — when she and Torishi had arrived in Nagoya, it was by boat. But now her family could ill afford to send her back the expensive way; moving the entire household to Edo at short notice was costly enough.
She handed him her tegata – an official travel permit her father had obtained from the magistrate. He looked over his list.
“You’re at the wrong gate. I have you on the Edo list.”
“It must be some mistake. I have a tegata to Chōfu.” Nagomi pointed to the permit.
The official studied the paper with great scrutiny. “No, no, no. Definitely Edo. And who are you?” He turned to Torishi. “An appointed male guardian? Ano na… it doesn’t say what clan you belong to.”
The Chrysanthemum Seal (The Year of the Dragon, Book 5) Page 11