Laura Rowland: The Ronin’s Mistress

“Wait,” Yanagisawa said, enjoying Sano’s humiliation, wanting to prolong it. He asked the assembly, “Haven’t we any other jobs for Sano- san ?”

“I hear there’s been a rash of shoplifting in the Nihonbashi merchant quarter.” Yoritomo smiled spitefully at Sano. “Maybe he should investigate that.”

“That’s a good idea,” the shogun said.

Indignation rose in Sano. That he should be relegated to chasing petty thieves! “Fine,” he said. “I’ll investigate the shoplifting.” Duty was duty, and delivering petty criminals to justice was serving his personal code of honor, even though on a small scale. “Then I’ll go after the real criminals.” He cut a hostile glance at Yanagisawa and Yoritomo.

They were planning nothing less than to take over the country. Yoritomo had Tokugawa blood, which made him eligible to inherit the regime when the shogun died. He was far down the list for the succession, but Yanagisawa was determined to make Yoritomo the new shogun someday. He meant to rule Japan through Yoritomo for as long as they both lived.

That was nothing new. But Yanagisawa’s chances of success increased every day. The shogun was getting older and frailer. Someone had to stop Yanagisawa soon.

Yanagisawa narrowed his eyes at Sano, then smiled a slow, tantalizing smile. “You’re in no position to make threats. Not as long as your family is on this earth.”

That was the threat that held Sano at bay-the harm that his enemy could do to his beloved wife and children. There was no place they could hide from Yanagisawa. His reach was long, his spies everywhere. Sano began to fear that he would never recover from the blow Yanagisawa had dealt him, that he would only fall further. But he resisted the defeat that tried to creep under his skin. He must regain his status and honor, and he must satisfy his burning need for revenge on Yanagisawa.

But how? And when? At age forty-five, he felt in danger of running out of time.

A palace guard entered the chamber. “Please excuse me, Your Excellency, but I have a messenger here, with news that can’t wait.”

“Bring him in,” the shogun said, smiling with a childlike delight in surprises.

Sano lingered on the veranda. Even though most affairs of state were no longer his business, he was curious about the news.

The guard ushered in the messenger. He was a boy, about twelve years old, dressed in a faded coat. He was panting and shaking. Snow clung to the hems of his trousers. He fell to his knees before the dais and bowed. His face was flushed, his eyes round, dark pools of fright.

“Speak,” the shogun commanded.

The messenger gulped, then said in a thin, trembling voice, “The honorable Kira Yoshinaka has been murdered!”

Shock stabbed Sano. A murmur of consternation rippled through the assembly. The shogun gasped. “My master of ceremonies? Ahh, what a blow to me this is!”

Master of ceremonies was a very important post. The court had elaborate rituals for banquets, audiences with the shogun, religious observance, and countless other occasions. That had made Kira indispensable. He’d been in charge of overseeing all details of the rituals. He’d coached the participants and rehearsed them. He’d been the only person who knew every minute, arcane rule of etiquette.

“How do you know Kira has been murdered?” Yanagisawa asked the messenger.

Kato said, “When was this?”

Ihara said, “Where?”

The messenger struggled to compose himself. “Last night. At Kira- san ’s estate. I’m a kitchen boy there.” A sob caught in his throat. “I saw.”

Because his relationship with Kira had been strictly professional, Sano didn’t feel any grief over Kira’s death, but without Kira, Edo Castle could dissolve into chaos. Aside from the duties he’d performed for some forty years, Kira was a hatamoto -a hereditary Tokugawa vassal-from a high-ranking family, as well as a distant relation of the Tokugawa clan. His murder was bound to cause a sensation.

“How did it happen?” the shogun asked fearfully.

Tears spilled down the messenger’s cheeks. “His head was cut off.”

Exclamations of horror arose. “Who did it?” Yanagisawa seemed personally disturbed. Kira had been one of his cronies, Sano recalled.

“A gang of samurai,” the messenger said. “They invaded Kira- san ’s estate.”

Fresh shock reverberated through Sano and the assembly. This was a crime of astonishing violence, even for a city in which violent death was common. “Who were they?” Yoritomo asked. “Why did they do such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” the messenger said, shamefaced. “I was too afraid to look while it was happening. I hid, and I didn’t come out until it was over and they were gone.”

Sano’s heart began to pound as hope rose in him. He looked to the shogun.

The shogun was a picture of woe and confusion, his wish to take strong action vying with his tendency to let others handle problems for him. Meeting Sano’s gaze with relief, the shogun pointed at Sano.

“You shall investigate Kira’s murder.” In the shock of the moment he’d forgotten he was angry with Sano, only recalling that Sano was his expert on solving crimes. “You shall capture the killers and, ahh, get to the bottom of this.”

Elated, Sano didn’t mind that he was freezing cold. He saw the murder case as his chance to win back the ground he’d lost. It was a thin straw to clutch at, he knew; but it was better than nothing. “Gladly, Your Excellency.”

Yanagisawa’s and Yoritomo’s faces registered dismay. “Not so fast,” Yanagisawa said. “Your Excellency, we’ve established that Sano- san is unfit for any work more complicated than catching shoplifters. You should assign someone else to investigate Kira’s murder.”

“Do you mean yourself?” The shogun wore his most gullible, eager-to-please expression.

Yanagisawa gave Sano a quick, nasty smile, as if he’d snatched a bowl of rice away from a starving beggar and was glad. “Why, yes, if that’s all right with Your Excellency.”

The shogun’s features altered into a resentful pout. “No, it is not all right!” He sometimes chafed at the control Yanagisawa and Yoritomo exerted over him. They looked appalled that he was rebelling now. He withdrew his hand from Yoritomo’s grasp. “I want Sano- san to investigate.” He cast an ominous gaze around the assembly. “Does anyone else object?”

Kato and Ihara looked at the floor, remembering that the shogun had the power of life and death over them and they had better not cross him. Ohgami gave Sano a covert smile.

“What are you waiting for, Sano- san ? Go!” the shogun said.

“Yes, Your Excellency.” Sano decamped before the shogun could change his mind.

Sano’s chief retainer Hirata awakened when a heavy weight landed on his chest. He choked on a snore, opened his eyes, and saw the laughing face of his eight-year-old daughter Taeko, who crouched atop him. Another weight thudded against the bed. It was her brother Tatsuo, aged five. Hirata’s wife Midori rolled over beside him, clasping her pregnant belly.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to jump on us in bed?” she scolded the children. “You’ll squash the baby.” She groaned. “It’s not due until next month, but it almost feels like I’m going to have it today.”

“Come here.” Hirata pulled the children under the quilt, between him and Midori.

“Can I go see Masahiro?” Taeko asked.

Masahiro was Sano’s eleven-year-old son. He and his younger sister, Akiko, were favorite playmates of Hirata’s children.

“No,” Midori said. “You’re in their quarters so often that Sano- san and Lady Reiko are probably tired of you.” Because they lived in the same estate in the precinct in Edo Castle where the high officials resided, Hirata’s and Sano’s families spent much time together. “Let them have some time alone.”