Laura Rowland: Bundori: A Novel Of Japan

“Look out, sōsakan-sama !” Hirata stepped between Sano and the advancing horde.

Sano barely registered the threat to himself, for Chūgo, his intention unmistakable, was propelling the ranting, cursing Yanagisawa down the path. The bottom dropped out of Sano’s stomach.

“Try to stop me, and I’ll kill him,” Chūgo spat.

“You’ll die for this, Sano Ichirō!” Chamberlain Yanagisawa howled, his face wild with anger and terror. “You impertinent lackey, you despicable fool, you-”

“Shut up!” Sano yelled.

The chamberlain did, his mouth agape as Chūgo continued to shove him along the path toward the boat. Sano didn’t wait for Yanagisawa to recover from the shock of being addressed so rudely. “Chūgo. You can’t escape,” he said. “Soon everyone will know you’re the Bundori Killer. You won’t be safe anywhere.”

He darted in front of Chūgo, running backward as the captain bore down at him and Yanagisawa glared in outrage. Beyond them, he could see Hirata trying to hold off Yanagisawa’s shouting, sword-waving entourage.

“If you let the chamberlain go, you’ll be allowed to commit seppuku , or even live under house arrest.” Sano heard himself babbling whatever came into his head. “Endanger him, and you’ll be tortured and executed like a common criminal. Surrender, Chūgo. It’s over. Do you hear me? It’s over!”

They reached the Shimizu dock, where Matsui, whom Sano had almost forgotten, lay while his surviving bodyguard pumped water from his lungs. Hastily the guard dragged him out of the way and into the river again.

Giving no sign that he’d heard Sano’s pleas, Chūgo made for the gangplank. Frantic to avert disaster, Sano blocked the captain’s way, but Chūgo only gripped Yanagisawa tighter. The chamberlain gasped, his hands locked on his captor’s arm, eyes fixed on the blade in front of his face.

“Sheath your weapon,” Chūgo ordered Sano. He thrust his sword against Yanagisawa’s lip. The chamberlain screamed as blood welled from the cut and washed away in a flood of rain. “Now get out of my way, or I’ll cut him again.”

“Do as he says,” Yanagisawa pleaded.

Sano sheathed his sword. “Chūgo-”

“Move!”

The chamberlain’s retainers swarmed past Hirata and onto the dock. Their shouts rang above the thunder, wind, and rain. Chūgo spun around to face them, pulling his prisoner with him.

“Stand back, or he’s a dead man.”

Sano leaped forward, intending to grab Chūgo, wrest the sword away, and free Yanagisawa, but the chamberlain’s shriek and the retainers’ fresh outcry stopped him. When Chūgo turned back to him, he gasped.

The blade had slashed Yanagisawa’s left eyelid. Blood poured over his face, which had gone completely white. He opened and closed his mouth, but no sounds came out. Then his eyeballs rolled up into his head. His hands let go of Chūgo’s arm and dropped. His legs buckled.

“You can’t hurt him, Chūgo -san . He’s your lord’s representative.” In growing desperation, Sano appealed to the guard captain’s samurai values. “You’re honor-bound to protect him. Let him go. If you want a hostage, take me instead. Don’t-”

“Move. Now .” Chūgo’s gruff command cut him off. The sword now pressed against the limp and unconscious Yanagisawa’s throat.

“Do as he says!” The command issued from Yanagisawa’s entourage.

“Chūgo, if you take the boat out in this storm, you’ll both die. Please-”

The words froze on Sano’s tongue when he saw from the captain’s hard, merciless stare that he’d passed beyond reason. With defeat crushing his heart, Sano stepped off the gangplank and out of Chūgo’s way. Helplessly he stood on the dock with Hirata and the stunned, silent crowd as Chūgo dragged Yanagisawa up the gangplank and aboard the boat. He’d failed in the shogun’s mission; he’d failed to fulfill his promise to his father. The Bundori Killer was escaping, and Sano was responsible for Yanagisawa’s certain death-a disgrace that would result in severe punishment and everlasting dishonor.

With Yanagisawa draped over his arm like a broken puppet, Chūgo slashed the boat’s mooring ropes. It drifted free of the dock. He sheathed his sword, then pulled up the gangplank and unfurled the sail. The wind slapped the tall, rectangular hemp-cloth sheet open. The boat rocked and pitched, moving down the river.

Merciful gods, if Chūgo managed to get all the way down the Sumida into open sea… The flimsy pleasure craft would never survive the strong currents and rough waves. Not even the most expert crew could maneuver it around the treacherous reefs that had sunk many better ships.

The crowd surged down the path after the boat. Sano groaned as Yanagisawa’s archers let fly a spate of arrows at Chūgo, who now stood in the stern, working the ropes stretched from the billowing sail and over the cabin roof. Killing the guard captain now wouldn’t solve the problem: Without a sailor, the boat might founder and sink before they saved Yanagisawa. Sano ran after the entourage.

“No! Get help! The police, the navy-”

No one listened; more arrows flew. Sano saw that he must stop Chūgo and rescue Yanagisawa himself. He squeezed past the crowd. Through windblown sheets of rain, he ran down the farthest dock, which the boat was just passing. He heard Hirata yell, “Go, sōsakan-sama ! I’ll get help!”

Whispering a prayer for strength and courage, Sano gulped a deep breath, then dived headfirst into the river.

The icy water claimed Sano with a heart-stopping splash. Gasping, he swam through the choppy waves after the boat. His clothes hindered his movements; his swords weighed him down. The rain still poured from the sky; every time he raised his head for a breath, he inhaled as much water as air. His muscles ached, and the cold quickly penetrated to his bones. The tossing swells nauseated him. How different this was from the stylized exercises he’d practiced in the castle training pond, at which he’d never excelled anyway, even when in the best of health. The water, not his natural element, fought his every effort to conquer it. He forced his legs to keep kicking, his arms to keep stroking. A cramp gnawed his left side. The river burbled in his ears, louder than thunder, while lightning blazed around him.

Yet every time his eyes cleared the waves, he was closer to the boat. At last, his hands smacked the hull. But the smooth wood offered no way to climb up. Sano groaned. The boat was pulling away from him. Utterly exhausted, he could swim no more. The Bundori Killer would escape; Yanagisawa would die. Having failed in his duty to his father and his lord, Sano knew that Bushido demanded he die, allowing his disgrace to perish with him.

Then something rough slapped his cheek: one of the boat’s mooring ropes, which Chūgo had cut before setting sail. Sano grabbed it. Too weak to climb aboard, he simply hung on.

Aboard the rocking, listing boat, Chūgo struggled to control the sail, whose lines the wind strained taut against his hands. Rain sluiced the deck and lashed his face. The boat heeled perilously. With all his strength, Chūgo heaved. The sail turned; the boat veered right, leaving the Kanda and sailing into the Sumida River, where the current carried it southwest, seaward.

Triumph roared inside Chūgo as he tacked, guiding the boat on a zigzagging course against the wind. He’d escaped the angry mob, and the foolish sōsakan who’d interfered with his mission for too long. Looking starboard, he saw only the rainswept warehouses and deserted docks that bordered the Sumida’s west bank, and the distant misty marshes opposite. All other boats had taken shelter from the storm. The river was a wide-open channel to freedom. He would live to complete General Fujiwara’s blood score. Filling his lungs with air, he shouted into the storm: