A strange look came over the shogun’s face, a mixture of horror and chagrin. Sano saw that he’d known all along but hoped it wasn’t true. “How many people in the government died?” the shogun asked in a small voice.
“Three hundred and fifty-one, so far,” Sano said. “Some are still unaccounted for.” He recited the names of dead ministers, functionaries, and army officers, onetime pillars of the regime.
“Merciful Buddha,” the shogun whispered, his complexion ashen. “This is a terrible, terrible blow for me!” Stress and fatigue undermined Sano’s tendency to hope for compassion from the shogun. He’d expected the shogun to care less about the deaths than their consequences for him. “Who is running my government?”
“The rest of us who are still alive,” Sano said, thinking, with no help from you. He quashed that thought as unbecoming to himself as well as disrespectful to his lord. “There’s no need to worry, Your Excellency.”
“But the government has been reduced to a skeleton,” Ienobu said.
Panic filled the shogun’s eyes. “Who is protecting me? How many troops did I lose?”
“Over a thousand,” Sano said, “but your army is still huge.”
“The army is spread very thin,” Ienobu said, “trying to maintain order in the city.”
Sano narrowed his eyes at Ienobu. Was Ienobu deliberately trying to frighten the shogun so that he would become even more dependent on his nephew?
“Is the castle fixed yet?” the shogun asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” Sano said.
“The castle wasn’t built in a day. It can’t be rebuilt in a day.” Ienobu’s soothing manner didn’t soften the truth of his words.
Maybe Ienobu was trying to tip the shogun into his grave. Sano was so tired he could barely think straight.
“I’m so afraid!” The shogun cowered. “What if I should be attacked?”
“Nobody is going to attack you,” Sano said, although an insurrection was a possibility that the government feared. “Nobody knows exactly how vulnerable you are. The number of deaths within the regime is being kept secret.”
Even as the shogun looked relieved, he lamented, “The court astronomer just told me that the cosmos is displeased about something. He read it in the constellations. He says they say the earthquake was sent as a message.” His eyes were round and shiny with terror. “There will be more trouble, I just know it!” He toppled onto the dais, writhed in his quilt like a silkworm in its cocoon, and groaned. “I’m so miserable, I feel a sick spell coming on!”
Astrology was serious business. A dictator must look to the stars for explanations for natural disasters and other calamities. He must heed their warnings, which were interpreted by his astronomer, that his regime was out of harmony with the cosmos. Sano knew this and felt alarmed himself, but his patience snapped like a stretched rope frayed down to its last thread. After fifteen years of listening to the shogun whine, of catering to him, of enduring insults and death threats, the shogun’s reaction was too much. After seeing the devastation wrought by the earthquake, after toiling to pick up the pieces, Sano felt ready to explode. He opened his mouth to tell the shogun to stop acting like a baby and take responsibility for leading his country through this crisis.
The shogun pointed a shaky finger at Sano and cried, “You always bring me bad news! I’m sick of bad news! Go and fetch me some that’s good!”
“You’d better go.” Ienobu was watching Sano with interest, as if he could read Sano’s thoughts. “Why not take a tour of inspection around the city?”
“Yes!” The shogun latched onto the idea with frantic zeal. “Begin at once!”
Sano came to his senses. The heat of his anger faded into cold realization of what he’d almost done-cast aside honor, offended the shogun beyond reparation, and doomed himself, his family, and all his close associates to death. Shaken by his close call, Sano went.
2
Dressed in armor tunics and padded coats, Sano and his troops rode on horseback out of Edo Castle’s main gate. Logs supported the guardhouse above it. A temporary bridge made of planks spanned the moat, whose embankment was riddled with cracks as wide as a man’s hand. Laborers used ropes, pulleys, and muscle to haul up stones from the crumbled walls and guard towers that had fallen into the water. Sano inhaled freedom along with the dust and smoke in the air. Even though he didn’t have time for a tour of inspection, he was glad to leave the castle for the first time in days. Maybe it would do his spirits good.
Then again, maybe not.
The avenue outside the castle was crowded with people who held out their hands and pleaded for alms. They weren’t only the usual beggars, monks, and nuns; they were artisans and other workers who’d lost their livelihoods when the earthquake had shut down businesses and destroyed the houses where many among the lower classes had been employed as servants. Sano’s attendants tossed coins, but the ranks of the poor had swelled so much; Sano couldn’t help everyone. He entered the district where the daimyo — feudal lords who governed the provinces- owned huge estates. Long sections of the walls decorated with black-and-white geometric tile patterns had fallen. Barracks and mansions were reduced to debris piles and cracked foundations. Some estates had burned down. Tents made of oiled paper and cloth, hung on bamboo poles or wooden beams, served as quarters for the daimyo. Not even their enormous wealth could restore their homes anytime soon. Their troops cleared away wreckage. Scraping noises and crashes deafened Sano. The amount of work it would take to restore the city, Sano’s mind could barely fathom.
A lone samurai came riding toward Sano. It was Hirata, his chief retainer, who’d taken over Sano’s former post as top investigator for the shogun. He wore a simple cloak, kimono, and trousers. His hair was shaved at the crown and pulled back in a topknot, the customary style for samurai, the same as Sano and his other men. Hirata’s two swords, mark of the warrior class, jutted at his waist, but he never wore armor. Sano marveled at how much Hirata, in his late thirties, had changed from the boyish, awkward fellow he’d been when he’d first entered Sano’s service. Hirata was all lean, sinewy muscle and unnatural grace. That and his confident, keen-eyed aspect were a result of his years spent studying the mystic martial arts. He was the top fighter in Edo.
“Where have you been?” Sano asked.
“Searching for people trapped inside collapsed houses.” Hirata turned his mount and rode beside Sano.
Sano looked askance at Hirata. Hirata had frequently been absent, without permission, during the past year, since he’d met three fellow disciples of the man who’d taught him the mystic martial arts. Instead of investigating crimes himself, Hirata often had his detectives cover for him. He spent so little time with Sano that he was Sano’s chief retainer in title only. Hirata always had good excuses, but Sano had the distinct, uneasy feeling that they weren’t true.
Sano didn’t know what was going on with Hirata, but he didn’t like it. “Have you found anyone alive?”
“Not in the past few days. Just bodies,” Hirata said.
Although Sano had every right to demand a true account of Hirata’s actions and order Hirata to attend to his duties and punish him if he neglected them, Sano didn’t. They were more than master and retainer; they were old, close friends, and Sano owed Hirata his life. Hirata had once taken a blade meant for Sano and almost died. Sano wasn’t the kind of master who would take that for granted. He would have to confront Hirata eventually, but now, when there were so many more important problems to address, wasn’t the time.
“Where are you going?” Hirata asked.
“On a tour of inspection. The shogun wants me to bring him some good news.”
Sano and Hirata looked around at the ruins. Expressionless, they looked at each other. Then they burst out laughing. Finding good news for the shogun seemed so ludicrously impossible, it was funny. Sano’s men laughed, too, except for Detective Marume.
Humor quickly fled as they rode through the townspeople’s quarters. Survivors picked through leveled neighborhoods, looking for anything salvageable. Water-sellers roved, their buckets suspended from poles on their shoulders. The prices they called out were exorbitant, but people paid. Sewage and debris clogged the canals, wells had been blocked by shifts in the rock underground, and the system of wooden pipes that channeled water from the hills had been damaged. Clean water was at a premium.
