“Reiko.”
He flung himself at the wreckage and climbed. His hands gripped splintered beams; slivers pierced his fingers. He crawled over broken planks and jagged tiles that cut his knees. He and his men slid down the other side on a spill of plaster fragments. Clambering to his feet, he swayed. His men moved their lanterns in arcs, illuminating what remained of Saru-waka-cho, Edo’s great dramatic arts center. All the theaters had collapsed except one, some fifty paces down the street.
“They must be in there.” Clinging to the hope that Reiko was still alive, Sano signaled his men to be quiet as they all hurried toward the theater.
Six horses were tied to poles outside that supported vertical banners advertising the last play performed. But there was no sign of Minister Ogyu or his troops. The building leaned toward the street, its sides inward. Posters fallen off the upper stories lay on the ground with the lattice partitions that had once enclosed the entryway. Sano heard shouts coming from beyond the building. The doorway gaped. Flame-light glimmered from within. Drawing their swords, Sano and his men cautiously entered.
The middle of the theater’s roof had fallen in. Debris covered most of the seating area. The space appeared deserted. The light came from a lantern on a stand on the stage, which was furnished like a room in a mansion. There lay a crumpled figure. Sano’s heart seized. He climbed onto the gangway, ran to the figure, and knelt. A steaming red puddle of blood surrounded it. Sano touched wavy hair. He saw a familiar, bruised male face.
“That’s Korin.” Marume crouched beside Sano. “What’s he doing here?”
Sano had no time to think about that. He felt only a fleeting relief at discovering that the corpse wasn’t his wife. “Where is Reiko?”
Shouts came from outside the theater. The night echoed with the sound of running footsteps.
As Reiko ran, her lungs heaved rapid breaths. Her bound hands swung from side to side. It was so dark she couldn’t see where she was going. Ruins hemmed her in like mountain ranges whose valleys the moonlight barely penetrated. Reflected glimmers in puddles were all she could discern of the ground.
Jagged Teeth shouted, “I hear something over there!”
Light flared at the end of the alley. Reiko dove sideways onto a debris pile. She burrowed under boards and lay, holding her breath, while Ogyu’s men stampeded past her. She crawled out and ran, veering around corners. Her lungs couldn’t draw enough air. Her feet were sore, frozen lumps that tripped on themselves; her knees knocked. She paused to rest and get her bearings. Which way was Edo Castle? The familiar landmarks were gone. Panting, Reiko looked up at the sky. She didn’t recognize any constellations.
Footsteps pelted. Shouts came from everywhere. A man raced toward her, waving a lantern, calling, “There she is!”
Turning to flee, Reiko heard someone else yell, “We’ve got her!” and saw two men charging at her from the opposite direction. She ran to the next block and turned the corner. A crushed gate blocked an alley. Reiko crawled through the narrow space between the gate’s portals and roof. She hobbled along the alley, which was strewn with soggy paper lanterns from fallen teahouses.
“Go around! Head her off!” Minister Ogyu’s men shouted.
Reiko emerged onto the main street. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt ready to burst. Fatigue dragged her toward the ground. To her right and left, theaters had collapsed. Directly across the street was one that hadn’t. In front stood six horses and Minister Ogyu. She’d ended up back where she’d started.
Ogyu was looking the other way, listening to his men search for her. Before she could muster the energy to move, her attention drew his. He turned. Their gazes met. Panic infused Reiko with strength. She ran down the street while her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her tied hands unbalanced her, and her legs wobbled. In a rampage, Minister Ogyu charged after her, calling his men. She could hear his heavy footfalls and breathing. His presence gained on her, like flames raking her back. Her frantic energy flagged. In a moment she wouldn’t be able to run anymore.
Steel rasped: Minister Ogyu had drawn his sword.
Reiko uttered a cry of despair.
The cry hit Sano like an arrow that had flown across countless dimensions, through all obstacles, and pierced deep into his spirit.
He burst into the alley that extended alongside the theater. He turned a corner and raced up the main street, his troops following. He saw a figure running toward him through the darkness, heard footsteps and gasps. Reiko burst into the light cast by his men’s lanterns. She lurched and tripped as she ran. Her eyes were wild with terror, her mouth open, her hands clasped as if in prayer.
“Reiko!” Sano was within twenty paces of her when he spied Minister Ogyu behind her. Ogyu ran clutching his sword. His soft body jiggled. His expression married helplessness with resolve. Desperate, Sano tried to run faster. Exhaustion, dizziness, and pain slowed him. Reiko saw him and shouted his name. She stumbled. Ten paces separated them. Sano saw that her wrists were bound. His troops raced ahead of him, but Ogyu caught up with Reiko first.
Ogyu raised his sword and slashed Reiko down her back.
Reiko screamed. Horror widened her eyes. Her body stiffened; her back arched. Her feet sprang off the ground in one last, futile attempt to escape. She fell forward and crashed flat onto the street. A roar of anguish and rage exploded from Sano.
Minister Ogyu staggered to a halt behind Reiko’s body. His face registered dismay as he noticed Sano and the troops. He called, “Help!” His own men came running.
Sano drew his sword and in the same motion sliced Ogyu across the neck. Ogyu’s face contorted, as if to howl, the instant before his head separated from his body. Blood sprayed. Ogyu’s body crumpled. His head landed beside it. Sano barely noticed. Moaning, he knelt beside Reiko.
She lay with her neck twisted and her cheek against the dirty street. Sano frantically tore at her robes, which Ogyu’s blade had slit down her back. Marume held the lantern over Reiko. Warm blood smeared Sano’s fingers. Reiko’s open eyes were blank, her lips parted. She didn’t move. Sano threw back his head and bellowed, “No!”
It didn’t matter that he’d delivered a murderer to justice, that he’d successfully finished an investigation upon which the peace of Japan depended. He’d let his beloved wife die. A huge sob erupted from the depths of his spirit. He was barely aware of his troops fighting Ogyu’s. Grief consumed him, so vast, raw, and agonizing that he felt as if it were rending his body apart from inside.
Reiko’s back twitched under his hand.
A gasp of shock choked off his sob. Sano looked down at Reiko. Her eyes blinked. Murmuring his name, she struggled to sit up. Her movements stretched the slit in her robes, exposing the wound. It was shallow, minor.
Grief transformed into a joy so brilliant that Sano felt as if dawn had prematurely banished the night. He lifted Reiko, hugged her to him, and wept, heedless of Minister Ogyu’s corpse, of the battle raging around them. Reiko rested against Sano, sighed with relief, then squirmed out of his embrace. She muttered, incoherent and distraught, as she jerked at the ropes around her wrists.
Sano broke the ropes, freeing her. “It’s all right now. You’re safe.”
“The baby!” Reiko clutched her stomach.
Confused, Sano said, “What baby?” He looked around at the battle and the ruins, wondering how there could be an infant mixed up in this.
Sano heard Marume laugh for the first time since Fukida’s death. “I think she’s telling you that she’s with child.”
41
Pale sunlight filled the reception room in the guesthouse. The shogun sat on the dais, Masahiro behind him. Sano knelt on the shogun’s left, Ienobu on his right. Sliding doors to the veranda stood open. Two days after Sano’s investigation ended, the weather had turned unseasonably warm. Trees in the garden bristled with buds. Below the dais, the Council of Elders sat along one wall; along the opposite wall were General Isogai and his top army
