Minister Konoe’s influence over him. They won’t want a scandal, or a breach with the Imperial Court. If His Majesty repents, he won’t be punished.”
“Yes, I repent,” cried Emperor Tomohito. “I’ll never be bad again. Just stop, Momo-chan!” Backing away from his cousin, he stumbled, fell, then crawled between pillars toward the door of the temple hall. “Help! Somebody, please!”
As hot waves of panic coursed through him, and his heart pounded with accelerating thuds, Sano recalled a classic ritual practiced by ancient samurai in wartime: kugi goshin-ho, annihilating the forces of evil by evoking the nine magic ideographs. He closed his hands, then released the index fingers, pressing the tips together near his breast.
“Kin! Kin! Kin!” he chanted.
To his relief, he felt a slight relaxing of the tension. The heat in his blood began to subside; his heartbeat slowed.
“I’m not stupid enough to think His Majesty will be forgiven,” Momozono said bitterly. “If I claim that Left Minister Konoe was to blame for the revolt, who will believe me? That’s why I killed him. Can you picture me telling the bakufu that he was planning a coup?” The aura around Momozono brightened; the energy pulsed with quickening intensity. “I’d have been mocked and dismissed.”
“But I believe you. I’ll convince my superiors.” Assailed by Momozono’s invisible force, Sano fell back on his heels. With a huge effort, he brought his fingertips together, gasping, “Sha! Sha! Sha!” Even though the physical relief was minimal, renewed courage flared in him.
“I can see that you’re sincere,” Momozono said, “but if you think your support of my word will save His Majesty, you’re more of an idiot than I am.”
In desperation, Sano argued, “Have you thought about what will happen if you kill me? Without me to persuade the bakufu that His Majesty is innocent, he’ll be condemned for treason. My detectives will come when they hear your scream. They’ll find my corpse, and they’ll catch you. You can’t buy your freedom, or the emperor’s, with my death.”
Momozono’s expression disdained this scenario. “His Majesty will tell the bakufu that the outlaws abducted us from the palace and brought us here. You attacked His Majesty because you thought he was a traitor. I defended him the only way 1 could. It won’t matter that everyone knows I’m a murderer.”
With wordless eloquence, Momozono gestured toward the dark, open space beyond the railing. Below the tall beams that supported the veranda, the cliff dropped off precipitously. No one could survive such a fall. “I’ll be dead before the police can arrest me.”
As his heart pumped currents of panic through him, Sano chanted, “Jin! Jin!” When he tried to form the ideograph, his fingers wouldn’t intertwine and fold. “Please,” he whispered, “have mercy!” His spine gave way, and he crumpled. Momozono’s will constricted his lungs; his heart seemed ready to explode. His ears reverberated; he could barely hear Tomohito shouting, “No, Momo-chan, no!”
“Get out of the way, Your Majesty,” ordered the prince.
Faint scuttling noises impinged on Sano’s last vestiges of consciousness as the emperor crawled away. “Help!” Sano called.
His voice was a dying whisper trapped in his throat. Marume, Fukida, and the Tokugawa troops were far away at the battlefield. Momozono loomed over Sano and began breathing loudly, first in hisses, then wheezes, then huge gulps. Sano felt the last of his strength fade away. The power of kiai paralyzed him. He couldn’t manage the slightest flinch of muscle or fragment of speech.
Momozono’s voracious breaths stopped. He stood immobile, staring at Sano. Currents of energy swirled within the blackness of his eyes. The force radiating from him grew until the night thrummed and the whole cosmos seemed on the brink of shattering. Then Momozono’s mouth opened, stretching so wide that all his teeth showed around the gaping dark hole of his throat. Helpless, Sano watched Momozono inhale a huge breath. As Sano’s thoughts dissolved in a turmoil of pain and terror, he fought desperately to remain lucid. The Way of the Warrior decreed that a samurai must face death with dignified courage, and Sano couldn’t die without a final prayer.
Reiko! I love you! My spirit will watch over you until we are reunited in the netherworld!
The inhalation swelled Momozono’s thin chest as he prepared to release the full force of his power. With stoic tranquillity, Sano resigned himself to the inevitable.
But instead of a deafening scream, Momozono emitted a grunt. The tension in the air snapped like a burst bubble; the vibration ceased. Alarm replaced the wild ferocity in Momozono’s eyes. He staggered forward a step. Then his expression went blank, and he crashed facedown on the veranda. On his back, a red stain spread from a slit in his kimono. Over his lifeless body stood Sano’s savior: Chamberlain Yanagisawa.
Yanagisawa bent at the waist, breathing as hard as if he’d run all the way from the battlefield. The blade of the sword in his hand dripped Prince Momozono’s blood. Sano was overwhelmed with gratitude and relief. Yanagisawa’s complexion was deathly pale between the livid bruises; his body shook with tremors induced by what must have been a fierce struggle to approach and slay the man with the power of kiai. But his face wore a brilliant, sardonic smile.
“You once called me a back stabber,” he said to Sano. “Aren’t you glad I lived up to my reputation?”
36
The day before Sano left Miyako, he and Chamberlain Yanagisawa bid official farewell to the Imperial Court. Obon had ended, and a fresh wind had swept away the bonfire smoke. Clouds diffused the sun’s glare and cast shifting shadows upon the courtyard outside the Purple Dragon Hall. Nobles lined the yard, kneeling still while drums beat a slow, ritual cadence. On this morning two days after the Tokugawa army had quelled the revolt, the Imperial Palace basked in serenity. To Sano, walking behind Yanagisawa as guards, palace functionaries, and Shoshidai Matsudaira escorted them across the courtyard, the scene had the quality of an ancient painting: eternal, untouched by the hand of fortune. Yet Sano knew better.
The procession mounted the steps to the hall, whose raised doors revealed the imperial throne room. Inside, Emperor Tomohito sat in his canopied pavilion. Sano and Yanagisawa knelt on the veranda opposite him, with their escorts flanking them. They bowed in solemn reverence.
Shoshidai Matsudaira said, “The honorable chamberlain and sosakan-sama have come to take their leave of the Imperial Court.” His voice trembled; he looked ill. Yanagisawa had reprimanded him for allowing a conspiracy to foment right under his nose. Soon he would be demoted and another Tokugawa relative put in charge of Miyako.
From his place below the emperor’s throne, Right Minister Ichijo addressed Yanagisawa and Sano: “We thank you for coming and solving the difficult problems of our capital.”
Beneath his courteous manner Sano detected a combination of relief at seeing them go, and suppressed elation. Rumor said that Ichijo’s promotion to the rank of prime minister would soon be announced. He’d achieved his lifelong goal.
“We thank you for your cooperation,” said Yanagisawa, “and regret that we must depart so soon.”
Sano offered his own thanks and regrets, but he guessed that their polite speeches fooled no one.
“I grant you my blessing for a safe journey back to Edo,” said Emperor Tomohito.
All the arrogance had deserted him; his chastened expression lent him a new maturity. Sano predicted a long, peaceful reign for the young sovereign, who had finally learned his place in the world.
While priests chanted an invocation, Sano perceived a vacancy in the palace; there was a quietude formerly broken by hoots, yelps, and frenetic motion. The air seemed charged with the absence of Prince Momozono. Yesterday Sano had issued orders for the prince’s cremation and burial. Perhaps his spirit would find peace at last.
The ceremony drew to a close, and Sano pondered the most dramatic effect wrought by the murder case: the change in Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Yanagisawa had offered no explanation for saving Sano’s life, but Sano hadn’t needed one. The chamberlain had brought Yoriki Hoshina with him when he’d rescued Sano. While Yanagisawa had described the discovery that had sped him to the temple, joy had lit his face as if he’d swallowed the sun. The investigation had made a detective out of him; the battle had turned him into a samurai. Love had redeemed his
