night.”
The guards fetched the ledger. Sano scanned the list of names and stopped at two. The written characters seemed to fly off the page at him. He felt a thump in his chest as if he’d been punched.
“‘Ishikawa’ and ‘Ejima,’” Hirata read over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
The names joined the descriptions with an audible collision in Sano’s mind. “I know those soldiers.”
He could picture them now, guards on the night shift in his compound. They patrolled together. He had so many retainers that he didn’t know all their names and recognized few as his unless they wore his crest, but these men’s distinctive appearance as a team had registered in his memory.
“They really are mine.”
The revels in the Ginza theater district were in full swing. Playgoers ignored the danger of fire and crowded into buildings whose fronts displayed colorful posters that advertised the dramas and actors. Singing, shouts, laughter, and applause emanated from the buildings. Drums pulsed and music drifted toward the outskirts of the district, where Yoritomo galloped on horseback down a quiet side street. He wore a cloak that concealed his face. He reined his mount to a stop outside a teahouse with red lanterns hanging from its eaves and hurried inside.
A few customers played cards and drank wine. They had blue tattoos that covered their arms, legs, and necks like a second skin, mark of the gangsters. The maid eyed Yoritomo and pointed toward a door at the back.
In the living quarters behind the teahouse, Yanagisawa paced the floor and smoked his tobacco pipe. He recognized his son’s footsteps coming down the passage and muttered, “At last!” He flung open the door and pulled Yoritomo into the room. “What took you so long?”
“I’m sorry to make you wait, Father,” Yoritomo said, abashed.
“What’s the matter-did you have something more important to do than answer my call of distress?”
“I had a hard time getting away from the shogun. He’s nervous lately, with all the trouble going on. He clings to me like a barnacle.” Yoritomo hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
Yanagisawa regretted losing his temper. “No, I’m the one who should apologize.” His son was the only person who could make him regret bad behavior. “Forgive me. I’m a bit on edge after what I went through today. It’s not your fault.”
“What happened?” Yoritomo asked worriedly.
Yanagisawa explained about his close call at the temple. “After Captain Nagasaka and his troops left, the priests pulled me out of the well and smuggled me into Edo inside a trunk. They bribed the checkpoint guards not to search it.” Yanagisawa flexed his muscles, which were stiff from the uncomfortable ride. “I disguised myself as a beggar and I walked here.”
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Yoritomo said with relief.
“My accommodations are a far cry from the guest cottage at the temple.” Yanagisawa’s gaze scorned the cramped room with its bare walls, the worn straw mattress on the dirty floor.
“Couldn’t you use one of your other hiding places?”
Yanagisawa had them all over town-in mansions, hillside villas, and daimyo estates that belonged to his allies. “I couldn’t get to them. Lord Matsudaira has doubled his efforts to capture rebels. The city is full of troops stopping and questioning people. I couldn’t take the chance of running into someone else who would recognize me. I had to go to ground as quickly as possible.”
“Are they taking good care of you here?” Yoritomo asked.
“Good enough.” Yanagisawa’s hosts had brought him food, drink, new clothes, and weapons. “One thing I have to say for gangsters: They can get you whatever you need, as long as you have the money to pay.” Which Yanagisawa did, because he’d escaped the temple with his emergency stash of gold. “But I’m stuck in this Pit.”
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Tell me the news,” Yanagisawa said.
“I’m happy to report that maybe you won’t have to hide much longer.” Yoritomo described how the tutor had incriminated Sano’s mother, the shogun had sent her to Edo Jail, and Sano had a mere two more days to exonerate her before she and he were both put to death. He said with a mixture of triumph and regret, “Chamberlain Sano is on his way down.”
“That’s not good enough. Even if Sano fails, I may not survive very long.”
The sound of horses’ hooves pounding up the street outside froze Yanagisawa and Yoritomo. They waited in fear that troops had come to conduct a door-to-door search for rebels. The noise passed and faded. They let out their breath.
“Sano isn’t my biggest problem,” Yanagisawa said.
“Lord Matsudaira has gained allies at Sano’s expense,” Yoritomo agreed.
“Destroying Sano is necessary, but it won’t put me back on top,” Yanagisawa said. “It’s Lord Matsudaira’s turn for a little trouble.”
“Those soldiers must have been recruited to work for Lord Matsudaira,” Sano said as he and Hirata rode through the passages inside Edo Castle. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. If my allies are defecting, why not my troops?”
Still, he was shocked and saddened. Lord Matsudaira had gained ground even within his personal army, within his household. How many more men had his rival suborned?
“They should commit seppuku,” Hirata said. That was the usual punishment for a samurai who betrayed his master.
Sano nodded. “First I’ll hear what Ishikawa and Ejima have to say for themselves.”
When he arrived at his compound, he was disconcerted to find a crowd gathered outside the gate, some thirty Tokugawa soldiers. “What’s going on?” he asked.
They met his angry bewilderment with stolid gazes: Their superior had deserted his camp and they no longer need answer to Sano. The gate opened, and out marched General Isogai. “Greetings, Honorable Chamberlain,” he said with insolent courtesy.
“What is this?” Jumping off his horse, Sano demanded, “Why were you trespassing on my property?”
“Not trespassing.” General Isogai’s smile reminded Sano that he, as the supreme commander of the Tokugawa army, had free run anywhere in Japan, and his fealty to Sano had ended. “But since you ask, I came to make an arrest.”
Behind him emerged more troops, leading Ishikawa and Ejima. The two men looked terrified but defiant. Ishikawa’s jutting lower teeth gnawed his upper lip. Ejima held his stooped shoulders as high as he could. When they caught sight of Sano, their eyes wouldn’t meet his. Sano and Hirata glanced at each other in alarmed confusion.
“Why are you arresting my men?” Sano asked.
“For the murder of Egen the tutor,” General Isogai said.
Sano sensed a disastrous picture forming, but its details were as fragmented and unclear as a reflection in wind-rippled water. “How did you know about the murder? How do you know whether they had anything to do with it or not?”
“We got a tip.”
“Don’t tell me,” Hirata said. “The tip was anonymous.”
General Isogai shrugged.
“Anonymous tips are going around like a plague lately,” Sano said as the picture came into focus. Someone had framed him for Egen’s murder, then sent the police to the scene and pointed General Isogai to the men who’d supposedly acted on his behalf. Sano doubted it was Ishikawa and Ejima, two youths not bright enough to mastermind such a scheme. “You can’t arrest my men on the basis of hearsay.”
“I can arrest whomever I want,” General Isogai said, backed by the shogun’s authority. “Besides, your men have admitted they killed Egen on your orders. We didn’t even have to torture them into confessing.”
Sano was shocked: They’d committed the biggest violation of honor that a samurai could and given themselves up without a fight. He pushed past the troops that surrounded Ishikawa and Ejima and faced them angrily.
“You know I never ordered you to kill anyone. Why did you say I did? How could you betray me?” he said, even more hurt than enraged.
