been destroyed by the earthquake, and rebuilding it and feeding the dogs was a drain on scarce resources.
“No one is allowed to complain about the law, but they’re free to dislike Priest Ryuko.” Toda gave Sano a speculative look, trying to gauge the state of relations between Sano and the priest. Sano kept quiet. “If Lady Keisho-in dies, Ryuko will lose his temple and his stipend. He could end up an itinerant priest, begging alms along the highway.” Toda smiled with sly relish. “No wonder he’s scared.”
“Could there be another reason?” Sano asked.
Toda looked alert. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, I’m just conjecturing. What’s Ryuko’s financial situation?”
“We’ve heard he’s been spending more than usual.” Toda’s eye watched Sano, bright and curious. “He’s recently taken out big loans from several moneylenders. We haven’t been able to figure out why-he hasn’t built new houses, he doesn’t gamble or go to Yoshiwara or any of the usual things-but he’s deeply in debt.”
Here was evidence that Priest Ryuko, despite his denials, had been paying blackmail to Madam Usugumo. Sano was glad to think he was getting closer to solving the crime, yet he felt disturbed. Ryuko was still a formidable adversary. “How about Minister Ogyu? Has he recently increased his spending?”
“Not that we’re aware of. He hasn’t any debts. But his wife comes from a very wealthy clan, and her dowry was huge.” Toda added, “That’s another reason Ogyu is hard to know: Wealth buys privacy. His retainers handle his finances. He doesn’t employ merchant bankers, who give us the occasional tip.”
Sano felt as if Ogyu were a locked door that he was pounding on. “If you hear anything about him or Priest Ryuko, will you let me know?”
“My pleasure.” Toda sounded sincere, but Sano knew better than to trust him entirely. Toda served everyone and didn’t play favorites. That was how he survived political upheavals. In the past he’d withheld important information from Sano and helped Sano’s enemies. The only reason Sano consulted him was that Toda gave him more dirt than anyone else could.
“And don’t mention this conversation to them,” Sano said. “That’s an order.”
“I’m a paragon of discretion.” Toda smiled and put a finger to his lips.
Sano also knew that Toda wasn’t above defying an order from him or any other government official. Toda was duty-bound only to the shogun, whose regime he was employed to preserve. Betrayal was a risk Sano took every time he consulted Toda.
“I must say it seems odd that you mention Priest Ryuko and Minister Ogyu in the same breath. They move in different circles.” Toda’s one-eyed gaze probed Sano. “One would guess that they’re both suspects in a crime you’re investigating. But, of course, you don’t investigate crimes anymore.”
“Of course,” Sano said evenly. That Toda would see through his subterfuge was another risk he’d taken.
“If you were investigating them, I would offer you some friendly advice,” Toda said. “Beware of Priest Ryuko. When you corner a frightened dog, it bites.”
Having left Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano behind in the forest clearing, Hirata rode at breakneck speed to the edge of town. There he slowed down and looked backward. He didn’t see them following him, but he felt the faint pulse of their aura. They were too close no matter how much distance he put between them and himself. Riding, he felt light-headed from the trance and the potion. He had an obsessive desire to roll up his sleeve and see if the words on his arm had faded. He checked ten times before he reached the main gate of Edo Castle. Each time, the words were still there.
He decided to go home first, because he dreaded seeing Sano. Tahara’s threat accompanied him like a cold shadow licking his heart. When he dismounted from his horse inside his ruined estate, Midori peeked out of the storehouse.
“Thank the gods you’re back! I was so worried about you! Are you all right?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Sano- san is here.”
Now Hirata would have to face Sano before he’d had time to think of what to say. “Could you and the children go somewhere, so we can talk in private?”
Midori looked as if she had more questions, but she took the children away. Sano’s daughter Akiko was with them. Entering his cluttered room, Hirata found Sano kneeling on the floor. Sano’s expression was a mixture of anger, worry, and distrust. He said, “Where have you been?”
Hirata knelt opposite Sano. He owed Sano an honest explanation even if it had to be incomplete. “With my friends Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi.”
“That’s what I thought.” Sano spoke with displeasure. “I don’t suppose you did any investigation on Priest Ryuko or Minister Ogyu.”
“I can do it now,” Hirata said, eager to make up for his absence.
“Never mind,” Sano said coldly. “I’ve already taken care of it myself. What were you and your friends doing?”
A lifetime of following the samurai code of obedience compelled Hirata to answer. Fourteen years’ friendship with Sano required him to tell the truth. Tahara’s threat bound him to silence. “I can’t tell you.”
A frown deepened all the emotions on Sano’s face. “Can’t or won’t?”
Hirata was mute. He’d never felt so at odds with himself, so helpless, or so miserable.
After a long, tense pause, Sano said, “You’ve changed since you met those men.” He shifted position as if he were physically uncomfortable. “There’s something wrong, and it has to do with them. Have they gotten you in some kind of trouble?”
You can’t imagine, Hirata thought glumly.
Sano leaned forward, his coldness warming to apprehension. “If you are in trouble, I wish you would tell me what it is so that I can help you.”
That Sano could be so generous after Hirata had let him down! He thought yearningly of the times he and Sano had faced danger together and prevailed despite odds that had seemed insurmountable. But he must not pit Sano against Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi.
“I can handle it,” Hirata said.
A sigh of exasperation gusted from Sano. He raised his empty hands, then let them fall onto his thighs with a loud clap. “If that’s the way you want it, then we need to come to an understanding.” His manner turned so ominous that Hirata felt the air between them crackle, as if lightning were about to strike. Yet he could also see that Sano hated the words he spoke next.
“I’ve been patient with your absences and your secrecy. I’ve made allowances for you that I wouldn’t make for any of my other retainers.” Sano moved again; his upper body twitched inside his clothes. “But you’ve been taking unfair advantage, and I’ve let you get away with it for too long. It has to stop. I’m ordering you to tell me what’s going on. And if you refuse, then we won’t be able to work together anymore.”
This was the moment Hirata had feared since he joined the secret society. His commitment to them had collided with his loyalty to Sano; he’d compromised the sacred bond between samurai and master, and there was only one way to mend it. The knowledge brought terror but also relief. Hirata must confess and hope that he could avert the consequences.
Before he could speak, Sano frowned, glanced down at his waist, and felt under his sash. He pulled out a small object whose edges had apparently been irritating him and causing his restless movements. It was a wooden prayer tag on a string. Hirata inhaled a sharp breath. He recognized the red sword drawn on the tag. Cold, nauseating horror gripped his stomach.
Sano looked up. Puzzled by the alarm he saw on Hirata’s face, he said, “It’s just a prayer tag. My daughter must have found it and slipped it under my sash, as a joke.”
But Hirata knew that Tahara had planted the tag on Sano, to demonstrate that he could get close enough to kill Sano whenever he wanted. Tahara had somehow arranged for Sano to discover the tag when Hirata was present, as a warning.
Sano tossed the tag on the floor. It landed with the picture of the red sword facing up. “Which will it be? Are you going to tell me, or do we part company?”
Hirata felt an anguish as painful as if his innards were being torn, by Sano in one direction, by the secret society in the other. “I can’t tell you.” He forced the words past the tears swelling in his throat.
Resignation settled over Sano; his eyes darkened with disappointment through which a spark of anger glinted. “Very well, then.”
