Hirata was horrified to learn about the men’s other lies. “Kitano told me that his face had been injured in a drunken brawl. Tahara said that when Deguchi was a child, working as a prostitute, a customer strangled him and damaged his throat, and that’s why he’s mute.”
Fuwa smiled pityingly. “Whatever else they told you, it’s probably not true, either.”
“What happened to Ozuno?”
“He had wounds, too, but they were minor. He was still on his feet.”
“What did he do to you?” Hirata asked, amazed Fuwa had survived.
“Nothing. He said, ‘Whoever you are, get out of here. Don’t tell anyone what happened tonight, and don’t come near me again, or this is what will happen to you.’ He pointed his bloody sword at Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. I got up and ran away as fast as I could.”
“What happened to them?” Hirata couldn’t believe Ozuno had let them live after they’d betrayed him.
“At the time, I figured Ozuno had left them to die. But a few years later, I heard they’d been sighted.” Fuwa explained, “I had given up my dreams of adventure. That night was enough adventure for me. I joined a monastery and took my vows. Then I went wandering. I occasionally met other martial artists on the road. One of them told me he’d seen Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi. I don’t know why, but Ozuno had let them go.”
Maybe he’d had a soft spot in his heart for the men he’d trained and couldn’t bear to kill them, Hirata speculated; or he’d thought they’d learned their lesson.
“One day I ran into them on the street in Miyako. Kitano’s face was all scarred, and Deguchi gestured with his hands instead of speaking, but Tahara looked completely normal, and they all seemed as fit as ever.” Fuwa sounded perplexed. “I don’t know how they did it.”
Hirata did. They’d used the same medicines and mystical healing rituals that had helped him regain his health after his injury. Perhaps Ozuno had even doctored the men.
“When they saw me,” Fuwa said, “they acted as if they didn’t recognize me. I figured they didn’t like being reminded of that night.”
Puzzlement beset Hirata as he thought of their powers, the rituals. “They managed to get hold of the book. I know they did, I’ve seen proof. But how?”
Fuwa looked satisfied, as if a matter he’d been wondering about had been resolved. “I had my suspicions, after what happened next. And after what you just said, I figured it out.”
“What happened next?” Hirata asked anxiously.
“I was curious about what they were up to. So I secretly followed them. All the way to Nara.” That was a city south of Miyako, a sacred center of Buddhism. “I spied on them from outside the inn where they stayed. The next night they rode to a temple. I followed them and waited until they came out, only a few moments. They walked right up to me where I was hiding behind a bush. They’d known all along that I was watching them. Tahara said, ‘Forget you saw us. Leave us alone from now on, or you’ll be sorry.’ Then they rode off. I wanted to know what they’d done, so I stayed put. At dawn I heard a commotion. I went inside the temple and met a servant. I asked what had happened. He said that an old man who’d been staying in the guest cottage had died in the night. I had a bad feeling.”
So did Hirata, who remembered that Ozuno had died at a temple in Nara.
“I asked the servant to let me see the dead man,” Fuwa said. “I went in the cottage, and there in the bed was Ozuno’s body. He was so thin and frail and old compared to the last time I’d seen him. The servant told me he’d been sick.”
Ozuno had died in his sleep of natural causes-or so Hirata had heard. He hadn’t known that Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano had been there.
“Then I noticed a cushion on the bed by his head. There was a wet spot on it. I lifted up Ozuno’s upper lip and looked in his mouth. The skin was broken. And I knew what had happened.”
“They smothered him with the cushion,” Hirata said, his voice hushed by shock.
“That’s what I figured,” Fuwa said. “They waited until they’d recovered from their injuries and built up their strength. By that time Ozuno was sick and weak. Stealing the magic spell book was as easy as taking a toy from a child.”
“They said they inherited the book from Ozuno. But they murdered him to get it!” Even though he’d never trusted them, Hirata couldn’t believe the extent of their lies. What else had they lied about?
“So now you know what I know,” Fuwa said. “What are you going to do?”
32
Crowded into bed with his family, Sano was glad when morning came. The opium had filled his sleep with vivid nightmares of bloody sword battles he’d fought. Masahiro’s place in the bed was empty; he’d gone off to attend the shogun. Akiko said, “Mama, I’m hungry.”
Reiko said, “I’ll get your breakfast,” then peered at Sano in the dim light and saw that he was awake. “How is your head?”
“Not as bad,” Sano said, “but I could use some more of that medicine before I leave.”
Reiko regarded him with concern as she pulled her coat over her night robe and called for a maid to stoke the braziers. “You’re not going after Priest Ryuko?”
“I have to.” Sano sat up. Dizziness washed over him. His head pounded through a wave of nausea. Reiko’s worried face blurred before his eyes.
“But you aren’t well enough, I can tell.” Reiko urged, “Send Detective Marume. Stay home and rest.”
“I’ll feel better if I’m busy,” Sano said. “I can’t just lie here and hope the murder gets solved without me while there’s a civil war brewing.”
“At least lie down until I bring your medicine and your breakfast,” Reiko said as she and Akiko left the room.
Shamed by his frailty, Sano obeyed.
The medicine helped. Soon after he swallowed it, Sano was able to dress and eat, although he still felt shaky. “I’d better start spying on Priest Ryuko before he slips past me.”
“And I’d better begin my trip to Mitake to see Minister Ogyu’s nurse,” Reiko said.
“Here he comes,” Sano whispered to Detective Marume.
From behind a grove of bamboo outside the guesthouse, they watched Priest Ryuko hurry down the steps. He wore a heavy, hooded cloak over his saffron robe. He climbed into a waiting palanquin. The bearers carried him out the gate.
Sano and Marume, dressed in garments without identifying crests and wide-brimmed wicker hats that shaded their faces, followed on horseback at a safe distance. “If Priest Ryuko is going on a journey, where’s his baggage?” Marume asked.
“I don’t see the porters he was trying to hire, either. Maybe he’s not leaving town after all.” Sano hated to think he was wasting time on this surveillance while he could be looking for other leads. “Let’s see what happens.”
As they rode through the passages inside the castle, his horse’s every footfall aggravated his headache. He resisted the temptation to take the opium pills he’d brought, which would dull his mind along with the pain. Priest Ryuko’s bearers walked briskly. Sano and Marume mingled with the soldiers and the workers who thronged the passages. Outside the castle, the crowd of beggars on the streets and the roving squadrons of troops in the daimyo district shielded Sano and Marume from Ryuko’s view. Sano warily eyed the troops. Either Lord Hosokawa hadn’t yet warned the daimyo not to flaunt their armies or they’d chosen to disregard the warning.
Beyond the daimyo district, the crowds thinned. Townspeople crawled over the wreckage of Nihonbashi, picking out wood and paper scraps to burn in their bonfires. The heaps were shrinking. Eventually, all the combustible materials would go up in smoke. Sano and Marume dropped farther behind the palanquin. Past a tent camp, the bearers carried Ryuko to an oasis of houses amid the ruins. Sano and Marume watched from a distance as the priest climbed out of the palanquin. They dismounted and hid their horses behind one of the tall debris piles that dotted the area, which had been an affluent merchant district. Sano’s legs felt weak and wobbly. Taking cover
