Brushing the hair from his sweating brow, he said, “When I kill you, I’ll have you strung up like a common criminal.”
Daigoro heard Aki sigh with relief, and his mother too, and more than a few of the guests as well. Shichio snorted at him. “Be gone from this house by sundown,” the peacock said, proclaiming it as if it were an edict, “or I will have everyone here executed for treason.” On his way to the gate he spared a sneer for Daigoro’s mother, and for the infant Lord Yasuda in her arms. “My congratulations to the lucky couple. A lunatic and an infant! I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”
Then he stormed away, and it was as if the sun had come out from behind heavy clouds. The mood was instantly lighter; a cool breeze returned where once the air was still.
A chuckling Hideyoshi waddled over to Daigoro, looking for all the world like a shaved chimp in armor. “Nice ploy,” he said under his breath.
“Whatever do you mean, my lord regent?” Daigoro kept his voice low too.
“I reckon I’d have drawn on you.”
Daigoro inclined his head. “Perhaps my lord has a keener eye than some of his generals.”
“Perhaps!” Hideyoshi laughed, baring his sharp, mismatched teeth. “What would have happened if I’d drawn?”
“There are so many uncertainties in combat, my lord regent.”
“Meaning you’re wondering about the reach of my blade,
“A keen eye indeed, my lord regent.”
Hideyoshi laughed again. “The balls on this kid! I swear, give me ten generals like you and I’d invade Korea right this minute. Damn, it’s hot this morning. Come on, walk me through the formalities so we can get down to some drinking.”
Daigoro bowed deeply. “Forgive me, my lord regent. Not a month since I became a
He introduced his mother first, then Akiko, then the grandparents of the little groom, Yasuda Kenbei and his wife, Azami. Daigoro had known them for less than an hour, but his immediate impression was of unwavering seriousness. That was only natural, he supposed; they were wards of their grandson because little Gorobei’s father was a disgrace to the family, killed in a drunken brawl before the baby was even born. Kenbei’s hair was graying, though not nearly so white as his father’s; it looked more like storm clouds than snow, and he had stormy, steely eyes to match. He had twenty years on Azami, yet she was twice as stern, a stout pillar of a woman with forearms as thick as any blacksmith’s. She looked strong enough to punch holes in a wooden barrel.
Perhaps their severity had something to do with the fact that Daigoro had forced them to drag themselves out of bed and ride half the night to marry off their departed son’s newborn. For all of that they looked remarkably genteel, both of them immaculate in twenty shades of green, and they did an admirable job of concealing their ire. When Daigoro saw how awed they were by his conversational tone with the most powerful warlord in Japan, he thought they might even forgive him someday for so thoroughly disturbing their morning.
Everyone in attendance walked through the requisite pleasantries—praise heaped upon House Yasuda’s newest son for the strength of his grip, compliments on the surpassing beauty of the bride, kudos to both houses for choosing such an auspicious day under such auspicious signs and stars—and at last it came to the drinking Hideyoshi longed for so fervently. Daigoro, cheered at the prospect of relaxation for the first time in weeks, treated himself to three nicely chilled flasks within the first hour. He could not decide which pleased him more, the thought of Shichio sulking in some dark, stifled cabin of the regent’s flagship or the promise of a few uninterrupted hours of sitting with no other obligations calling on his time. By the time he finished the third flask he decided it did not matter, and happily ordered a fourth.
Even so, he could not match pace with Hideyoshi, who despite his small stature could drink like a demon. Before the noon meal was halfway finished, the regent was singing boisterously. Daigoro was surprised at how gifted a singer he was, at least as far as drunken warlords went.
When Hideyoshi was drunk enough not to notice, Daigoro took his leave. He and Akiko never made it as far as their bedchamber, opting instead for the top of a sake cask in the cool shady recesses of a storehouse. When they’d reassembled themselves, they marched off quietly and with great decorum to the residence, where they flung each other’s clothes off for a repeat performance.
Afterward, Daigoro could not bring himself to say what he must.
It did not matter; Akiko read his silence as if he’d shouted from a mountaintop. “I know your enemy will kill you if you stay here,” she said. She nestled her naked back against his chest and hugged his arms around her belly. “And me too, and the little one that quickens inside me. But tell me you’ll stay close.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d have me back. I thought you would be angry with me.”
“I am. I was. The next time you plan on sacrificing our marriage, I’d prefer if you asked me about it first.”
“Aki, I had no choice—”
“Yes, you did.” She reached back and pressed a warm fingertip against his lips. She did not need to look back to do it; she knew his body as well as she knew her own. “You could have accepted defeat,” she said. “You could have strayed from your path, from your father’s path; you could have kept our family whole. And perhaps in time I might have learned to respect you again. Don’t mistake me, Daigoro: I’m proud of what you did.”
Daigoro blinked. He could hardly believe his ears. “You are?”
“Of course. My parents are samurai too; I know the path as well as you do.”
Daigoro’s skin prickled; an ice-cold wave rippled over him despite the midday summer air. He hugged Akiko tight, ignoring the pain in his hands, his arms, his legs, pressing his cheek against her ear. For the second time he found himself dumbstruck. He wished for a word that expressed thanks and love and longing, all in the overwhelming measures he felt in that moment.
And for the second time, Akiko heard his silence as if she could read his very thoughts. “Wherever the path leads you, stay close to me,
She pressed her back against him like a stretching cat, a kind of reverse hug, and Daigoro held her close. For the first time in what seemed like years, he felt truly at home.
BOOK TEN
HEISEI ERA, THE YEAR 22
(2010 CE)
59
“Mariko!”
Han had her in a half nelson before she knew it. She still had two fistfuls of long black beard. One of her officers came out of nowhere, holding Joko Daishi by the armpits so that Mariko didn’t have the whole of his body weight hanging from her two hands. Someone else assisted Han and locked down Mariko’s right arm. Mariko was so angry she hardly felt them.
“Easy,” Han said. “Let him go, Mariko. I did enough damage to this case already. We don’t need you drawing police brutality charges to boot.”
That snapped her out of her rage. She released her grip and stepped back, palms outspread in a
