Year of the Demon

fighting little beanbags. Here, Okuma-sama, switch with me.”

Daigoro handed him the bokken and went to retrieve the little cloth balls. They were filled with dried azuki beans and they were heavier than they appeared. Now they were dirty too, powdered with fine white dust after having been knocked up and down the gravel courtyard for half the morning. Daigoro took the requisite eight paces back and threw the first toss.

Tomo hacked with a big, wide swing. Were it a sword fight, his opponent would have killed him three times over by the time his blow fell. But unlike Daigoro, Tomo actually hit what he aimed for. The little ball flew from the tip of the bokken as swift as an arrow, striking Daigoro squarely in the chest.

“A thousand pardons,” Tomo said, but his boyish laughter betrayed his true feelings.

Daigoro laughed too. “I swear to you, I might actually find some useful sword technique in this game if only I could get the hang of it. Here, let me try again.”

“Not so fast. You owe me two more tosses, sir.”

Tomo hit them both, one in the dirt at Daigoro’s feet, one into Daigoro’s breastbone with a loud smack. He giggled again and they traded weapons, or playthings, or whatever the proper name was for these frustrating contraptions. “What did you say this game was called?”

“Cutting Swallows,” Tomo said. “I can’t believe you’ve never played before. Every boy in the village knows it.”

Yes, but I’m not a villager, Daigoro thought. He did understand the swallow-cutting reference, though. Tsutsui Kosuke, a minor cousin of the Shimojo clan, was renowned for his draw. In addition to his blinding speed, he had a preternatural accuracy the likes of which no one had seen before or since. It was said he’d practiced as a boy by cutting down moths at twilight. By the time he came of age, rumors held that he could cut the wings off a swallow in midflight. That launched him into the firmament. He was a local hero for years, until Tsutsui squared off against Daigoro’s father in the Battle of Mikatagahara. Middle-aged men still sang a drinking song whose refrain ran “Bravely fought the Swallow Cutter, but the Red Bear of Izu was the Swallow Cutter cutter.” Even so, it was Tsutsui who had the children’s game named for him.

Daigoro tried Tomo’s sloppy swinging method, and though he missed the first two balls he clipped the third. “Ha!”

“Well done, sir! You’re getting the knack of it.”

As Daigoro bent to pick up the little bean-filled swallows, he saw Akiko approaching along the shady veranda. “Aki-chan,” he called, “you’ve got to try this.”

“Oh, I don’t know. . . .”

“Come on, you don’t have to be a swordswoman to play—though I must say, anyone who could couple precision like this with proper form would be a dangerous opponent.”

She stood in the shade with her hands folded over her belly. “It’s hot.”

“So we’ll go down for a swim later. Have mercy on me, Aki. For once there isn’t a political crisis on my lap. Let’s have a bit of fun.”

She unfolded her hands and clapped them back down on her belly. “I’d say you’ve had your share of fun already, lover.”

It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. Daigoro looked at her hands, her belly, and then up to her face. Her smile seemed to be held in check, straining to hold back a flashflood of joy. “Do you mean it?” he said.

“Yes.”

“You’re . . . ?”

The smile broadened. “Yes.”

“Tomo!” Daigoro seized him by the shoulders. “I’m going to be a father!”

Tomo giggled and Akiko joined in. Daigoro rushed over and lifted her off the veranda. Miraculously—or because all his sword training had toughened it, or maybe because sheer exhilaration infused it with strength—his lame leg held their weight. Even when he twirled her around, it did not buckle. “Easy, now,” she said, clutching his head to her chest, “easy on your baby’s bedroom.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

He set her down but held her close. Somehow it had never occurred to him that with all the time they spent in bed she might get pregnant. Now he wondered which surprised him more, the fact that she was with child or the fact that he was happy about it. By all rights fatherhood should have been terrifying. He had a family to govern, a province to stabilize, and a mortal enemy whispering in the imperial regent’s ear. His life was a maelstrom, no place to bring a child, and yet he was so giddy his face was actually tingling.

Katsushima came running around the corner of the house, sweat on his brow. As he drew near, Daigoro opened his arms wide. “Katsushima, have you heard? She’s with child!”

“You’ve got visitors, Okuma-sama.”

“Don’t sama me. I’m going to be a father!”

“Yes. How nice. You’ve got visitors.”

“Good, good, everything’s good. Show them in. We’ll pass the sake all around.”

“They’re already in your courtyard. Armed.”

Only then did Daigoro notice how stern Katsushima’s face was. His jaw muscles stood out in his cheeks, and a cold light seemed to glow in his eyes. Out of habit his thumb flicked his katana loose in its sheath, drawing it back in only to loosen it once more.

“Armed? Who?”

“Guess.”

Daigoro nodded and picked up his own swords, which had been lying on the veranda while he was playing games. One day of peace, he thought. Is that too much to ask? And to think I’d been planning on swimming later.

As he rounded the corner, Tomo and Katsushima in tow, he saw a horde of dusty, armored men sweating in the hot sun. They looked as though they’d endured many a forced march to come here. Daigoro put them at no less than half a hundred strong, all wearing twin swords and topknots. Every tenth man wore a tall red banner bearing the kiri flower of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. With the sunlight streaming through them, the banners cast a red glow on the faces of the men in their shadows.

The company stood in formation just inside the front gate. It was not lost on Daigoro that he could not leave his own home except by going through them. Nor was it lost on him that there was only one reason why a guest would enter uninvited and armed. The laws of hospitality were clear. Even the most boorish of brutes knew to announce himself at the door if he did not want to be thought an enemy.

“Patience and caution,” Katsushima said quietly. Hideyoshi’s company was still fifty paces offs, but he kept his voice low all the same. “We’re one wrong word away from a bloodbath.”

“I know,” said Daigoro. He took a deep breath and shortened his strides. There was no blood on these men, so either they hadn’t killed his gate guards or there was a second company outside that had done the fighting. Now that he thought on it, he was certain he’d have heard swordplay even if he was wrapped up in Cutting Swallows or rejoicing with Aki. So there had been no fighting. Whatever this was, the situation was not yet so bad that diplomacy was impossible.

Yet.

And he had a baby on the way. It was a fine day to fend off an invasion.

“Commander,” he said, forcing as much cheer into his voice as possible, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

The company commander had thick eyebrows and a weak chin. His mouth wore a slight but permanent frown thanks to the chin, and between that and his eyebrows he had a perpetually scowling look. He pulled a roll of paper from a bamboo scroll case tethered to his sword belt, keeping his eyes on Daigoro the whole time. “His Eminence the lord regent Toyotomi no Hideyoshi presents you with an edict, sir.”

Sir, Daigoro thought. That was good. This man held him in some esteem. He wasn’t thinking of Daigoro as a target—or at least not solely as a target. Then again, Daigoro supposed, if these were assassins, he would have known by now. They’d have started the killing already.

He looked over the edict, which was not addressed to him or even to the daimyo of Izu, but rather to all of