Year of the Demon

merely flanking him, accusing Shichio might be the last thing Daigoro ever did.

He steeled himself, gulped down his sake, and said, “General Shichio sent the assassins, my lord.” Then he waited for Mio’s sword to clear its scabbard.

It didn’t. Mio continued to sip his whiskey. For his part, Hideyoshi grinned, as friendly as ever. “I told you before,” he said, “you’ve impressed me, Okuma-san. Would you like to know how you can tell that I like you?”

“Because you said so, my lord regent?”

“Because I didn’t burn your house down.”

All warmth vanished from Hideyoshi’s face. The smile stayed, though, an eerie, empty, hideous mask. “You’ve got some fire in you, kid. Coming all the way here with only this haggard bodyguard as your retinue? Impressive. But impressing me is one thing. Getting me to turn against one of my own top men is something else entirely.”

“Sir,” Mio blurted, “surely he didn’t mean to—”

“Oh yes, he did. Isn’t that so, Okuma-san? You meant to suggest that General Shichio sent assassins against my will. You thought a show of bravery against overwhelming odds would be enough to talk me into killing him. Isn’t that why you rode all the way here? Alone? Right into the dragon’s den?”

“No, my lord regent,” said Daigoro. “I come to make a truce.”

That brought an honest smile back to Hideyoshi’s face—the smile of a bully, to be sure, but no longer a reptilian facade. “Do you, now?” he said. “And why should I treat with a gnat like you?”

“Because you treated with my father. Because honor demands it.”

“Back to honor!” Hideyoshi laughed and slapped his knee. “You never tire of it, do you? Let me ask you something, Okuma. Why haven’t you killed General Shichio?”

“My lord?”

“You’ve had opportunity. You’ve served us food in your home; your cooks could have poisoned him, neh? Or if that offends your sense of honor, why not kill him here and now? You’re armed. You’re a fine swordsman. If this man is such a threat to your house, why haven’t you separated his head from his shoulders?”

“Because he is your man.”

“So what? Honor is honor, neh? What does it matter who offended you? What does it matter who his friends are? You’re bound to defend your honor anyway, neh? So do it. Cut him down.”

“I’m afraid my lord regent may not understand honor the way I do. When you treated with the united lords of Izu, you treated with my father. That means I am to regard you as my ally. Honor forbids me from crossing an ally.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Even if the ally sends assassins to your house?”

“They were his, not yours, my lord regent. Dismiss General Shichio and I will cut him down on the spot. Otherwise he is your man and the treaty between our houses remains.”

Hideyoshi laughed. Shichio most pointedly did not. He narrowed his eyes at Daigoro and said, “Did I just hear you threaten to kill me?”

“It was no threat. If your master gives me the order, I will cut you in half. If he does not, then I have no course left but to parley.”

“You? Parley with me?” Shichio sneered. “Do tell! Just what would a worm like you have to offer the likes of me?”

“It was you who wrote Soshitake into the Sword Hunt, neh? Koyasan and Tonomine I understood; the regent has enemies there. But you were the one who slipped a third mountain into the edict, neh? In fact, I should not be surprised if the edict delivered to my family’s compound were the only copy to list Soshitake by name.”

It was a guess, an arrow loosed in the dark, but Daigoro could see from the way Shichio’s jaw hardened that his arrow struck the mark dead center. “Little Bear Cub,” Shichio said stiffly, “you will address me with respect or I’ll have your head.”

“You can claim my head whenever you wish. You have no honor; any pretended slight is warrant enough for you. And since there is nothing I can do to change that, I might as well say my piece. You tried to disarm my family, General. But in truth I think you want less than that. House Okuma owns a sword you want—one sword in particular. Is that not so?”

“What if it is?”

“Then in exchange for a written declaration that neither you nor the lord regent will make war against my clan, House Okuma will surrender its Inazuma blade.”

Over his left shoulder Daigoro heard a gasp from General Mio. “No,” Mio whispered. “That sword was your father’s.”

“Whose side are you on?” snapped Shichio.

Mio ignored him. “Think carefully on this, my boy. There must be another way.”

“I stand by my word.” Daigoro said it quickly, decisively. He could not afford to think it over as Mio advised. He had already taken the plunge; there was no room for hesitation.

A sly smile crept across Shichio’s face. “The sword and the monk.”

“The monk is already dead to the world,” Daigoro said. “He will never leave his monastery again. When he dies, I hope his spirit haunts you for the rest of your days, but in this life he is no threat to anyone. And the Inazuma is a onetime offer. Take it now or show me to the door.”

“You presume a great deal, little cub.”

He was right and Daigoro knew it. Shichio could have him killed with no more than a word. He wouldn’t even have to do it here, where fortune might turn against him long enough to see Glorious Victory’s razor-sharp edge find his throat. Shichio had only to wait until Daigoro and Katsushima were safely outside the palace, then order an entire regiment to run them down.

Daigoro had only two things in his favor. The first was greed. He’d seen it before in his brother, whose lust for the Inazuma had killed him. If Shichio were as mad for the blade as Daigoro suspected he was, his need for it would blind him. Even now Shichio’s eyes were fixated on it; perhaps his thoughts were equally fixed, equally immune to distraction.

The second factor in Daigoro’s favor was no more than a gamble, about a man he’d met only once before. Daigoro studied Hideyoshi, trying to read his thoughts, but the regent’s apelike face revealed nothing.

“Done,” Shichio said, distracting Daigoro from his attempt at reading Hideyoshi’s mind. “Jun! Fetch your writing tools.”

A reedy young man appeared in an instant, a tiny table under one arm and a wooden box under the other. In no time at all he deployed his paper, ink block, inkstone, and brush. The reedy man wore neither topknot nor sword, so he was not military, but the fact that Shichio knew his name told Daigoro that he must have ranked highly among the servants. The thought of such a servant brought Tomo’s smiling face to mind. Daigoro wondered how deep the silt layer was on the bottom of the pond. Was it stable enough to support his weight? If so, he could reach Shichio in two steps and remove his head from his skinny peacock neck.

No. Through force of will he pressed his palms into his lap so he would not draw his sword. “On behalf of the Okuma clan,” Daigoro said, and he proceeded to dictate the terms of the truce. The manservant quickly inscribed two copies.

“There,” Shichio said after signing them and affixing his seal. “Give me the sword.”

“I haven’t signed yet,” said Daigoro. “Nor will I, unless the lord regent and General Mio also sign.”

Shichio’s face soured as if he were suddenly seasick. His dark eyes glared at the imposing form of General Mio. No doubt Shichio had been planning betrayal, but as soon as Mio signed the treaty, Daigoro knew his family was safe. Any treachery on Shichio’s part would now malign Mio as well, and Mio was born to the code. He took his honor seriously, and he was in a position to hold Shichio to his word.

The regent’s signature was necessary too, for it was not enough for Daigoro to shield his family against Shichio’s troops. Shichio wielded a mysterious power over Hideyoshi, and though Daigoro could not explain it, his intuition insisted that it would not be hard for Shichio to orchestrate a Toyotomi attack on any target he chose.