Bundori: A Novel Of Japan

paper, the square mounting board, the rouged face, the odor of incense-all conformed to the standard specified in classic war manuals. Tokugawa Ieyasu himself would have been pleased to receive such a tribute.

“But this only confirms that the killer is a samurai who knows how to prepare a trophy,” Sano said. Morosely he touched the label tied to the pigtail. Then he frowned in surprise when he read the inked characters.

“ ‘Araki Yojiemon’?”

“I understand that war trophies are supposed to bear the dead man’s name,” Dr. Ito said. “Perhaps the killer did not know who Kaibara was, and chose another name rather than leave the label blank.”

“But why this particular one?”

Araki Yojiemon, Sano recalled, had been a vassal of Tokugawa Ieyasu during the country’s Sengoku Jidai-Time of War-more than a hundred years ago. The Araki clan had served the Tokugawa for generations, Yojiemon as a general in the battles Ieyasu had fought for Oda Nobunaga, during that great warlord’s drive to conquer the nation. Sano failed to see any connection between Araki Yojiemon and Kaibara Toju’s murder.

“And if the killer didn’t know who Kaibara was, what would be his motive for murder?” Sano added. “Why kill a total stranger?”

Dr. Ito shrugged, sharing his bafflement. On a hunch, Sano detached the label and tucked it into his sash beside Kaibara’s pouch. He must determine what, if any, significance the label had, and could think of one possible way to do it.

“Have you any advice for me, Ito-san?” he asked.

This, evidently, was the moment the doctor had been waiting for. Beaming in triumph, he said, “What I have is important news for you. And if you make use of it, you may not need advice. Mura?”

He nodded to the eta, who took from a cupboard a large, covered brown ceramic urn. “Sano-san, it is my dubious pleasure to inform you that this unusual murder is not the first of its kind.”

“Not the first? What do you mean? How do you know?” Sano looked at his friend in confusion.

Dr. Ito only smiled and, with a wave of his hand, directed his attention to the eta.

Mura pushed the urn over to the table. With a sharp knife, he scraped off the wax that sealed the lid. He pried up the lid and set it aside. Then, grimacing in distaste, he plunged his hands into the urn’s depths.

Sano gasped when he saw the dripping object that Mura lifted onto the table. Sake, apparently used as a preservative, streamed from a severed male head. An opaque white film clouded the dead man’s eyes; his skin had turned grayish-white. In contrast, the prominent wart on his nose had darkened, and the lips had peeled back to expose yellow, overlapping teeth. His short black hair made only a skimpy pigtail.

“No label.” Sano spoke through a wave of nausea. “I wonder why not?”

But the head, like Kaibara’s, was mounted on a square board, and traces of rouge still adhered to its cheeks. This murder and Kaibara’s were unquestionably the work of the same person.

“When did this happen?” Sano demanded. “Do the police know about it?”

But of course they must. How like Hayashi to withhold information from him! Anger boiled inside Sano.

“The head was brought in by the corpse handlers ten days ago, at my request,” Dr. Ito said. “And I doubt very much whether the police were informed.”

“Why not?” Sano tore his gaze from the gruesome trophy and faced his friend.

Dr. Ito exchanged glances with Mura. “The victim was an eta,” he said.

“Oh. I see.” Enlightenment dispelled Sano’s confusion.

The authorities concerned themselves as little as possible with the outcasts; the police didn’t bother investigating their murders, no matter how unusual. But for Dr. Ito’s intellectual curiosity, the eta’s death would have gone disregarded, along with whatever information it could furnish about the killer. Sano felt a rush of gratitude toward his friend, whose assistance and inspiration grew more valuable to him as their relationship progressed.

“Thank you, Ito-san,” he said.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Dr. Ito feigned bewilderment, but a twinkle in his eye told Sano he understood and appreciated the tribute.

“Mura told me about the murder,” he continued. “The man lived in his settlement. Having an unrealistically high opinion of my expertise, he asked me to help find the killer. But unfortunately, there was nothing I could do except preserve the evidence. Unless… ”

He fixed Sano with a challenging gaze.

“Unless I help.” Sano thoughtfully studied the head. “Maybe I can. If the same person committed both murders, then maybe investigating this one will lead me to the killer.”

At Sano’s request, Mura clipped a lock of the murdered eta’s hair and wrapped it in paper for him to carry to Aoi. Then Sano took his leave of Dr. Ito, elated at the new possibilities that had opened up before him, but at the same time disturbed.

Kaibara’s decapitation wasn’t an isolated incident. The killer had already demonstrated his willingness to kill more than once, for purposes yet unknown, and the Tokugawa bakufu was not his only target.

There was a madman loose in Edo, and how many more lives were at stake?

Chapter 6

A cold spring twilight descended upon the Asakusa temple district in the north of Edo. The rooftops of the shrines and temples curved and peaked against a radiant cerise sky. Bells tolled, their harmonious music winging over the western hills, the river, and the city. In the lanes that crisscrossed the district, paper lanterns glowed from the eaves of inns, shops, and food stalls, where pilgrims flocked, seeking food and shelter after their journeys and prayers. Orange-robed priests filed into the monasteries for their evening rites. Voices and laughter rang out; a cheerful serenity reigned.

Through the rippling tide of humanity strode the Bundori Killer. Barely aware of his surroundings, he ignored the noise, the crowds, the welcoming lights. His fellow men threw him uneasy glances, perhaps frightened by his air of grim purpose. Well, let them look. Let them stand in awe of Lord Oda’s war hero. He headed for the Asakusa Kannon Temple, which shone like an enchanted fortress amid the lanterns that blazed within its grounds. The first two murders had whetted his appetite for more, and made him yearn harder for the past. Soon he would face another battle, and he must pray for victory.

0

In the sweltering confines of his lamplit field tent, Lord Oda Nobunaga paced before the generals summoned to this urgent night meeting.

“My traitorous brother-in-law, Asai, has allied himself with Lord Asakura of Echizen,” he fumed.

During the ten years since the Battle of Okehazama, Oda had risen to the forefront of military power. He had crushed many rivals and gained an important ally, Tokugawa Ieyasu. He’d seized the capital at Kyoto. At times he seemed invincible and his eventual subjugation of the country a certainty. But the news of Asai’s treachery, coming on the eve of his planned assault upon Lord Asakura’s territory, drew murmurs of consternation from Oda’s generals, among whom the Bundori Killer now numbered.

“Asai controls the passes of northern Omi Province,” General Tokugawa Ieyasu said. “He’ll ambush our army there before we can reach Echizen.”

Bravely the Bundori Killer said what needed saying. “Then we must retreat now, so that we may live to triumph later.” As all heads turned toward him, the young upstart, he added, “I will command the rear guard.”

And pray that I can fend off Asai and Asakura long enough for my lord to reach Kyoto safely, even if I must die in the effort.

0

Outside Asakusa Kannon Temple, pilgrims clustered around a huge stone urn full of smoldering incense sticks. Some pilgrims were lame, others diseased. Chanting prayers, they cupped their hands to capture the healing smoke that rose from the vat, applying it to the affected parts of their bodies. The Bundori Killer marched past them to the