Chugo stared, amazed that Matsui could lie with such perfect sincerity. He knew for a fact that the merchant had killed in the distant, if not the recent past. The incident, a culmination of all the offenses Matsui had inflicted upon Chugo’s family, had provided a shattering aftermath for Chugo’s greatest professional triumph.
By age thirty, Chugo had served as gate sentry, patrol and palace guard, squadron commander in both the army and navy- all in preparation for someday assuming his father’s post as captain of the guard-and had just achieved the rank of lieutenant. His first major task: conveying Shogun Tokugawa Iemitsu on a pilgrimage to Zojo Temple.
The huge procession, a series of palanquins carrying the shogun and his party, attended by squadrons of armed guards, had snaked through Edo ’s winding streets. Chugo, as the guards’ superior, rode through the ranks, constantly on the lookout for the slightest breach of security. Proud of the mighty defense he’d planned and now directed, he’d wished General Fujiwara could see him.
He was riding with the advance guard when suddenly he heard shouts. Rushing straight toward the shogun’s palanquin came a ragged, unshaven samurai, waving a sword. Chugo didn’t pause to wonder whether the attacker’s blood lust was due to drink, madness, or anger at the regime. While his troops were still turning to assess the threat, he cut swiftly through their ranks. Before the samurai reached the procession, Chugo intercepted him, sword drawn. One stroke of Chugo’s blade, and the attacker lay dead at his feet.
The procession reached the temple and returned home safely. The next day, the shogun rewarded Chugo’s valor, presenting him with a new sword. Chugo had thought that by risking his life for his lord-a samurai’s ultimate purpose-he’d at last paid adequate tribute to General Fujiwara.
The next day, shocking news swept the city. A rising young merchant had been stabbed to death at his hillside villa. Chugo and his father stood in the guardtower, reading the broadsheet that described an attempted robbery that had turned to murder when the victim surprised the thieves.
Chugo’s father crumpled the paper. “It was no robbery. My sources tell me that Matsui murdered the man, who was his chief competitor.”
That a blood relation could kill for mere financial gain mortified Chugo and detracted from his own noble achievement.
“I shall atone for the disgrace to our clan,” he said, drawing his new sword. “I, unlike my cousin, will prove myself worthy to claim General Fujiwara as an ancestor.”
Now Chugo forced his mind back to the present, and to the man whose moral depravity had inspired his own ambition almost as much as their ancestor had.
“I’m only concerned about the effect that being a murder suspect might have upon my business,” Matsui was saying. “I could suffer a loss of customers, a run on my bank, complete social ruin. And in your circles, even unfounded rumors can cost a man his position.”
How well Chugo knew and feared this terrible disgrace!
Matsui’s jovial smiled returned; he raised his cup. “So come, cousin, let’s make a pledge of silence, for the good of us both. After all, don’t we already have an understanding?”
In a lighter tone, as if to change the subject, he said, “Blood ties are unbreakable. Family connections bind even enemies-especially when they revere the same hero. When such is the case, betrayal is out of the question. Yes?”
So the vulgar creature hadn’t lost all his manners when he revoked his samurai status. In perfectly refined speech, he’d just alluded to the fact that because of shared blood and loyalty to General Fujiwara, each of them would refrain from questioning the other’s innocence. Neither would turn the other in for any crime, even murder.
“Yes,” Chugo agreed grimly. He needed Matsui’s reciprocal discretion, and he had another crucial reason for resisting the urge to kill Matsui: Eliminating one of General Fujiwara’s descendants would only focus
Still, Chugo made a last valiant attempt to reject Matsui’s proposition. “But aren’t you forgetting something? There are two other people who know the secret. What if they tell?”
Matsui frowned, though with less concern than Chugo had expected. “The woman O-tama could be a problem. But the other… ”
For a moment, Chugo saw the specter of Chamberlain Yanagisawa hovering in the room; he knew Matsui did, too.
“I doubt if we need worry about him,” Matsui said. “After all, the secret is more dangerous to him than us. But enough of your pointless stalling, Chugo
Chugo glared at the foul, filthy creature to whom fate and blood so disgracefully bound him. Then he sighed. He lifted his cup and drank, swallowing his anger, hatred, and fear along with Matsui’s excellent sake.
Chapter 25
From the promenade outside Edo Castle, Sano watched Chugo Gichin enter the main gate. Defeat dragged heavily at his spirits as he waited a safe interval, then followed.
He and Hirata hadn’t found a way to see or hear what was going on in the shop, so they’d waited outside and resumed pursuit when Chugo and Matsui emerged. But the imminent closing of the gates left the suspects insufficient time to kill. Chugo had ridden straight back to the castle, and Sano expected that Matsui, too, had gone home. Now Sano returned to his mansion, but only to leave his horse before setting forth on the night’s second mission.
As he walked through the dim, quiet passageways, physical exhaustion hit full force. He hadn’t slept for two days, or eaten since afternoon; his head ached, and his empty stomach burned; his chin hurt where Hirata had hit him. Therefore he found great relief in being safe inside the castle’s walls, where no assassin could reach him. However, survival seemed his only victory in a day fraught with failure.
He’d seen his hopes for a distinguished marriage destroyed. He hadn’t eliminated Chugo or Matsui as suspects, but had failed to gather evidence against them. Tonight’s fiasco had merely tipped the balance more heavily toward Yanagisawa’s guilt.
As Sano made his way toward the Tokugawa ancestral shrine, submerged anger burned through his unhappiness. His upbringing forbade him to rage against the code that formed the parameters of his soul, so he turned his anger on a convenient target: Aoi. Tonight he would find out whether his suspicions about her were valid-and make her pay for misleading him. Unwillingly he remembered their last meeting: her beauty; the yearning he’d experienced and knew she had too. Now fresh desire heated his blood and turned his anger to raw fury at the betrayal of what they’d shared.
Focused inward, Sano belatedly registered the sound of footsteps following him through the passage. They synchronized with his own almost perfectly. When he paused, they ceased until he resumed walking. His extra sense flooded him with alarm that he at first dismissed. Inside the castle, he was safe. He was simply reacting to two days and nights on the alert for an assassin by imagining threats where none existed. Still, his skin tightened; his bones vibrated in unmistakable response to approaching danger. Quickening his pace, Sano glanced over his shoulder. A curve in the stone wall blocked his view. He couldn’t make himself stop and let his follower pass, or turn back and challenge him. He couldn’t overcome the defensive instinct instilled in him by a lifetime of training.
Sano broke into a run. As he tore through around the passage’s winding curves, he heard his pursuers panting between his own labored breaths. Once the hunter himself, he was now the prey. Was this a game of idle castle samurai who sought entertainment by ganging up on a convenient victim whose humiliation-or injury-would bring them no punishment? Or was it connected with his investigation, and the earlier attack on him? He could sense the pursuers’ malice like a pressure current along his nerves.
A checkpoint loomed ahead of him. All hope of aid died when he saw the abandoned gate standing open. Where were the guards? Once past the gate, with his pursuers hard on his heels, Sano made an even more disturbing discovery. The guardhouses that ran along the tops of the walls were dark, vacant. No troops patrolled the passage. He was unprotected, alone with his pursuers.
Sano shot past more deserted checkpoints and open gates, endless lines of empty guardhouses and towers.
