Shinju (46 page)

If only Lady and young Lord Niu had given him more details! And if only he dared risk asking for help. But he was still a fugitive. Lady Niu, who might have called off the manhunt, lay dead in the blood-spattered tableau that would forever haunt his memory. Even with her letter and the scroll in his possession, he couldn't approach the magistrate, the police, or the castle guards; he might be killed before he could convince them to send troops to protect Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. With yearning he thought of his father's students and his friend Koemon, all skilled, courageous fighters, and loyal to their teacher's family. Just the allies he needed, and
impossible for him to contact. He couldn't go near his neighborhood, where the
doshin
would be patrolling in case he returned.

As Sano neared Yoshiwara's gate, he saw that it stood wide open and virtually unattended. A group of men lounged to one side of it: the two guards leaning on their spears, and five or six other samurai. All held cups or flasks. Sano slapped the reins and charged past them through the gate.

“Stop!” he heard the guards call. He didn't look back to see if they were following him.

The pleasure quarter exploded around him in a burst of light, noise, and confusion. Thousands of lanterns blazed from the eaves of the buildings along Naka-no-cho. Men on rooftops launched rockets. Smoke from a huge, flaming bonfire down the block made Sano's eyes smart as he tried to steer his mount through the crowds. Yoshiwara seethed with
Setsubun
merrymakers of every description: samurai in full battle dress, peasants wearing nothing but loincloths and shoes, bands of musicians and drummers. Masked faces bobbed below him. The music and shouts merged into one deafening roar of sound. Drunks reeled from side to side, spilling sake and adding more aroma to air already pungent with liquor, urine, and vomit. Some of the
yūjo
had left their cages to mingle with the crowds. Sano had to stop when a parade of them cut across his path. Dressed in their gaudiest silks, the women tittered shrilly as they made mock bows to him. Roasted soybeans crunched under countless pairs of feet. Every establishment was open and full to capacity. Shrieks of laughter issued from teahouses; gay parties sparkled behind the windows of the pleasure houses.

Sano gritted his teeth as he edged around the
yūjo
parade, only to come to a standstill again at a large audience gathered around a juggler. Frantically he scanned the crowd. How in this inferno would he ever find Tokugawa Tsunayoshi and Lord Niu? At least, he consoled himself, the police would never catch him here.

He realized his mistake when he saw a
doshin
standing outside
the teahouse that advertised women's wrestling. Conspicuous because of his everyday work clothes and his unsmiling demeanor, he accosted a samurai coming out of the teahouse and began yelling questions into the bewildered man's face. Nearby, the
doshin
's assistants had detained a mounted samurai. As Sano watched, they dragged their victim from his horse and tore the tiger mask off his face. One held a spear to his neck. The other yanked open his cloak.

Sano turned his horse and forced his way to the opposite side of the street. Both samurai were roughly his own height, build, and age; the mounted one had a brown horse like his. The police were stopping and searching men who fit his description. Toda Ikkyu, doing the job of a good spy, must have reported his visit to the police and told them about the sandal and rope he carried—better proof of his identity than a possibly forged or stolen set of credentials. Sano knew he should get rid of these incriminating items, and the horse. Still, he couldn't throw away any of the evidence that tied the Nius to the murders, any more than he wanted to abandon Wada-
san
's horse. He might yet have a chance to return the horse and use the evidence to clear his own and Raiden's names, to restore his honor, position, and consequently his father's health.

With difficulty, he maneuvered the horse through the crowd and resumed his search. Having read an illustrated version of
The Tale of Genji
, he had an idea of how the shogun would look tonight. The women of that period four hundred years past had worn layers of sashless kimonos—five or six, each a different color, with flowing skirts that dragged on the ground and sleeves that covered their hands. They'd worn their hair long and loose and parted in the middle. But where was the shogun? What was he doing?

Sano tried to put himself in Tokugawa Tsunayoshi's position. As a man eager to shed the burdens of power and fame for one night, where would he go? The elaborate costume suggested that he wanted to mingle with the revelers in the streets and teahouses, protected from enemies or supplicants by a disguise not as easily
penetrated as a simple mask. He could be anywhere, although he wouldn't have come alone. He'd have brought bodyguards with him, possibly dressed in costumes of the same period. With that little to go on, Sano fought his way down the street. He only hoped Lord Niu had no more information about the shogun's plans than he did.

Where were Lord Niu and the other conspirators? In their place, Sano would ambush Tsunayoshi outside the quarter for a quick, neat kill away from all the confusion, and an easy getaway. Yet he dared not try to predict the mad Lord Niu's actions. Neither did he have any idea what disguises the conspirators might be wearing.

Realizing he couldn't cover the whole quarter with any speed, Sano began stopping people he met. He shouted, “Have you seen—” and then described the shogun's party the way he imagined it. The answers he got were varied—

“No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know!” from a drunken merchant.

“Don't be so serious. Come have a drink!” from some rowdy young samurai.

—and largely useless.

Then a pleasure house doorman said, “An old-fashioned lady, you say? Why are you looking for her, when there are so many pretty modern girls here?”

The mention of girls and the sight of the parading
yūjo
reminded Sano of Wisteria. She'd helped him once; maybe she would again. She must have many friends in Yoshiwara who could join in the search, and enough samurai admirers to stand against Lord Niu's men. He started toward the Garden of the Heavenly Palace. Then he spotted another procession of
yūjo
gathered outside a teahouse. Joy and concern flooded him in equal measures as his gaze found the woman at the end.

Except for her distinctive round eyes, he wouldn't have recognized Wisteria. Much thinner and paler, she wore a plain cotton kimono. Beside her swayed a very drunk man. As Sano watched,
he flung an arm around Wisteria, hand groping for her breast. Wisteria's face was frozen in a grimace that barely resembled a smile.

Sano had no time to wonder what had caused the high-ranking beauty to sink to such depths. “Lady Wisteria!” he called.

Somehow he reached her side without trampling anyone. He called her name again.

“Wisteria!” he shouted, lifting his mask for a moment so she could see his face. “Wisteria, do you remember me?”

Her false smile vanished. “You!” she shouted, eyes ablaze with hatred. “I helped you. I gave myself to you. And look what's become of me!”

Her angry gesture encompassed her drab, haggard appearance, her oafish customer, her place at the end of the line. Sano's heart contracted. He had, he recalled now, reported their conversation to Magistrate Ogyu. Ogyu must have ordered her demoted to low-class prostitute and social nonentity so that no one would pay attention to any stories she might tell about Noriyoshi's murder. Another life ruined by his actions. But he couldn't let guilt or pity stop him from doing what he must.

“Lady Wisteria, forgive me. I need your help again. I have to find—”

“Stay away from me!” she shrilled. “You've done enough harm already!”

Shaking free of her customer, she turned and fled. Her small size let her squeeze through narrow openings in the crowd as Sano could not. He had no choice but to let her go.

He turned away hastily when he saw another
doshin
pushing through the crowd toward him. He dismounted and continued down the street, leading the horse. From ground level, he could no longer look down over the crowds, but his new vantage point hid him from his pursuers and let him peer into doorways and open windows. In the teahouses and restaurants he saw many tall, heavy
women that had to be men in disguise, but no one matching the shogun's description.

He rounded a corner into a street barely wide enough for four men to walk side by side. The quarter's outer wall blocked its far end. Brilliant lanterns, strung across the street between the roofs of the houses, danced overhead. The dense crowd brought Sano to an abrupt halt. He stood on his toes and craned his neck. All around him, men celebrated with increasing abandon as the festivities neared their peak. Caged
yūjo
cried out encouragements and invitations. The ground under Sano's feet was slippery with sour-smelling mud. Then he saw a sleek dark head that reached above the others, about thirty paces away. A momentary gap in the crowd gave him a glimpse of a large, homely white face and long, flowing hair. The man-woman smiled and waved to someone. His billowy gold sleeve fell back to reveal layered kimonos underneath: red, green, blue, white.

At the same time as Sano recognized Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the crowd pressed against him. Three samurai, masked but in ordinary clothes, were moving his way, clearing a path ahead of the shogun. Six more bodyguards, three mounted and three on foot, covered their master's back and sides. Sano pushed at the bodies that stood between him and the middle of the street. He had to intercept the shogun before he disappeared into the crowd.

“Stop pushing!” someone yelled, shoving Sano back against a railing.

“Out of the way, out of the way,” called the shogun's bodyguards.

Sano knotted his horse's reins around the railing. Then he wedged himself between two men. The first bodyguard neared him. An elbow knocked his mask askew, and as he righted it, he saw the bodyguard pause and turn his head in response to a call.

A
doshin
appeared beside the guard. They began a conversation that the other two front-runners joined, shouting in one another's
ears because of the crowd noise. Sano couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could guess. The
doshin
was asking or telling them about a certain dangerous fugitive.

Sano continued to work his way forward. At whatever risk to himself, he must use this opportunity to warn the shogun. The Conspiracy of Twenty-One might make their move at any instant.

Just then, a distant boom sounded. A hush fell over the crowd; men paused in the act of speaking, drinking, dancing, walking. Heads lifted in listening anticipation, among them those of the shogun and his party. Another boom followed, then another. Suddenly the night came alive with the clamor of a million gongs and bells, some high-pitched and sweet, others deep and sonorous. A cheer swept the quarter. It was midnight, and the priests in temples all over Edo had begun to exorcise the evil of the Old Year and ring in the good of the New. The peals and booms echoed off the distant hills and rocked the ground. The very air shuddered.

Sano listened with the rest of the crowd, momentarily spellbound as they were by the awe-inspiring music. Then, on the high right edge of his field of vision, he saw a movement. He turned.

A samurai dressed in dark robes, leggings, and mask crept along a roof. As Sano watched, the man knelt and took an arrow from the quiver that hung from his shoulder. He fitted the arrow to his bow and drew back on the string, aiming straight at the shogun.

“Look out, Your Excellency!” Sano shouted, pointing. “There. On the roof!”

His voice was lost in the noise of the bells and gongs. Although he couldn't even hear himself, he kept shouting.

“Your Excellency!”

No one standing farther than three steps away could see him, either. Sano plunged toward his horse, untied the reins, and mounted. He drove the animal against the massed bodies. Standing in the stirrups, he waved and shouted. No one moved. They couldn't. Still the bells and gongs tolled. The shogun kept his rapt
gaze on the sky. Now Sano saw with increasing panic that two more archers had taken up positions on other roofs.

“You! Up there! Stop!” he yelled.

His cry coincided with an instant's lull between peals. Two of the archers kept eyes and bows trained on their target, but the nearest turned toward him. No sooner had Sano guessed his intent than the archer swung his bow around and set free the arrow. It flew at Sano in a blur of speed. He had barely time for a quick intake of breath, and none to dodge. Then his horse screamed, rearing under him. He saw the arrow sticking out of its neck. Blood gushed around the shaft in rhythmic spurts. Sano cried out, trying to steady the squealing, thrashing beast. But the horse lurched and started to fall sideways. As Sano fell with it, he saw the archers on the roof release their arrows. The shogun disappeared as if jerked to the ground from below.

Sudden mass hysteria threw the street into a writhing turmoil. People shoved and kicked, trying to reach safety. Their screams rose over the noise of the bells. Sano landed on bodies already knocked to the ground by his horse's wild convulsions. Feet trampled his chest. He managed to fight his way out from under someone who fell across him, only to receive a jarring kick to his chin. He regained his footing just in time to see two of the shogun's bodyguards pull themselves onto a roof and take up pursuit of the fleeing archers. Others closed protectively around their fallen master, while the rest began fending off the crowds that surrounded them. Dread and a horrible sense of failure gripped Sano. Was the shogun dead?

“Clear the street!” the bodyguards shouted. “Go on, move! Everybody. Now!”

The
doshin
who'd approached them earlier reappeared, wielding his
jitte
as his two assistants swung their clubs. The crowd stampeded toward Naka-no-cho. Shouts and screams filled Sano's ears: “What is it? What happened? Help!”