The Nicholas Linnear Novels (121 page)

“Yet he had no clear plan and he, himself, was no military commander. He did not know what to do. Until one night he dreamt of standing near the boughs of a great spreading pine tree, more ancient than any he had ever seen before. There were three ministers of state sitting beneath the boughs, each facing a different direction. On the south side of the tree was a pile of mats. It was the seat of the highest rank.

“Two children appeared before Go-Daigo and told him that nowhere in the land would his safety be assured for long. Yet they bade him sit beneath the tree for a time in the Seat of State.

“When the Emperor awoke, he perceived that the Bodhisattvas Nikkō and Gakkō were attempting to give him a message through the dream. It occurred to him that if he put the character for ‘south’ next to the one for ‘tree’ it created ‘camphor tree.’

“Therefore he called to his Master of Discipline and asked if there were any master warriors close by with the surname of Kusunoki, ‘camphor tree.’ The priest replied that the only warrior Kusunoki that he knew of dwelled in the province of Kawachi in the west.”

“His name was Masashigi Kusunoki, who could trace his ancestral line back to Minister Lord Tachibana no Moroe,” Nicholas said. “The Emperor summoned him and Kusunoki came at once. He became Go-Daigo’s tactical commander and his staunchest supporter. He led the losing side in the Battle of Minato River in 1333, approximately where Kobe is today. At the conclusion of the terrible seven-hour battle he left the field and committed
seppuku
inside a neighboring farmhouse.”

“The nobility of failure, eh, my friend?” Sato sat down on a round stone seat with no back. “But it is incidents such as these—
men
such as Kusunoki—that make up the warp that is the tapestry of our history.”

Sato leaned forward as a bit of wind stirred the folds of his kimono. “Linnear-san, I dreamt last night of the camphorwood tree. The Bodhisattvas were not present but two figures, shrouded in shadow, were there nonetheless. Can you tell me the meaning of this dream, my friend?”

“These are indeed evil times, Sato-san,” Nicholas said carefully. Sato was giving him the opening he needed. But was there a catch? He reviewed the situation once more before continuing. “We—and I include myself because with this merger I have become a part of the
keiretsu
family and, therefore, partly responsible for its survival and prosperity—are beset from within and without.”

Sato nodded. “Yes. The wielder of the
Wu-Shing
and those who would try to wrest the secret of the T-PRAM chip away from you.”

Nicholas waited a beat. “Not quite. In fact, there are just as serious breaches which are right now threatening our merger and the continued stability of the
keiretsu.
”

Noting that Nicholas had not said,
“Your keiretsu,”
Sato said, “Then you must possess knowledge picked up on your brief trip back to America.”

“Yes.” Nicholas nodded. “To put it simply, Sato-san, there is a
muhonnin
, a traitor, within the
keiretsu.
”

Sato went very still. His eyes were steely. They had lost the unfocused glaze from the sakē. “So. And which of your competitors does this
muhonnin
work for?”

“None,” Nicholas said. “Rather the traitor is in the employ of one of
your
, er, competitors. The KGB.”

For once Nicholas could see a distinct reaction play itself across that broad Japanese countenance. Sato lost all color in his face. His hands began to shake so uncontrollably that he was obliged to lace his fingers together.

“The Russians.” His voice was a whisper. But what emotion it contained! “Yes, I see. The Russians would love to get their hands on a T-PRAM prototype.”

“Or then again,” Nicholas said, watching the older man closely, “it could be something else entirely they’re after.”

Sato shrugged his shoulders. “Such as?” Nicholas had his undivided attention.

“Kusunoki was a loyalist. As am I. His emperor asked a great deal of him yet he did it unhesitatingly.” Nicholas was beginning his bargaining. He was not about to release his last bit of information without obtaining the guarantees he needed. “The
Wu-Shing
is a matter of life and death. And as you have said, Sato-san, life is good. I, too, have no wish to see you leave it prematurely.”

He turned and opened the scarred wooden case he had brought with him. Opening the three latches he produced the
dai-katana,
his great longsword, forged almost two hundred years ago. It was thirty inches long.

When Sato saw what was inside his eyes opened wide, moving from the black lacquer scabbard to Nicholas’ face. Silently, then, he slipped off his perch to kneel on the stones before Nicholas. He bowed so low that his forehead touched the ground.

Nicholas returned the honored gesture, said, “My father named this blade
Iss-hōgai,
‘for life.’ It is, as you know, the soul of the
samurai.
”

Carefully, Nicholas picked up the sheathed blade and placed it between them. “My
kami
resides here, Sato-san.” He did not have to tell the older man why he had brought the
dai-katana
back to Japan with him; it was not for show but to use it. “And while the
Wu-Shing
is life and death, this merger between our
kobun
is no less important for the future. I beg you to—”

“The merger! The merger!” Sato exploded. “I am sick to death of thinking about the merger. You have my word that when Nangi-san returns from Hong Kong the merger will be immediately consummated according to the agreement already outlined.”

For a moment Nicholas was so stunned that he forgot what he was about to say next. He had been prepared for debate, not capitulation.

“Then it is settled between us.” Nicholas found that his mouth was dry. “By deed as well as by word.”

Sato unhesitatingly held out his right hand. Nicholas did the same with his left and, using his free hand, tied a length of cord around their wrists. Thus bound together, they put the palms of their free hands over the sword.

Nicholas unbound them. In a moment, Sato said, “Some moments ago you were about to tell me what, other than the Sphynx T-PRAM, this KGB traitor would be after. Or was it merely a ploy with no documentation to back it up?”

“The KGB involvement is real enough,” Nicholas said. “I have firsthand information that cannot be disputed.”

“What do they want then?” Sato said, a bit sharply.

“Tenchi.”

At that moment they both heard movement from inside the house and, turning their heads, saw Akiko, haloed by the inner room light, step down onto the smooth pebbles of the garden in which they knelt.

Returning from her mission in Yoshino to fulfill her last promise to Masashigi Kusunoki, Akiko felt the thrill of fear race through her like a shock of freezing water.

She had been caught totally unaware; no one had seen fit to tell her that Nicholas Linnear was returning so quickly, and now she cursed Koten for not having the common courtesy to tell her that Sato was entertaining a guest.

“Akiko!” Sato jumped up like a puppy seeking its master’s lap. “I did not expect you back until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Auntie was feeling poorly,” she said by rote. “There was no point in my staying longer.”

“You remember Linnear-san. You met at the wedding.”

Akiko lowered her eyes as she advanced across the shining moonlit pebbles. They were so white against the darkness of her shadow as she passed over them. “Of course. I am so sorry about the passing of Tomkin-san. Please accept my condolences.”

For the longest time it seemed as if she did nothing but stare into his shadowed face. She barely paid attention to Sato’s fussing as to drinks and something to eat for her after her long and tiring journey. It occurred to her that her husband wanted to be rid of her; she wondered what it was the two men had been discussing when she had broken in on them.

To Sato’s ire, she sat down on the stone perch he had used earlier in the evening. She wore a brocaded traveling kimono with flights of white herons crossing its dark blue background. Japanese invariably wore their best clothes while traveling. She held the bone handle of a rice-paper
janomegasa
with its point down against the pebbles.

Sato was doing all the talking but it was as if an aura surrounded her and Nicholas, as if they were the only two people left on earth. And inside the overlapping field of their powerful
wa
something was happening, something Akiko could never have anticipated.

She felt giddy, lighter than air. All
hara
seemed to have left her; she could not ground herself and without that centering she was utterly powerless.

She felt the first painful flutterings of panic take wing inside her and decided that she must do something immediately to forestall this loss of the Void. What was happening to her?

The more she stared into that face she had come to know so well, to hate with an almost inhuman passion, the greater her sense of helplessness became. She was spinning out of control. Why? What was he doing to her?

Dizzily she downed the hot sakē Sato had brought her, heard herself ask for another in a thin, strangled voice she could barely recognize. This too she tumbled down her throat, almost choking on it.

Yet she went on watching him, tracing each contour of his head and face as if she were touching him physically. She felt as if she were being embraced and she felt her thighs tremble, her throat constrict. She felt a tingling at the back of her neck as if she were being caressed there and the fine hairs were raised like the whiskers of an animal.

She closed her eyes in an effort to steady herself, but found, instead, that she was compelled to see him again. Her eyes snapped open. He was still there. Sato was still prattling on about Buddha only knew what.

Years raced before her opened eyes like veils parting before a freshening wind. Years of laborious training, obsessive dedication. A heart filled with burned love and from those bitter ashes a thirst for revenge that smoldered and, fanned by hate, had burst into full flame.
Vengeance will be mine.
How often during the painful years of growing up had that one phrase given her the courage to close her eyes and sleep so that she could live another day. Without that phrase to hold to her like a blanket on a frosty night, she might never have survived unto this day.

To become aware of this moment, an arrow piercing her heart. Dear Amida! she cried silently. Now she began to tremble in earnest with the knowledge of what Nicholas Linnear was engendering in her. Wildly her mind sought this avenue and that in order to avoid what she already suspected was an inescapable truth.

Oh, Buddha, she thought, I want him. I want him so much I can’t see straight.

I
KAN LIVED WITHIN THE
pale green and caramel walls of
Fuyajo.
The Castle That Knows No Night had been her home ever since she was eight years old.

That year, so long ago now, had been a time of ill omens and poor crops throughout the countryside. Bow-backed fanners had no money and little hope of making it through to the end of the year.

It is said in Japan that hard times are the best friend of tradition for it is during these periods that the people fall back most heavily on the ways of their ancestors.

And so it was with Dean’s family that year. Her father’s crops were no better than those of his neighbors, which was to say no good at all. It was as if the earth refused to release its nutriments that year.

The first Ikan suspected something serious was amiss was when she returned from the fields with a handful of reeds and saw her mother weeping.

The next morning Ikan was driven from the farm in a dusty, backfiring truck that smelled of cabbage and tomatoes, a small bag filled with the pitifully tiny pile of her possessions, the savior of her family destined for the precincts of the
Yoshiwara.

Like many young girls throughout the ages before her, Ikan was to be sold into prostitution by her family in order to retrieve them from the indignity of bankruptcy.

Yet unlike the Western view, the Japanese view of prostitution was filled with nobility mixed with an odd poignancy. As he did with many other institutions, the Shōgun Ieyasu Tokugawa created the legitimate need for
baishun
, the selling of, as it is known in Japan, spring.

Because he was obsessed with his own power—the only force able to tame the multiple feuds of the regional
daimyō
that had kept feudal Japan in a constant state of civil war for years before his ascendancy—he required that each
daimyō
make a pilgrimage to Edo, now Tokyo, every other year, along with his
samurai
, where they would stay for a year. This
sankinkotaiseido
served two purposes. First, it cut into the
daimyō
’s solidification of his own power in his native
ryochi
and second, the long, often arduous trip helped deplete his coffers of accumulated wealth.

The
daimyō
and the wealthier
samurai
were able to avail themselves of the services of their mistresses. But the poorer
samurai
were forced to turn to prostitutes for, as Ieyasu himself said, prostitution was needed in order to negate the possibility of adultery.

In 1617, a year after the Shōgun’s death, a feudal lord in Edo petitioned the Tokugawa government to allow him to create a sanctioned area within the city for
baishun.
He found a desolate field filled with reeds, hence the name
Yoshiwara.
In the succeeding years, a different character was substituted for “reedy,” and the
Yoshiwara
became known as the happy field.

The original red-light sector was destroyed in a fire and in 1656 was rebuilt in the Asakusa district of Edo, where it remained until April of 1958.

In 1649, Ikan subsequently was taught by her
sensei
, the government declared that all rice grown was subject to confiscation by the Imperial
samurai.
In its place farmers were told they had to subsist on millet.