The Shogun's Daughter (12 page)

Moans of disappointment rose from the crowd. Hirata swam to the pier. People in the crowd pulled him up, handed him his swords, and patted his back as he staggered to the riverbank. Obviously upset because he’d failed to save the injured man, he headed straight to Sano and Marume as if he’d known all along that they were there.

“Where have you been?” Marume demanded.

Sano knew Marume was angry with Hirata for his absence. When Marume looked at Hirata, he didn’t see an old friend; he saw the fellow samurai who’d deserted their master.

Panting from exertion, Hirata slicked water off his face with his hand. His gaze, filled with shame and anguish, met Sano’s.

“Do you think you can just stroll into town and expect Sano-
san
to take you back as if nothing had happened?” Marume said, infuriated because Hirata was ignoring him.

“I owe you an explanation,” Hirata said to Sano.

Sano studied Hirata with distrust, wondering if Hirata meant to tell the truth or fabricate an excuse.

“This ought to be good,” Marume said.

“Can I talk to you alone?” Hirata asked Sano.

“All right.” Sano wanted to give Hirata a chance to regain his trust. Maybe Hirata had a valid reason for desertion. Maybe the bond between retainer and master could be repaired.

Marume shook his head in disapproval. Leaving him, Sano and Hirata walked along the river. They stood side by side on the stone embankment, gazing across the water.

“I’m listening,” Sano said.

Hirata described how Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano, his teacher’s other disciples, had lured him into their secret society. He told Sano about the demonstration Tahara had performed, that had convinced Hirata to join, that had caused the death of Yanagisawa’s son Yoritomo.

Sano turned to gape at Hirata, incredulous. “They killed Yoritomo? By doing such a little thing?”

“You don’t believe me.” Hirata’s expression was both defensive and mournful.

Sano decided Hirata wasn’t lying. Hirata was a terrible liar; he could withhold information, as he’d done for so long, but he couldn’t hide dishonesty. Hirata believed what he was saying. Sano faced the river again, thinking back to that awful scene fifteen months ago, when his investigation of a scandalous murder had led to Yoritomo’s death. It had seemed straightforward at the time. Events had spun out of everyone’s control. Fate had taken its own, inexplicable course.

Or had it?

Sano remembered an uneasy feeling he’d had since then—a suspicion that there was more going on than he could see, hear, or logically deduce. He knew that the mystic martial artists of legend could command supernatural forces. Why not modern-day ones? Sano let himself consider the possibility that Hirata’s friends had somehow caused Yoritomo’s death. If they had, then Sano wasn’t to blame. He could stop feeling guilty.

“Go on,” Sano said.

Hirata told about a magic spell book, a ritual, and a ghost warrior who’d appeared to him in a trance and burned a message onto his arm. He described how the message had vanished after he’d done its bidding.

Rage thunderstruck Sano. “You set Masahiro up?” At the time Sano had thought there was something strange about a run-in that Masahiro had had with Lord Ienobu. Hirata had pulled the strings behind the scenes. “You put my son in danger!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Hirata said, defensive but contrite. “I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

Reining in his temper, Sano said, “Tell me more about this ghost warrior.”

“My friends say he’s the spirit of a warlord who was killed during the Battle of Sekigahara.”

Sano knew that the veil between the human world and the spirit realm was thin. He’d once met a ghost himself. “Tell me more about these friends of yours.”

“Tahara is a retainer to the
daimyo
of Iga Province. He does security work for the government. Kitano is a soldier in Lord Satake’s army. Deguchi is a Buddhist priest in the Zōjō Temple district.”

“And the ghost died heroically on the battlefield. They’re all fine, upstanding citizens. What else?”

Hirata pressed his trembling lips together. His eyes contained an anguish so black that they seemed to drain light from the day. Sano had seen that look on men on their way to the execution ground. “They murdered Ozuno. They stole the magic spell book. The ghost fought against Tokugawa Ieyasu and lost. He wants to avenge his death by destroying the Tokugawa regime. He enlisted Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi to help him, because he’s just disembodied energy and he can’t act by himself. They enlisted me.” Hirata gulped, as if the words he had to say nauseated him. “Destroying the regime is the purpose of our society.”

Here, at last, was the reason for Hirata’s secrecy, the nature of his trouble. Sano’s outrage was so powerful it exploded. “You involved yourself in a treasonous conspiracy!” Grabbing Hirata by the shoulders, Sano shouted, “What were you thinking?”

Hirata bit his lips and blinked. Sano had never raised a hand to his men, but Hirata’s offense pushed him past the point where mere words could adequately express his anger. Sano punched Hirata on the cheek. Hirata staggered; he didn’t hit Sano back. A samurai didn’t strike his master.

“Have you no loyalty to our lord?” Sano punched Hirata’s face again and again. “Have you lost all your respect for your own honor?”

Blood trickled from Hirata’s nose and mouth. Tears mixed with it while he let Sano punish him. Sano was horrified that their friendship had come to this. His urge for violence died. As sapped of energy as if he’d gone ten rounds in combat practice and lost every one, Sano sat down on the embankment. Hirata sat a few paces away. He held his sleeve to his bleeding mouth and nose. Sano looked at his hand. His knuckles were bruised, nicked by Hirata’s teeth, and bloody. His anger turned hard and cold.

“When did you find out the purpose of the secret society?” he asked.

“Four months ago,” Hirata said in a muffled voice.

“Meaning, you didn’t know what the society was all about before you joined.”

Hirata nodded miserably. “If I had, I never would have gone along with Tahara and Kitano and Deguchi.”

The excuse thawed Sano’s anger only a little. “Shouldn’t you have taken the trouble to find out before you got mixed up with them?”

“I guess I trusted them,” Hirata said sheepishly.

Even as Sano deplored Hirata’s judgment, he realized the error in his own. Studying the mystic martial arts hadn’t changed Hirata as much as Sano had thought. It had given Hirata expert combat skills and deep spiritual experiences and knowledge of the supernatural world, and Sano had misinterpreted that as wisdom and maturity. But underneath, Hirata was the same simple, naïve, impulsive youth he’d been when he’d entered Sano’s service fourteen years ago.

“How could you be so stupid?” Sano shook his head, regretting his mistake as well as Hirata’s. He should have known that the mystic martial arts, and the opportunities and temptations that came with them, were too much for Hirata to handle.

“I knew Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi were dangerous. I thought that if I joined their society I would have some control over it.” Hirata paused, then admitted, “I wanted the knowledge they were offering.”

Sano had to admit that his own motives weren’t so noble. He hadn’t complained when Hirata had gone off with Ozuno to study the mystic martial arts. He’d been glad Hirata had found hope after he’d been crippled by a terrible injury when he’d taken a blade meant for Sano. Beset by guilt over Hirata’s suffering, Sano hadn’t wanted to think about whether the mystic martial arts would really be good for Hirata. He’d only been glad when they’d made Hirata stronger than ever and he didn’t have to feel guilty anymore. As a master, Sano didn’t owe his retainers anything, but as a friend, he should have tried to protect Hirata.

“Why did this ghost want you to meddle with Ienobu?” Sano asked.

“I don’t know,” Hirata said, “but he wants Ienobu to be the next shogun.”

Sano wondered what Ienobu would think if he knew a ghost was working on his behalf. “How would making Ienobu the next shogun destroy the Tokugawa regime? And how would pitting Masahiro against him help?”

Hirata shook his head, ashamed and bewildered. “The ghost didn’t explain.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?”

“Because Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano threatened to kill me if I talked.”

Sano threw Hirata a disbelieving glance. “Why did that scare you? You can beat any three men at once. I’ve seen you.”

“Not these three.” Hirata spoke with certainty and despair. “They also threatened to kill you.”

“Don’t make me your excuse for treason,” Sano said. “I can take care of myself.”

“No, you can’t. Tahara has gotten close enough to you to have killed you if he’d wanted to, and you didn’t even notice.” Hirata added, “That’s why I left town—not just to save myself, but to make them chase me instead of attacking you.”

“Why are you telling me all this now?”

“Because I can’t keep secrets from you anymore.” The passion in Hirata’s voice reminded Sano of a young man pleading, fourteen years ago, for the privilege of serving as his retainer. “It’s wrong.”

“I won’t argue with that.” Sano asked, “Why did you come back?”

“It’s time to face up to my mistakes,” Hirata said. “It’s time to make things right.”

“Good,” Sano said. “How?”

They turned toward each other. Hirata said, “I’ll help you fight Yanagisawa.”

“No. I’ll deal with him myself.” Sano could certainly use the help, but he didn’t trust Hirata enough to bring him in on the murder investigation. “What are you going to do about your friends?” The confusion and unhappiness in Hirata’s expression made Sano’s heart sink. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Hirata said bravely.

The breath gusted from Sano. “I’m afraid things have gone too far for that. You’ve entered into a plot against the regime.” He stood and spoke words he’d never thought he would have to say. “I must arrest you and your friends and charge you with treason.”

“No!” Hirata jumped to his feet, thrust out his arms to forestall Sano. “I don’t care if you arrest me and put me to death, I deserve it, but don’t go after my friends! They’ll kill you!”

He seemed truly more concerned about Sano than himself. Sano hated to send Hirata to a trial that would surely end in a guilty verdict and a death sentence, and he had doubts about the wisdom of confronting three men Hirata thought were so dangerous, but he said, “You’ve confessed that you and your friends are parties to treason. My duty is to protect the Tokugawa regime. I have to take action against all of you.”

“Just give me some time,” Hirata begged. “I’ll shut the secret society down. I’ll eliminate Tahara, Deguchi, Kitano, and the ghost. Then I’ll turn myself in.” He clasped his hands. “I promise!”

Sano inhaled a deep breath, facing a dilemma. Bushido required him to uphold the law. Fourteen years of friendship and his huge debt to Hirata demanded mercy. “How much time?”

Hirata exhaled with relief. “A few days. Maybe five?” He sounded as if he would like to ask for more but didn’t dare.

“All right.” Sano thought of the occasions when the shogun had given him a time limit for finishing an investigation. Now he was the one handing down the ultimatum. “Five days.”

12

TAEKO PRESSED HER
back against the wall of a
daimyo
estate and peeked around the corner. She watched Masahiro run up and down the street, searching for her among the crowds. The temple bells had rung the hour twice since she’d run away from him. This was like playing hide-and-seek, but he didn’t look like he was having fun. He looked angry. Tagging after him had only made him like her less.

Eventually he got tired of looking for her. He muttered to himself and stomped away. Taeko didn’t follow him. If she did, he would scold her some more. Then she was sorry she’d let him go. She wasn’t supposed to leave the estate by herself. As long as she’d been following Masahiro she wasn’t exactly disobeying, but she would have to go home alone. Her mother would be furious. Taeko glumly wandered the streets until she neared the gate where she’d met Masahiro.

It was still open, but a soldier loitered outside. What was in there that Masahiro thought was so important? What had he meant when he said he’d lost his witness?

Seven children gathered at the gate. The four girls were about the same age as Taeko, the boys a little older. Curious, Taeko stole up behind them. They were skinny, with tangled hair and dirty faces. Their clothes were ragged, their feet bare. They were orphans, Taeko guessed. There were a lot more orphans since the earthquake. They lived on the streets and begged and did whatever else they could to earn money.

“We’re looking for work,” one of the boys said.

“Come on in.” The sentry called to someone inside the estate, “Take these kids to the housekeeper.”

As they walked in through the gate, Taeko had a bright idea. If she could find a witness for Masahiro, maybe he wouldn’t be mad at her anymore. She followed the children. The guard paid her no attention; he thought she was with them. Once inside the estate, Taeko felt uncertain and afraid. It had buildings under construction, and tents, and workers, and noise, just like at home, but it was so much bigger. And what was a witness? Taeko hoped that if she saw one she would recognize it.

A manservant herded the children to a woman who wore her gray hair scraped into a tight knot and a white apron over an indigo kimono. The housekeeper lined up the children in a row, Taeko at the end. She walked down the row, studying each one. Her chin jutted up toward her nose, which curved down in a hook.

“This lot is worse than the last,” she grumbled to the manservant. “But with the shortage of help since the earthquake, and so much work to be done, I have to take whatever I can get.” She came to Taeko. Taeko bowed; the other children hadn’t. “Have you ever worked in a rich samurai’s house before, little girl?”

Taeko nodded. She helped take care of her little brother and sister. That should count.

“Well, this one has some manners, and she looks clean,” the housekeeper said. “She’ll do. Get rid of the rest.” The manservant led the other children away. The housekeeper said to Taeko, “Come with me.”