Kill the Shogun

CHAPTER 5

Kaze made his way through the bustling streets of Edo. Unlike people in the country villages and castle towns he was used to, the Edokko pushed back the night by flooding the streets with the cheery glow of paper lanterns. Shops stayed open and peddlers with small stands occupied likely corners, selling various tidbits of food or cheap sakè to the rushing people. Adults and children of all ages still crowded the streets.

As he walked, he constantly scanned the faces of the young children. After three years, it was a habit with him.

This night the crowd was especially active, as news of the assassination attempt spread through the city like the shocks from one of the periodic earthquakes. Groups of people clumped together to share rumors and news, breaking apart and re-forming in new combinations to take the same stories and circulate them in endless permutations.

Everyone knew that Ieyasu-sama had escaped death by the smallest of margins. Lord Nakamura, who was standing right beside him, had been killed instead. The shot was fired from a great distance, from the nearest yagura fire watchtower, and the lookout had been found in the tower with his throat cut. To these basic facts, countless flourishes were added.

One man claimed the blood had been drained from the yagura watchman and probably drunk by the assassins. Another claimed that a flash of divine light had been seen, illuminating Ieyasu just seconds before the shot was fired. This showed it was the Gods who diverted the musket ball and saved Ieyasu’s life. Still another claimed that he was a former musketeer, and that the distance between the tower and the unfinished wall was too great for a musket shot, proving that the shot actually came from within the unfinished castle, not from without. He hinted darkly that this was evidence of a conspiracy among Ieyasu’s own bodyguards. Numerous other variations on the facts were heard as the Edokko hashed and rehashed the incident.

In a city consumed by the attempted assassination, Kaze was perhaps the inhabitant with the least interest. He had gone to the inspection to see Lord Okubo, the man he hated above all others in this life. Okubo and Kaze had been boyhood rivals. As young men, Kaze had bested Okubo and had given him the limp he still carried. Later, Okubo had used treachery to destroy Kaze’s Lord, kill and dishonor his Lady, and kidnap the child Kaze sought.

Mingling with the crowd at the inspection site, pretending to be a street entertainer, Kaze had noticed a spark of recognition in the eyes of the guard officer maintaining control of the crowd. He had left before the shot was fired. He had spent the day on business of his own, searching the area to the west of the castle, but he heard of the failed assassination attempt from excited citizens almost immediately. He was surprised at how fast the news of the attempt had rolled through the city.

A self-contained man by nature, he found that for some reason he actually enjoyed the bustle of this city. There was something infectious about the Edokko’s energy, curiosity, and general optimism that, after years of solitary dedication to an arduous task, was a tonic that Kaze didn’t know he needed.

For almost three years, Kaze had searched for the daughter of his former Lord and Lady. The child would be nine years old now, and Kaze knew that she had been sent from Kamakura to Edo. Kaze even knew where she had been sent. Edo Yukaku Kobanaya, “Little Flower Whorehouse Edo.”

The implications of her destination were not lost on Kaze. Prostitutes were usually initiated into their trade at fourteen or fifteen. Marriages were sometimes arranged at this age, and a girl was considered a woman. Perhaps at nine the child he was looking for would be used as a servant in the house, helping with the cleaning and cooking until she could be initiated into the house’s business. But Kaze also knew there were men, unnatural men, who took pleasure in despoiling children. From the name of the house, Kaze was afraid the Little Flower Whorehouse would be a place that catered to such appetites.

Knowing the place he was looking for and finding it were two different things. Edo was a large city, with new streets and businesses appearing daily. There was no directory of the city. Perhaps the guard captains in each district would know the businesses in their section, but, as a wanted man, Kaze could not go to them. Instead, he had taken a disguise that would allow him to wander any street in the city, so he could visit each district and find out if any resident knew of the Little Flower Whorehouse.

His choice of what kind of entertainment to provide was easy. He had played with tops as a boy, and it was no great trick to combine a few tops with his skill at handling a sword. Thus he became a street entertainer, with sword and tops tucked into a deep hemp bag that he carried over his shoulder.

Edo was full of entertainers. They filled every busy thoroughfare and also wandered the side streets. They did juggling, puppet shows for children, acrobatics, or spun tales and stories. Even in the part of the city occupied by the great nobles near the new castle of Edo, street entertainers could be found plying their trade to the servants and household workers of the great Lords.

His particular choice also had an added advantage. He could carry a sword as part of his paraphernalia, but not reveal he was a samurai. As a wanted man, the authorities were looking for him in the guise of a samurai. In Edo he was in the heart of his enemy’s stronghold, so he had to be as discreet as possible. To a samurai, all heimin, commoners, were to some extent invisible, so Kaze wanted to be mistaken for a heimin.

Kaze had even cultivated a normal walk, instead of a samurai’s walk, as part of his disguise. As a samurai, he strode down the street, almost marching. As an expert swordsman, Kaze’s normal walk also had an additional element, which was a peculiar ability to maintain his center of gravity and balance at all times, instantly ready to move to the attack or defense if unexpectedly assaulted. Kaze knew that he could look up a street and instantly tell which samurai had been vigorously trained in the sword and which had not, just by their walk. Kaze didn’t want to have his own walk make it easy for the authorities to spot that he was a samurai.

He was glad that he had successfully evaded capture in the capital city of his enemies. Although he was on a general list of men wanted by the Tokugawas after the battle of Sekigahara, he was happy with the thought that the Tokugawa authorities did not know he was in Edo and that they were not specifically looking for him.

Kaze made his way to the house that had his tiny room. Edo was in the midst of an acute housing shortage, and lodgings were at a premium. Even the daimyo, who were used to being offered accommodations in private houses or large temples, often found themselves squeezed out of their lodgings as higher-ranking daimyo appeared in the capital. The more ambitious daimyo, like Yoshida and Okubo, had received tracts of land from Ieyasu and they were already building large mansions in Edo.

The common people, as they always did, made do with the best they could after the samurai and nobles took what they wanted.

The housing shortage affected everyone. It was not uncommon for an Edokko to find some stranger sleeping in his privy or tucked in the space between houses. The Edokko would simply wake the person up, and the intruder would usually wander away sleepily, often mumbling apologies and making a vague excuse about being drunk or tired.

Kaze knew he was lucky to find a small room tucked upstairs in the eaves of a vegetable merchant’s house. He also knew it made his job of remaining invisible harder. It was easier to fool samurai into thinking he was a heimin than it was to fool the commoners themselves. This was made clear to him the first night he spent at the vegetable merchant’s house.

In addition to his room, his arrangement was to take a morning and evening meal with the household. Kaze didn’t shave his pate like a samurai and his clothes were the traveling clothes worn by commoners of all types, so there was nothing in his outward appearance that made him stand out. Kaze knew his words might betray him, so he was economical with his language around the merchant and his household. What he didn’t initially realize was that his intensive training as a samurai made him stand out in something as simple as eating.

The first night he ate with the household, Kaze noticed the merchant held his soup bowl by placing a hand on its bottom. Kaze grasped his bowl with his thumb and forefinger along the side of the bowl. The merchant took his chopsticks, his hashi, and put the food straight into his mouth. Kaze used the hashi by placing them to the side of his mouth. Kaze’s way of eating was a samurai’s way.

Because the merchant held the bowl cupped in his hand, someone could hit the bottom of the hand and splash hot soup into his face, temporarily leaving him vulnerable to attack. The same was true about the hashi. If he put them directly into his mouth, someone could suddenly hit the ends, driving them down his throat and making him vulnerable. Kaze’s way of eating avoided both possibilities and maintained zanshin, the state of mental alertness that left the samurai instantly ready for a sudden attack.

Kaze realized he was the only one eating like a samurai. He didn’t know if the rest of the household saw these differences, but he resolved to minimize his contact with the household. He thought he could fool samurai into thinking he was a heimin, at least for a little while, but he was sure he could not fool heimin into thinking he was one of them, especially if he lived with them. As a result, he kept himself in isolation at the vegetable merchant’s house, taking his meals alone and keeping contact and conversation to a minimum.

As he entered the merchant’s shop, the merchant’s wife and the woman who helped in the shop were taking in the flat wooden trays used to display the vegetables.

“Konbanwa, good evening,” the wife of the merchant said.

“Konbanwa,” Kaze answered.

“Will you be taking your meal in your room again, or will you join us for dinner?”

“In my room, if it is not too much trouble,” Kaze answered, starting up the steep stairs to his room. “Just tell me when it’s ready and I’ll come down and get it.”

“All right,” the wife responded.

Kaze saw both women looking at him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. He was sure they knew he had once been a samurai and that they pitied him for having tumbled so low, falling even from the precarious status of a ronin to that of a street entertainer. His samurai pride was repelled by the thought of pity, but his duty of finding the girl kept his pride in check. He finished climbing the stairs and went into the small room he had rented.

I’d like to follow him up those stairs,” the merchant’s wife said as she watched Kaze ascend to his room.

“You’d have to make room on the futon for a third, because I’ll be right behind you,” the servant said.

Both women laughed. The wife said, “If my husband knew I had such thoughts, he’d kill me! Still,” she said, looking up the stairs where Kaze had departed, “that is one handsome man. So good-looking, and with such muscles in his arms and shoulders.”

“I’m more interested in another muscle of his,” the servant said.

The wife laughed and slapped the servant’s arm. “You’re bad!”

“I don’t have a husband to worry about. I’ve been sending him signals ever since he showed up here, but he seems so preoccupied that I don’t think he notices.”

“He is very intense,” the wife said. “I also think there’s a sadness to him. I don’t know why.”

“He obviously wasn’t always a street entertainer. Such polite manners; you don’t learn such things on the street.”

“Maybe he’s fallen from some higher station in life,” the wife said.

“Maybe it’s some tragic love affair,” the servant said romantically. “He’s probably trying to forget some woman.”

“I’d like to help him forget! My worthless husband has been spending all his time and money on trying to get rich through gambling.”

The servant knew better than to agree about the worthlessness of the master. It was quite all right for a Japanese to criticize a spouse or child, but quite something else for a stranger to do the same thing, especially if he was a servant in the house.

Kaze knew there were people in the house long before he heard their voices. He slept with his hand on his sword, so he saw no need to act, or even move from the warm comfort of the futon, until he understood what was happening. Finally, one of the talkers raised his voice.

“Where is that worm?” A strange man’s voice.

“I don’t know. I suppose he’s out gambling.” The vegetable merchant’s wife.

“What! He’s gambling somewhere else? He owes my boss money. We want it! How dare he gamble somewhere else, after we’ve given him credit!”

“My husband says your boss doesn’t run an honest game. He says-”

A sharp slap, followed by a yelp of surprise and pain. Kaze quickly got up and shrugged into his kimono. They weren’t killing her, so there was no need to rush down the stairs dressed in just his loincloth and a sword.

“Please don’t hit my mistress!” The servant.

“Keep out of this or you’ll get the same.” A second man’s voice. So there were at least two of them.

“Hey, maybe we should give them both something, just so that bastard understands we’re serious!” A third voice.

“What do you mean?” The second voice again, so perhaps there were only three of them. Kaze, his kimono on, started down the steep stairs.

“Well, they’re no beauties, but they aren’t bad looking. Maybe we should… say, who are you?” The speaker spotted Kaze descending the stairs.

There were three of them. Two had swords, indicating they were ronin. One was the man talking to Kaze. The third man was not carrying a sword, but he towered over the others by a good head and his body was at least twice as wide, and very muscular. He could easily be a wrestler, like the kind who wrestled at the shrines during religious holidays.

“I’m your etiquette teacher,” Kaze announced.

“Etiquette teacher? What kind of stupid thing is that to say?”

Kaze sighed. “See why I’m needed? First you slap okusama, the honorable wife of this house, and now you are rude to me.” He shook his head. As he did so, he was gauging the manner of men he was facing. If he used his sword, he would have a relatively easy task, but he didn’t want to unsheathe his blade. The men had not yet done something that warranted death, and the inconvenience of three bodies would surely draw the attention of the authorities to this house. Kaze preferred to stay anonymous to the Tokugawa guards.

“I suppose I’ll have a lot of work to do,” Kaze said. “After all, rui o motte atsumaru, the same kind always gathers together. All three of you are probably badly in need of a lesson in proper manners.”

“A lesson! Why you-”

Kaze attacked.

Like all samurai, Kaze knew the value of surprise in a fight. In ancient times, samurai would formally introduce themselves before starting a fight. They would recite their lineage and the great deeds of their ancestors. If they had been in notable battles, they would tell their opponent of that, too. Then, after all the lengthy formalities were completed, the fight would finally begin.

Such stilted battle etiquette was long since forgotten, and for good reason. The warlord Nobunaga had defeated an army twelve times larger than his own with a surprise attack, and every warrior understood that striking first was usually a huge advantage. Kaze used this advantage to his benefit.

Keeping his sword in its scabbard, he brought it down on the head of the man he was talking to. With a surprised look, the ronin crumpled to the floor. His companion drew his sword and took a side cut at Kaze’s head. Kaze ducked under the swinging blade and used his scabbard to hit the swordsman right behind the knee, collapsing him on his unconscious companion.

The wrestler had charged as soon as Kaze started his attack. In the cramped confines of the vegetable seller’s house, Kaze didn’t have the room to avoid the man’s charge. The huge body hit his with a bone-jarring shock, lifting him off his feet and driving him against an outside wall. The wrestler put one large hand against Kaze’s chest, pinning him in place. He drew back his other fist and punched at Kaze’s face. Despite having the wind knocked out of him, Kaze remained alert enough to bob his head at the last moment. He felt the wrestler’s fist graze his ear and heard it smash into the wooden wall, splintering the boards as the wrestler punched his fist through the wall. The wrestler tried to draw his fist out, but the splintered wood acted like a cruel trap, jabbing into his wrist and causing him to wince as he fought to extricate his hand.

The tiny pause was all that Kaze needed. He brought his sword scabbard up between the wrestler’s legs. The huge man gave a grunt of pain, and Kaze saw tears filling the man’s eyes. Kaze repeated the maneuver, bringing his scabbard up between the man’s legs with all the strength he could muster. The man’s eyes squinted in pain and the hand that had pinned Kaze to the wall dropped to his groin.

Kaze twisted free of the giant and brought his scabbard down on the back of the wrestler’s head. The wrestler fell heavily to his knees, his trapped hand preventing him from falling all the way to the floor.

Kaze looked at the two ronin and saw that the one he had clipped behind the knee was struggling to get up on one leg, using his drawn sword as a cane. In two quick steps Kaze was next to him. He swept away the man’s sword and used his scabbard to hasten the man’s journey to the floor, clipping him across the neck and shoulder. The man lay in a heap, moaning.

Puffing heavily, trying to get his breath back after the wrestler’s charge, Kaze surveyed his three opponents. One was unconscious and the other two were stunned and in pain. The two women viewed the scene open-mouthed. The merchant’s wife still had a hand to her cheek, where she had been slapped.

Getting his breath back, Kaze said, “If… we … have … to have … more etiquette … lessons, we will… do it outside. Teaching etiquette can be … hard on … the walls of a house.”

Later that night the vegetable merchant came back to his house. The dice had not been kind to him, and he was fretting about how he would ever find the money to pay his mounting gambling debts, now owed to two different gambling bosses in Edo. The late hours for gambling were not compatible with his early rising to buy vegetables, and he wondered if the problem was that he was just showing poor judgment in his bets, instead of a run of bad luck.

His house was on a main street of the district, well situated for its dual role as abode and shop. Earlier, the street had been illuminated by lanterns helping customers find drinking establishments and shops that stayed open late, but except for a single drinking place on the corner, the entire street was now dark, with light coming only from his own house.

The merchant couldn’t imagine his wife staying up late for him. Disgusted with his gambling, she had long since stopped waiting up for him like a dutiful wife, keeping the food and rice warm, to serve him upon his arrival.

As he approached his house, he noticed that some of the light was spilling out from a newly formed hole in the wall. Concerned, he quickened his steps to see what was going on.

“Tadaima! I’m home,” he announced as he slid back the sliding door of his house. He entered the small dirt entryway. The rest of the house was built on a wooden platform, above the ground, and the entry was a place to sit on the platform and take off his hemp sandals. Several heads spun around to look at him as he entered. The only person who didn’t react to his entry was the street entertainer he recently rented the upstairs room to. He sat serenely by a clay hibachi, sipping tea. Next to him was the merchant’s wife and his servant, apparently serving him. The merchant would have been upset by this special favor to the renter, if it wasn’t for the three others in the room.

The three sat with their legs splayed out in front of them in the space the merchant used as his shop when the weather was too bad to display the vegetables outside. They sat in a rough triangle, with their backs together. A length of sturdy hemp rope was wrapped and tied around them, securely keeping them in place.

He recognized them immediately. They were Boss Akinari’s men. Even with them tied securely, the merchant started to quake, and he sat at the edge of the house platform in weakness, temporarily too shaky to take off his sandals.

“How… how…?” he stammered.

The renter looked up from his tea. “How what?” he asked, in a tone that made it seem like it was unusual for the merchant to be stupefied by three men tied up in his house.

“What… what…?”

The renter sighed. “You really must complete a question if you expect us to answer it,” he said.

The merchant sucked in his breath through his teeth, a characteristic gesture when some Japanese are nervous. He said, “What are these men doing here?”

“They came to see you,” the renter said. He put down his teacup and stood up, holding his sword in one hand.

“Where are you going?” the merchant said quickly, a touch of fear in his voice.

“I’m going back to bed. These men came to see you. Now you are here. I suggest you talk to them, because they seem to be here on serious business.” Kaze turned and took a few steps up the stairs. He stopped. “Oh, I suggest you keep them tied until you have completed your discussions with them. You had better make sure that they’re happy with the result of your discussions, because they can play rough.”

“Hey! Samurai!” The big wrestler was addressing Kaze. Kaze thought briefly of denying he was a samurai and decided it would be a rather foolish denial after what he had done to the three toughs.

“What is it?” Kaze asked mildly.

“What’s your name?”

Kaze thought before answering that question, and decided to give the name he had used with the family.

“I’m Matsuyama Kaze.”

“I’m Nobu,” the wrestler said. “I work for Boss Akinari, the biggest gambling boss in this part of town. If you want a job fighting, come talk to me. We can use a man like you. A real fighter, not like these worthless ronin.” The big man gave a shake that moved the two ronin tied to him like dolls.

Because of his size, Kaze had assumed that the wrestler was the muscle for the two ronin. Now he understood that the big man was in charge. He reminded himself of the danger of assumptions, especially ones based on the appearance of people. It could kill you. He smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

Almost as if it were an explanation of why he had offered Kaze a job, Nobu said, “I’ve never been bested in a fight before.”

Kaze nodded, continuing his ascent of the stairs and leaving the merchant to work out an accommodation with the three men tied up on his floor.

In his room, Kaze allowed himself the indulgence of rubbing his ear. It was still hot from the blood rushing to it when the wrestler’s fist grazed it. Kaze had misjudged how much to move because the wrestler had such large hands.

When Kaze was young, he went into the mountains near his home and sought out a renowned Sensei, a teacher, to learn the ways of the sword. During his first lesson on how to avoid blows from the sword, Kaze had nimbly jumped to one side as the Sensei brought the bokken, the wooden practice sword, down in an overhead cut.

Kaze was proud of his ability to dodge the blow, but his Sensei scowled. The teacher held up the wooden sword so the edge was facing Kaze. “How wide is this sword?” he asked.

Kaze showed the width of the bokken by moving his thumb and forefinger a short distance apart.

“That’s right,” the Sensei said. “How far did you jump?”

Kaze put his two hands apart to show the distance.

The Sensei said no more, but Kaze understood the lesson. Economy of movement and judgment were as important as agility. Rubbing his ear, Kaze reflected that while swords were of a consistent width, he must remember that men’s fists were not.