Shinjū

Chapter 29

Yoshiwara loomed ahead of Sano as he galloped along the highway through the dark marshes. Fireworks erupted over the walled compound, fitfully illuminating its rooftops with red, blue, white, and green sparks. Soon he heard shouts and laughter and the rat-a-tat of firecrackers above the pounding of his horse’s hoof-beats.

The horse’s pace slackened. Sano could feel its sides heaving with exertion, but he urged the exhausted beast on. His own breath came and went in gasps through the mouth slit of his mask, as if he’d run the whole distance himself. The wild ride from the daimyo district had taken two hours; now midnight was drawing near. Had the Conspiracy of Twenty-One already begun their attack on the shogun? Did he still have time to find and stop them?

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!”

Sano realized that he could hear them because the bells had stopped ringing. He resisted the buffeting tide of humanity and pushed forward. He had to see-

In a space cleared by the departing crowd, a man lay dead, an arrow through his chest. Sano expelled a long, shaky breath of relief when he saw that it was one of the bodyguards. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi stood amid his remaining men, unhurt but obviously shaken. He pointed at the corpse, then toward the roofs. He scowled. He struck his men with his fists. His feminine costume contrasted sharply with his unladylike fury as he berated his men in angry whispers, probably demanding to know who the assassins were, and how they’d learned of his presence in Yoshiwara. Hands spread in helpless confusion, the guards ventured answers that he cut off with more blows.

Suddenly Lord Niu’s plan became glaringly apparent to Sano. Ignoring the doshin, who had fixed him with a suspicious stare, he hurried toward the shogun. He pushed past everyone who got in his way. The shooting had been just a ploy to scatter the crowd and divert the guards-a prelude to the real attack. He had to warn Tokugawa Tsunayoshi that there were eighteen more assassins yet to come.

“You, there,” the doshin said. He elbowed aside a pair of stumbling drunks and strode up to Sano. “Come over here.”

Oblivious to the danger, Sano looked beyond the shogun toward the far end of the street. Among the fleeing bystanders, he saw three samurai who didn’t appear in any hurry at all. Dressed in plain dark kimonos, with straw hats that shadowed their faces, they hung back and let others pass them. They were separated by some ten paces, with the man in the middle of the street slightly in the lead and the others flanking him. As they neared the shogun’s party, they let the distance between them close and quickened their pace as a unit. The lead man raised his head for a brief look at the rooftops. The lanterns lit his tense young face. Sano recognized Lord Maeda from the secret meeting.

“Your Excellency!” he shouted, hurtling forward. “Behind you. Look out!”

Instead of turning, the shogun and guards stared at him. Lord Maeda was within a few steps of the guard that stood between him and Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. His hand went to the hilt of his sword.

Then, whether because of Sano’s warning or because he’d sensed danger, the guard whirled. Lord Maeda whipped his sword from its scabbard. He swung it sideways and over his head. Before he could bring it down on his victim, the guard had his own weapon unsheathed in his left hand. He sliced a brutal gash across Lord Maeda’s chest. Lord Maeda screamed. His blade sank deep into the man’s neck. Both fell to the ground, mortally wounded.

A new uproar broke loose as people who hadn’t yet left the street ran for safety. Shrill screams came from the women in the pleasure houses. Sano dodged running men. The doshin grabbed his arm.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you know about this?”

Sano ignored him. “Take cover!” he shouted at the shogun. “There are more of them!”

But the time for escape had passed. More dark-robed men appeared out of nowhere. They surrounded the shogun’s party, thwarting the guards’ efforts to hurry their master indoors. Suddenly the street swarmed with darting fighters and flashing blades. Steel rang upon steel. Hoarse cries filled the night. In the midst of the tumult stood Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the military dictator who preferred the genteel arts to the martial, Confucian studies to affairs of state. Unarmed, he cowered behind the cover of his men, a pathetic figure in his rich robes and long wig. His white makeup gave a ghastly comic look to his confused, panic-stricken face.

The doshin let go of Sano and shouted for his assistants as he joined the battle. The guards fought with the brave and deadly expertise befitting top Tokugawa warriors, but the defense was outnumbered two to one. Sano drew his sword and plunged into the melee.

One of Lord Niu’s men rushed at him, sword raised. Sano sidestepped and spun around. He slashed his attacker across the back. The man screamed and fell facedown, dead. Sano felt rather than heard another man coming at him from behind. Dropping to one knee, he pivoted, delivering a low cut that slit the man’s belly and left him lying on the ground near the first. It happened so fast that Sano had no time to think. Years of training had prompted his actions. Now the knowledge that he’d killed for the first time roared through his soul like a hot, fierce wind.

He had done what he’d assumed he never would-fought in the service of his lord. He was a samurai in the truest sense. Fired with excitement and ardor, he leapt to his feet and turned to do battle again. He would save the shogun after all!

One glance around chastened him. The doshin and both assistants had fallen. The bodies of guards and Lord Niu’s men lay crumpled in the street. A member of the conspiracy slashed and stabbed two outsiders who had taken up the fight. Then he joined his three remaining fellows in an advance on the four surviving guards who formed a protective cluster around the shogun. The cluster tightened as the conspirators steadily backed the defense against the stone wall. Blood stained the garments of all the combatants. The best against the best; evenly matched. Then, as Sano hurried to the aid of the Tokugawa forces, he saw a dark-robed figure slip out of a doorway and into the street. The man’s face was turned away, but he walked with a familiar stiff gait.

Lord Niu.

With a cry of agony, one of the guards fell. His absence left a gap in the shogun’s human shield. Before the other men could perceive and fill it, Lord Niu shot forward, unsheathing his sword.

“No!” Heedless of his own safety, Sano threw himself in front of Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. His blade checked Lord Niu’s in a resounding clang.

The glee on Lord Niu’s face turned to fury. His eyes blazed even brighter than usual. In a gesture so quick that Sano didn’t see it, he whisked the mask off Sano’s face with the tip of his blade. He bared his teeth in a savage smile.

“You,” he said. “Still interfering in my affairs. Do you never learn your lesson?”

Paralyzed by sudden terror, Sano could only stare in silence. Lord Niu could have killed him in that same casual stroke. The knowledge destroyed the confidence that his first two victories had given him. Against his will he remembered Lord Niu’s impressive performance in the practice hall. The upraised sword wavered in his hand. He wet his suddenly dry lips and forced himself to speak.

“I, Sano Ichirō, will not let you kill the shogun,” he said in a voice that sounded timorous to his own ears.

Lord Niu laughed outright, a high, demonic cackle that made the hairs rise on Sano’s nape. His nostrils flared as if he could smell Sano’s fear. “You cannot stop me,” he said. “You can only die in the effort. But if you choose, then so be it.” Holding Sano’s gaze, he crouched, poised to spring, sword ready.

As Sano faced Lord Niu, he focused a part of his mind inward, on his spiritual center. He sought the calmness, mental clarity, and inner harmony that directs and empowers a warrior during combat. But he found only chaos and turmoil from which no energy flowed. He couldn’t banish pain, fear, or memory; he couldn’t neutralize the power that these distractions held over him. That essential state of concentration eluded him. Without it, he was just a trained mechanism deprived of a guiding force. He was lost.

Lord Niu struck. His sword whipped across the space between them with an audible hiss.

Sano parried, an instant too late. The blade sliced his left shoulder. Only his instinctive turn sideways kept it from continuing downward across his chest to his heart. Searing pain tore a gasp from his throat. He launched a counterattack, cutting empty air as Lord Niu easily dodged. A spate of blood warmed his skin; his life was pouring from him. The guards, still occupied with Lord Niu’s men, couldn’t help. They didn’t understand that Lord Niu posed a greater threat to their master than all three of the others. But if Sano couldn’t save the shogun, he would at least give him the means to save himself.

He ducked as Lord Niu’s blade sang in a circle over his head. His grazed scalp burned and tingled. With his left hand, he pulled his short sword free of its scabbard. The movement worsened the pain in his shoulder; black dots stippled his vision. For an awful moment, he thought he would faint. Blindly he flung the sword backward, shouting, “Here, Your Excellency!”

He had no time to see if the shogun had caught it. The whistling arc of Lord Niu’s blade cut at him again and again. It battered his own sword, making two strikes for every one of his. He escaped mortal injury only by letting Lord Niu drive him away from the man he must protect.

Out of desperation, he resorted to verbal attack. “Your mother is dead,” he shouted at Lord Niu. “She killed herself tonight, when she learned you were a traitor!”

Lord Niu gave no sign that he’d heard. His burning eyes stared straight through Sano toward glory.

Sano tried another tack. “You won’t get away with this. Even if you kill me and kill the shogun, you’ll never get out of Edo alive!”

With Lord Niu everywhere around him at once, Sano never saw the stroke that knocked the sword out of his hand. He automatically grabbed for the short weapon he’d given to the shogun. His terror mounted when he realized his mistake. He dashed backward, casting quick glances at the ground. Where was his fallen sword?

Lord Niu sped after him. Only a slight limp betrayed his handicap as he jumped over bodies. His features had gone taut with determination; he flourished his sword with incredible power.

Too late Sano saw the doshin’s body sprawled in his path. His foot struck it. He fell, landing hard on top of the dead man. His hands scrambled in a futile effort to right himself and to grab the sword that lay just beyond his reach.

Lord Niu stood over him. “You’re a formidable nuisance, Sano-san,” he said between rapid breaths, “but one that I need worry about no longer. Farewell, my enemy.” Slowly and deliberately, he raised his sword high.

Sano saw his death in Lord Niu’s glowing eyes, in the shiny steel blade. Then, as he prepared to meet it with a samurai’s stoic courage, his right hand grasped a hard metal wand. Two prongs protruded above its hilt. Not his sword, but a jitte, the parrying weapon of the police.

As soon as he recognized it, something happened inside him. Fear vanished; all distractions faded to insignificance. The jitte: symbol of law and order against anarchy and chaos; right against wrong; truth against deception; the good in him versus the evil in Lord Niu. These thoughts flicked through his mind with lightning speed. A sunburst of wordless comprehension lit him. Power rushed from the weapon and into his body. In aligning himself with all that was moral and righteous, he found strength and courage. His fragmented center coalesced and began to radiate energy. Now, in the space of an instant, he faced his destiny.

With an ear-splitting shriek, Lord Niu brought his sword slashing down in a diagonal arc. At the same moment, Sano swung the jitte across his body. It met Lord Niu’s blow in a clash that sent pain shooting up his arm. The hook caught the blade just short of his throat. Sano thrust sideways, using Lord Niu’s surprise and momentum to throw his opponent off balance. Lord Niu stumbled. Before he could recover and free his sword, Sano jerked the jitte away and brought it around full circle to crack against the side of Lord Niu’s face. Lord Niu went down hard. Sano could tell that this great swordsman had no training in jittejutsu. His confidence soared as he realized that his own limited experience gave him a small advantage. This expertise, combined with his newfound power, could win him this battle. He leaped to his feet.

Then he saw he’d misjudged the angle of the blow, the force required to kill, or his opponent’s determination. Lord Niu righted himself with great agility. His broken jaw distorting his face into a ferocious, lopsided leer, he glared at Sano with undiminished fury. He lunged, his flashing blade whitening the air.

Sano’s left arm was virtually useless, and his right began to tire under the force of the repeated blows. Lord Niu gave him no time to recover his own sword. But his perception sharpened until he reached a state of extraordinary mental clarity that he’d never before attained.

He acted without conscious thought, anticipating and countering Lord Niu’s moves with his own. Although he kept his attention riveted on his opponent, he was simultaneously aware of everything in and around him. The battles still raged. He saw-without watching-a guard slice the throats of two men in rapid succession. Pain existed; he couldn’t forget O-hisa, Raiden, Tsunehiko, Wisteria, his father, or his loathing for this man who had driven his mother to murder and suicide. But memory, emotion, and physical sensation simply merged with the oneness of his inner self. They fed his strength, inspired his judgment.

Moving with increasing aggressiveness, he used the other edge he had over Lord Niu-mobility. First swooping near and then bounding away, he forced Lord Niu to follow him. He jabbed Lord Niu’s torso again and again with the point of the jitte. He paid for his extra risks when Lord Niu’s blade sliced his forearms and cheek, but the added pain became another source of power and knowledge. Suddenly he grasped the central truth about his opponent: Lord Niu wanted to kill, but he also wanted to die. The two desires balanced each other. That was the real reason why he wanted to assassinate the shogun, and the reason he’d chosen to attack in a place from which there was little chance for escape.

Backhanding a blow to his opponent’s good leg, Sano knocked Lord Niu to his knees. He felt the balance between the young man’s kill-wish and death-wish shift for an instant. His twisted face contorted further in agony, Lord Niu paused before rising-just long enough for Sano to shift the jitte to his left hand, crouch, and rise again with his long sword in his right. A heady surge of elation erupted inside him. He tasted victory.

Lord Niu swung again. Sano parried with the jitte and caught the blade. He gave the jitte a sharp wrench. Lord Niu’s sword snapped at the hilt. The long blade whirled away. Lord Niu froze. He looked first at his broken sword, then at Sano. Their eyes met for a moment that lasted an eternity. Sano saw hatred, anger, and fear in Lord Niu’s. Then resignation.

Flinging away the jitte, Sano gripped his sword in both hands. He swung it around and upward. Pain screamed in his left shoulder. He screamed, too, in triumph. With all his strength, he sliced downward at Lord Niu’s head. Steel met flesh and bone as his blade cleaved Lord Niu’s skull from crown to brow.

Sano stood motionless for a moment, his hands still locked around the hilt of his sword. His energy abruptly ceased to flow. Like a banked fire, it flickered in the depths of his center, then died. The heightened clarity of perception left him. His surroundings lost color and life. Only a moment after leaving his exalted spiritual state, he could hardly remember what it had felt like. He was empty, numb.

Then the world and its cares came rushing back to fill the void.

He stared at his fallen enemy. Lord Niu lay on his back, legs bent, still clutching his sword. Blood and gore oozed around the blade embedded in his skull and pooled under his head. Death had extinguished the evil light in his eyes. His face looked strangely innocent and peaceful in its final repose.

Sano released the sword. He stumbled backward. Fully conscious now of the throbbing pain in his shoulder and a debilitating weakness in the rest of his body, he sank to his knees. He forced his eyes away from Lord Niu and looked around.

Corpses lay strewn over the blood-spattered ground. All of the Twenty-One, it appeared, and all of the police. A surprising number of other samurai who’d joined the battle, including the armored guards from the gate. Revelers trampled during the stampede. His horse, and another belonging to one of the Tokugawa men. But the shogun and two surviving bodyguards stood a short distance away, watching him. Except for the excited murmurs of spectators who watched from the windows, the street was silent.

Sano closed his eyes against the carnage. It’s over, he thought as a weary sense of completion spread through his mind like a soporific drug. He collapsed to the ground. Through a thickening cloud of pain and dizziness, he was dimly aware of the shogun’s men loading him onto a litter, covering him with a blanket; of the tramp of their feet as they conveyed him out of Yoshiwara and down a dark road; of the immense star-flecked sky above him. He fought to stay alert so that he could explain to the shogun all that had led up to the assassination attempt, and the reason for his own presence. But waves of blackness lapped at his mind. Half-conscious, he dreamed.

He was dead. Pallbearers were carrying his body to a blazing funeral pyre.

“Please,” he whispered. He couldn’t die without telling his story and finally having someone believe him.

“Rest now, talk later,” a gruff voice ordered.

Jolted out of his nightmare, Sano looked down the steep road at what he’d mistaken for a funeral pyre. It was a boat, bobbing on the black river beside the Yoshiwara dock, its cabin decked with glowing lanterns and its masts flying a banner emblazoned with the Tokugawa crest. The litter tipped beneath Sano as the men carried him aboard. He groaned when they slid him onto soft cushions in a small, bright compartment. He saw Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s anxious face hovering over him, heard a voice ordering the boatmen to cast off. Someone cut away his garments and dabbed his wounds with something that burned and stung. He closed his eyes again.

Merciful unconsciousness descended as the boat bore him down the river toward Edo.