The Shogun's Daughter

4

The first post station on the Tōkaidō-the main highway leading to points west-was situated at the edge of Edo. There, a long line of travelers on foot, horseback, and riding in ox-drawn carts or palanquins and basket chairs carried by bearers inched toward a small building. From inside a window in the building, four officials questioned the travelers one by one.

“Name? Place of residence? Why are you coming to Edo?”

The officials recorded the information in ledgers. Clerks searched the travelers, their baggage, and their vehicles for hidden weapons, secret messages, and other contraband.

Hirata sat astride his horse, twentieth in line. Coarse dark stubble covered his face and his shaved crown. His wrinkled clothes were dirty. His fetid odor of sweat, urine, oily hair, and bad breath disgusted him. His skin itched from flea bites.

During his four months’ absence from Edo, he’d been staying in cheap inns and camping in the woods. He hadn’t bathed in days. He looked like the fugitive he was, and he felt the same anxiety, suspicion, and fear as every other man on the run.

Surveying the people ahead of him, Hirata saw four women decked out in gaudy kimonos and makeup. They flirted with the men near them-peasants driving oxcarts owned by the government and laden with wood, stone, and tiles, and the mounted army troops guarding the carts. Behind Hirata, peasants carried knapsacks; samurai bodyguards escorted merchants accompanied by porters lugging goods and cash boxes. Refugees from the villages destroyed by the tsunami numbered among the people flocking to Edo from all over Japan to make their fortune on the rebuilding boom. Edo was like an open sack, and people were stuffing it full of themselves, their muscle, their wealth, their ambitions, their diseases, and their vices. Hirata didn’t see anyone he recognized. He cast his gaze over the surrounding area.

Beyond the post station rose the arched framework of a new bridge spanning the Nihonbashi River; the old bridge had collapsed during the earthquake. There, carpenters were busy at work. Ferrymen in small boats rowed passengers across the river. A new stable sheltered horses for rent. Porters, palanquin bearers, and basket chair carriers for hire sat in a campground, awaiting customers. New inns were under construction amid tents that served as temporary housing for travelers. When Hirata had left Edo, this area had been a complete ruin. Amazed at the progress made in a short time, he uneasily wondered what else had changed.

He concentrated his attention on the auras of the million people in the city, the energy that all living things emitted. His mystical powers allowed him to perceive the unique aura that each human possessed, that signaled his or her personality, health, and emotions. The landscape of Hirata’s brain vibrated and sizzled with auras. Some belonged to people he knew. His mind shied away from those of his family and his master, whom he’d left on bad terms. Uncertain of his welcome, he yearned for them but dreaded seeing them again. He searched for one particular aura-the conjoined energy of the three men he’d fled Edo to escape.

He didn’t find Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. But that didn’t mean they weren’t near. They, unlike most creatures, could turn their aura on and off at will.

The line moved forward. The gaudy women ahead of Hirata reached the post station. They told the officials, “We’re maids looking for work.”

It was obvious that they were prostitutes. The officials fondled them and made lewd remarks while searching them, then let them pass. Edo needed prostitutes to keep the merchants and workers happy.

Now came Hirata’s turn. When he dismounted outside the window, he recognized the samurai official. “Arai?” It was his chief retainer. “What are you doing here?”

“Hirata-san!” Arai was just as surprised to see Hirata. “I work here.”

“What are you talking about?” Hirata said, dismayed as well as puzzled. He hadn’t wanted to meet anyone he knew while he was so dirty and ill-groomed. “Didn’t I put you in charge of my detective corps before I left town?”

“Yes. But a lot of things have happened since then.” Arai looked as if he hated to be the bearer of bad news. “The shogun got mad because you weren’t around when he wanted you. He took away your post. You’re not his sōsakan-sama anymore.”

Hirata was horrified, even though he’d expected it and knew it was no worse than he deserved. “What am I?”

“You’re still Chamberlain Sano’s chief retainer. Except that Sano isn’t chamberlain anymore. Yanagisawa is. He got the shogun to name Yoshisato as his heir. And he demoted a lot of other people besides Sano.”

“When was this?” Hirata said, appalled.

“Today.”

“What happened to Sano?”

“He’s Chief Rebuilding Magistrate,” Arai said.

“And my detective corps?”

“Disbanded. Your stipend was revoked, and there was no money to support us. A friend of mine got me this post. Other men weren’t so lucky. There are many government positions open because people died during the earthquake, but the regime can’t afford to fill them all. Some of our men are working as laborers and living in the tent camps.”

“Why didn’t they stay at my estate?”

“Your estate was taken away, too.”

Panic seized Hirata. “Where are my wife and children?”

“Sano-san took them in,” Arai said.

Guilt increased Hirata’s dread of seeing his family and Sano. Midori was probably furious because he’d left her and the children homeless. And Hirata had not only forsaken his duty to Sano, he’d stuck Sano with the responsibility for his family. Hirata was tempted to turn around and leave town again, but he couldn’t. Along with scores to settle, he had apologies and amends to make. He might as well start now.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Arai. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Arai said with prompt sincerity.

Hirata could see that although Arai was unhappy with the situation, he bore Hirata no grudge. A master could do whatever he liked, and his retainers must accept it without complaint. That was Bushido. Hirata felt even guiltier: Arai was a better samurai than he.

“May I ask where you’ve been?” Arai asked.

“Traveling around the country.” Hirata couldn’t say, I’ve been running from three men who pretended to be my friends. I discovered they were thieves and murderers. Wherever I went, Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano tracked my aura and followed me. I’ve barely managed to stay one step ahead of them. And I’m terrified because their combat skills are better than mine and I know they’ll find me sooner or later.

Arai frowned, puzzled. “Why did you leave?”

Hirata couldn’t say, Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano tricked me into joining their secret society. They’d sworn him to secrecy about it. They said its purpose was to do magic rituals and fulfill a cosmic destiny for the world. But they lied. Our rituals evoked the ghost of a warlord who promised us supernatural powers. The price we pay for them is helping him destroy his enemy. And his enemy is the Tokugawa regime. I ran away rather than commit treason with Tahara, Deguchi, Kitano, and the ghost. The penalty for treason was death for the traitor, his family, and all his close associates. And Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano would kill Hirata, his family, and Sano if he talked, or if he opposed them. They wanted to bring him back into the fold, against his will.

“I had business to attend to,” Hirata said.

After an uncomfortable silence, Arai said, “I apologize for prying.” Bushido decreed that a master didn’t owe his retainers explanations, but Hirata saw that Arai was hurt by his evasiveness. “Well,” Arai said, “I’d better not keep the other people waiting.” He dipped his writing brush in ink and wrote Hirata’s name in his ledger. The precious bond between master and retainer was severed during that moment. “Why are you coming to Edo?”

Because nowhere is safe from Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. There’s no use running anymore. It’s time to face the consequences of what I’ve done and make things right with my master. “Official business,” Hirata said.

Arai wrote the answer in his ledger and started to gesture Hirata toward a gate built across the highway, where guards eyed the travelers who passed through the open portals into town. “Wait. I just remembered. A samurai who came through yesterday asked about you. His name was-” Arai paged backward through his ledger. “Tahara.”

Dread mounted so high and fast in Hirata that it dizzied him. Tahara was already here. Deguchi and Kitano couldn’t be far away. “Oh? What did this Tahara say?” Hirata asked, trying to sound casual, as if he didn’t know the man.

“He wanted to know if you’d entered Edo. He asked all the officials. We said no.”

But the men had guessed that he would return. They were waiting for him. He had to shut down the secret society and banish the ghost to the netherworld forever before they could make good on their threats, but he didn’t know how. Hirata walked through the gate as if through a portal to hell.