“And you have it still? May I see it?” Too excited to remain seated, Sano stood.
“Yes. I’ll get it for you.” Madam Shimizu rose, but instead of entering the house, she walked to the big cherry tree and reached inside a hole in its gnarled trunk. “This was once our special hiding place,” she said wistfully. “My husband would leave gifts and poems for me to find… ” Blinking her tears away, she extracted a long, thin bundle wrapped in oiled silk, which she offered to Sano. “I didn’t want this in the house… it’s a wicked thing. So I put it here, where no one would ever look.”
Sano stood perfectly still, the bundle balanced on his palms. Here at last was the physical evidence he’d sought. Prolonging both anticipation and dread, he didn’t open it at once. To which suspect would the sword lead him? Then, unable to delay any longer, he undid the wrappings.
Dried blood encrusted the thin, curved blade of the short sword: Madam Shimizu hadn’t bothered to clean it. Upon first examination, Sano felt a twinge of disappointment. The hilt was modern and ordinary, bound in black silk braid in an overlapping crisscrossed pattern with gold inlays in the diamond-shaped gaps. There were no identifying crests or other marks on either hilt or blade. Then Sano noticed the flat guard that separated them.
Made of black cast iron, this was shaped like the upper part of a human skull. The blade passed through the vertical nose opening; two smaller holes on either side formed empty eye sockets. The jawline sported five gold teeth. The artist’s symbolic rendition of death was skillfully executed, grotesquely beautiful-and familiar. Sano’s heart leapt as he remembered faded characters on a crumbling scrolclass="underline"
Wielding his two swords, which had guards wrought in the image of death’s-heads, the great General Fujiwara cut down Endō’s soldiers, leaving carnage in his wake…
Grasping the sword’s hilt in one hand and the cloth-wrapped blade in the other, Sano forced them apart. There, on the exposed tang of the blade, he saw incised the tiny characters that confirmed this as General Fujiwara’s sword. One of the matched pair he’d used against the Araki and Endō clans, handed down through the generations to his worthiest descendant-the Bundori Killer.
The sword’s various possibilities flicked through Sano’s mind. He might find witnesses who could establish the ownership of the unique, distinctive weapon. This evidence, combined with Madam Shimizu’s signed statement, would be enough to convict Matsui or Chūgo in the magistrate’s court. Such an investigation, however, might take longer than the two days left to Sano. And what if the killer was Chamberlain Yanagisawa, to whom the sword would most probably have passed, from General Fujiwara’s eldest son?
Yanagisawa would never go to trial if neither shogun nor bakufu accepted his guilt. Sano would be executed as a traitor for acting against Yanagisawa, who would survive to kill and corrupt unchecked. Sano would bring everlasting disgrace instead of honor upon his family name, and lose his chance to slay the evil spirit.
Then an intriguing alternative occurred to Sano. The killer, whoever he was, would want his ancestor’s precious, incriminating sword back-Chūgo or Matsui to avoid punishment, Yanagisawa to avoid scandal and bother. The killer seemed to know it was Madam Shimizu who had seen him, and to fear she would report him. Sano saw a way to use this knowledge, and the circumstances at hand.
“I need a favor from you,” he said to Madam Shimizu as he rewrapped the sword.
Her plump chin trembled, and she looked at him fearfully. “Haven’t I given you enough already? Why must I do you a favor?”
“Because if you don’t, I won’t keep silent about your trip to the temple and what you saw there. I’ll make you testify at the killer’s trial, and everyone-including your husband-will know what you did.”
Even as he pressured Madam Shimizu, Sano hated his treatment of this miserable, helpless woman. With sudden frightening insight, he realized that this was how one rose within the bakufu. You used your knowledge and position to bend others to your will, to achieve your purposes. Until one day you ended up like Chamberlain Yanagisawa… Sano’s quest had brought him this understanding of his enemy, and of how much similarity existed between them. Now he swallowed his self-disgust, telling himself that his goal justified the means-as Yanagisawa probably did while he dominated the shogun, ruined lives, and squandered treasury funds.
“I see I have no choice but to honor your wishes,” Madam Shimizu was saying.
Then, to Sano’s surprise, she lifted her chin and smiled. She laid a hand on his arm, gazing coquettishly up at him. A strange mixture of fear and gratitude filled her eyes. Sano saw with pity that she thought he wanted her to service him sexually. Furthermore, she welcomed his request as proof of her desirability, and to assuage the pain of her husband’s rejection.
“I’m sorry, Madam Shimizu, but I couldn’t force myself on you,” he said gently, putting her hand away from him in feigned regret.
And, while her expression changed from disappointment to surprised alarm, he told her how she could help him deliver the Bundori Killer to justice.
Chapter 32
When he got back to town, Sano found Hirata riding back and forth along the promenade outside the castle gate.
“Sumimasen-I’m sorry to report that I couldn’t follow Chamberlain Yanagisawa because he hasn’t come out,” Hirata said gloomily.
“Never mind. Let’s go.” Sano slapped his horse’s reins.
Hirata hurried to catch up. “Where? Why?”
“We’re going to set a trap for the Bundori Killer.”
They rode through the daimyo district, into Nihonbashi. Sano told Hirata what he’d learned from Madam Shimizu, and about the sword now hidden in his saddlebag. But he couldn’t specify the details of his plan until they’d scouted the location.
Once across the Nihonbashi Bridge, Sano led the way east, then north up the wide firebreak along the Sumida River, past warehouses and through the crowds around the teahouses, food stalls, and entertainment halls at the foot of the Ryōgoku Bridge, to the Kanda River-an aqueduct that emptied into the Sumida.
“Here,” Sano said, turning left onto the path bordering the Kanda. Hirata, looking puzzled, followed.
The path sloped upward to run along the top of the river’s vertical, stone-faced bank. On Sano’s left rose affluent merchants’ houses with balconies overlooking the river. To the right, a wooden rail shielded the drop to the water. Docks jutted out from the path. At the end of these floated pleasure boats, all of which faced east toward the Sumida, with sloping gangplanks lowered from their decks. A wooden bridge gave access to the Kanda’s opposite side, which offered a similar scene.
“I don’t understand,” Hirata said.
By the fourth dock, Sano dismounted and tied the reins to the rail. “This is Madam Shimizu’s boat,” he explained. “We’ll set the trap here.”
At the villa, Madam Shimizu’s mention of the romantic boat trips she’d once enjoyed with her husband had inspired Sano. The boat’s location was near the city center, convenient to all three suspects, and yet relatively isolated, preventing interference from passersby. The layout, with its enclosed cabin and limited means of access and escape, would allow him to capture Chūgo or Matsui-or kill Yanagisawa and himself. He’d persuaded Madam Shimizu to let him set his trap on the boat, because if the Bundori Killer was indeed looking for her, then he would come here willingly to find her. Now Sano saw how well he’d chosen.