Then something rough slapped his cheek: one of the boat’s mooring ropes, which Chūgo had cut before setting sail. Sano grabbed it. Too weak to climb aboard, he simply hung on.
Aboard the rocking, listing boat, Chūgo struggled to control the sail, whose lines the wind strained taut against his hands. Rain sluiced the deck and lashed his face. The boat heeled perilously. With all his strength, Chūgo heaved. The sail turned; the boat veered right, leaving the Kanda and sailing into the Sumida River, where the current carried it southwest, seaward.
Triumph roared inside Chūgo as he tacked, guiding the boat on a zigzagging course against the wind. He’d escaped the angry mob, and the foolish sōsakan who’d interfered with his mission for too long. Looking starboard, he saw only the rainswept warehouses and deserted docks that bordered the Sumida’s west bank, and the distant misty marshes opposite. All other boats had taken shelter from the storm. The river was a wide-open channel to freedom. He would live to complete General Fujiwara’s blood score. Filling his lungs with air, he shouted into the storm:
“Honorable ancestor! I will kill every last member of the Endō and Araki clans!”
For by a stroke of pure luck, he had a guarantee of continued survival.
Chūgo released the lines from his raw, bleeding hands and secured them, leaving the boat to move with the current. He strode into the cabin. The rain battered the roof like rounds of gunfire. Outside, the thunder boomed like mighty cannon. Water streamed off Chūgo and onto the floor around his hostage.
The great Chamberlain Yanagisawa lay on his side, eyes closed, arms and legs bent-a wet, pathetic heap of garish garments. Blood from his cut lip and eyelid still trickled down his white face. His knotted skein of hair had come undone; it dangled onto the floor like a dead black snake. Chūgo eyed the chamberlain with contempt. Such a disgrace to General Fujiwara, this coward who fainted because of two harmless little cuts! Who stole his lord’s authority, and indulged his unseemly passions for wealth and sex. The very antithesis of Bushido! To acknowledge him as kin mortified Chūgo. Never had he foreseen the day when he would find value in the foul creature.
Yanagisawa groaned. Weakly, he flopped over on his back. His eyelids fluttered open. The dark, dazed eyes grew huge with fear as he stared up at Chūgo.
“Where-where am I?” he asked hoarsely. He tried to rise, but his twisted clothing held him down.
Chūgo snatched up a coil of rope that lay conveniently on a bench. In an instant, he had Yanagisawa’s hands and ankles tied behind him.
Yanagisawa writhed and thrashed. “Chūgo! Are you mad? Untie me at once!”
A wave rocked the boat, and he rolled sideways, slamming his head against the bench. “Oh, no, the river… ” Panic blurred his voice. “Where are you taking me?”
Chūgo ignored him. Quickly he searched the cupboards, then went outside and examined the hold. A grim smile touched his lips when he found plenty of provisions. He could sail down the coast-a dangerous journey, but he could make it; he was invincible. After dumping Yanagisawa at sea, he would put ashore at some distant province, where he could lie low, disguised as a rōnin, until the manhunt died down and the bakufu realized that the chamberlain was no great loss. Then he would make his way across the country, finishing his work… Returning to the cabin, Chūgo closed his eyes, the better to anticipate his imminent victory.
From the floor, Yanagisawa spat a steady stream of threats: “Every soldier in the country will be looking for you, Chūgo. And when they find you, they’ll crucify you, then cut off your head. They’ll leave your remains on the execution ground to be gawked at by every lowly peasant who walks by!”
For Chūgo, the chamberlain’s voice had less meaning than the buzz of an insect. His surroundings blurred as imagination and desire transported him into the past…
☼
… to Oda Nobunaga’s encampment, where the great warlord sat in his curtained enclosure. Today he’d won the Battle of Nagashino, his greatest victory. He had finally vanquished the Takeda clan, his most powerful foes, and added their territory to that which he already ruled.
Chūgo’s spirit inhabited General Fujiwara’s body; he wore the general’s armor. Fierce pride ignited his blood as he knelt before Oda and spoke the words his ancestor must have spoken that night so long ago.
“Honorable Lord Oda, please accept these as my tribute to your supremacy, and proof of my loyalty and devotion.”
As Lord Oda surveyed the severed heads that Chūgo-General Fujiwara had brought him, his gaze lingered most fondly on those of the hatamoto, Kaibara Tōju; the rōnin, Tōzawa Jigori; and the priest, Endō Azumanaru: trophies from the present that had accompanied Chūgo into the glorious past.
“You’ve done well, Fujiwara-san,” Lord Oda said. “In recognition of your service, I shall reward you now.”
Chūgo’s spirit soared with his ancestor’s. Now he would experience the culmination of General Fujiwara’s career. He reached out to accept from Oda the two magnificent death’s-head swords-
☼
Suddenly a stabbing pain gripped Chūgo’s ankle. He shouted in angry protest as his fantasy ended. He was back in the boat’s cabin with the storm howling outside, and Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s teeth sunk into his flesh. With a vicious kick, Chūgo shook Yanagisawa loose. How dare this scum interrupt his vision?
“If you think you can escape disgrace by committing seppuku, you’re wrong, Chūgo,” Yanagisawa shouted. “You’ll die like a common criminal. You-owww!”
The chamberlain’s body jerked when Chūgo kicked his ribs. His voice rose in shrill panic. “How dare you hurt me? You’ll die for this, you will!”
Now Chūgo saw the man he’d always suspected lived behind the chamberlain’s suave façade: weak, frightened, and small. Yet the discovery evoked no sympathy in him. He kicked Yanagisawa again and again-in the stomach, thighs, and groin.
“Stop, I beg you,” Chamberlain Yanagisawa wailed. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything, give you anything-money, women, a higher rank-name it. Just let me go!”
Chūgo ignored Yanagisawa’s pleas and promises. His foot struck hard bone and soft tissue, eliciting screams from his victim. In the dark pleasure of venting his anger, he almost forgot the necessity of keeping Yanagisawa alive until they were far from Edo.
Desperately, Sano clung to his lifeline. The water swirled around him; the Sumida’s current threatened to drag him under. He gulped air between waves that doused his head. The storm continued unabated-if the river didn’t drown him, the rain would. With the boat ahead of him, he couldn’t see downriver. The landscape streamed past at a frightening speed, and he guessed they must be halfway to the Ryōgoku Bridge. He couldn’t see anyone following, either on land or ‘water. Where were Hirata, the police, the navy? And what had become of Chamberlain Yanagisawa? He must get aboard the boat!
Clenching his teeth with the effort, Sano climbed the rope, hand over hand, knees and ankles grasping the rough straw cable. The hull slammed his sore body. Hand over hand. Finally he swung free of the water. Hand over hand he climbed, thumping against the boat, until finally his head cleared the deck and he locked his fingers around the railing.
“Please don’t hurt me anymore!” Chamberlain Yanagisawa shrieked.
But Chūgo’s anger had tapped the reservoir of deep rage that learning his family secret had instilled in him. That rage drew him into the past, making him a witness to the abominable act that had inspired General Fujiwara’s blood score.