Toyama also had fear of Ieyasu, because the new ruler had shown a willingness to demote daimyo who displeased him to a lesser fief, or to even invite them to commit seppuku and enter the void. He hated Ieyasu because of the power that the new Shogun wielded, yet he wanted Ieyasu to like him, so his current fief and lifestyle would at least remain untouched.
“Damn that Ieyasu! Why did he have to survive that assassination attempt?”
As soon as the words passed his lips, he was sorry he said them. Kabe ni mimi ari, shoji ni me ari, Toyama’s mother would say. Walls have ears, shoji have eyes. It was treason to even think such a thing. To say it out loud, especially in a place far from your home castle, was an invitation to join the great beyond. Most of the servants were hired in Edo, so there was no guarantee that there wasn’t a Tokugawa spy among them. In fact, knowing the suspicious Ieyasu, it was almost certain that there was at least one spy among them. Toyama cursed, but this time silently.
It was frustrating that he couldn’t think of an idea that would help cement his position with the Tokugawas. He knew he was on shaky ground with them because he only reluctantly supported them, and only after it was clear Sekigahara was a resounding Tokugawa victory. Then he had an idea. Ieyasu had said it himself. Toyama smiled and was at last able to close his eyes and sleep. His last thought before drifting off was that he couldn’t wait until he had an opportunity to reveal his idea.
The next morning, Kaze woke early and took off the costume he slept in. He put his own kimono on, but as he did so he looked at its sleeve. As he thought, there was a hole from a musket ball in it. He felt lucky his scabbard wasn’t hit by this shot. Kaze placed his little finger through the hole and wriggled it around. He put on the kimono and laughed.
Kaze had never been backstage at a theater before, so, out of curiosity, he looked through the various baskets and costumes around him. What he found made him think.
The street was bustling with people, and business was brisk. The rice cake seller had his stand set up at a strategic location, and he was enjoying the fruits of the notoriety. His stand consisted of a waist-high wooden tower. At the top of the tower was a copper box where he burned charcoal, and in the sides of the tower were handles for carrying it around, as well as drawers for merchandise. Painted on the sides of the tower were kanji and pictures of what he was selling, so both the literate and illiterate could understand.
A man hobbled up to the stand. The stand operator looked at him. He had muscular arms and shoulders, but the flowing beard and hair that stuck out from the straw hat he was wearing were white, and he hobbled along with the help of a stick.
“So many people here, neh?”
The voice wasn’t exactly old, but it wasn’t young, either. The stand operator decided to err on the side of politeness to an elder and responded, “It’s been this way for several days, ojiisan.”
“Is that yagura over there the fire watchtower where the assassin who tried to kill Ieyasu-sama hid?”
“Yes, grandfather, and that castle wall over there is where Ieyasu-sama and the other great lords were standing when the shot was fired. That spot at the bottom of the dry moat is the very place where Lord Nakamura ended up after falling off the wall. That’s why all these people are here. They’re curious to see the exact location of such an infamous deed.”
“As am I, as am I,” said the old man. He looked at the yagura, a small watch-box placed on top of a construct of poles, and looked over to the wall of the unfinished castle. “That’s quite a shot,” he said. “No wonder the assassin missed Ieyasu-sama and killed Nakamura-sama.”
The vendor scratched his head. “I wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “I never fought in any battles. Is that a long shot for a musket?”
“Yes. In fact, a regular musket probably wouldn’t carry that far. I would think it would require a gun by Inatomi Gaiki to carry a musket ball that far, with any hope of accuracy.”
“Inatomi?”
The old man cackled again. “Gomen nasai. Excuse me. Just shop talk from an old soldier. Inatomi is the best matchlock musket maker in all of Japan. Only he could make a gun that could shoot that far.”
“I was here on the day of the assassination attempt,” the vendor said.
“So was I,” replied the old man, “but I left before the shot was fired.”
“Well, you missed the excitement then. People were running around everywhere, soldiers everywhere, it was nothing but confusion. When they found the dead watchman in the yagura, they brought the body down and just laid him out on the street. It was awful. His throat was cut and his head was flopping back when they brought him down the yagura ladder.” The vendor shuddered.
“No one heard the watchman cry out when the assassin went into the yagura?”
The vendor frowned. “No, I didn’t hear anyone say they heard the watchman.”
“So the watchman didn’t cry out when an armed stranger entered the yagura?”
“No, I guess he didn’t. That’s strange.”
“And no one noticed a man carrying a musket after the assassination attempt?”
The vendor scratched his head. “No, I didn’t hear of that, either. That’s also strange, isn’t it? You’d think someone would notice a man carrying a musket.”
“Yes, you would.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. They know who the assassin is, anyway, and there’s a huge reward for his head.”
“How do you know that?”
The vendor pointed. “See that big crowd over there? They’re reading the notice board that was put up, telling of the assassin and the reward.”
The old man looked in the direction the vendor pointed, and said, “Thank you. I think I’ll go over there and see for myself.”
“Say, what about some nice hot rice cakes before you go?”
“Gomen nasai. I’m afraid my teeth aren’t good enough to eat them.” He cackled.
“They look plenty good enough to me,” the vendor said rudely as the old man walked away.
The old man walked to the back of the crowd. Someone in the front was reading the notice board out loud for his illiterate brethren.
“… the aforementioned assassin is to be turned into the authorities immediately. Anyone found protecting this man will receive death, as will five of his neighbors. If you tell the authorities of where he is, so he may be captured, you will receive a thousand-ryo reward.” A gasp came from the crowd at the mention of the sum. “If you bring the authorities his head, you will receive a ten-thousand-ryo reward.” The reader had to stop, because instead of just gasping, the crowd went into a frenzied buzz of conversation that drowned out the reader’s voice.
Kaze, who was wearing a disguise he put together at the theater, patiently worked his way closer to the notice board. The clothes, white beard, hat, and hair allowed him to pass as an old man if he was not too closely scrutinized. He took the chance of having someone in the crowd inspect him at close quarters so he could read the notice board for himself.
His eyes swept across the hiragana letters on the board. Hiragana was used instead of kanji for notice boards. With hiragana, the words were written phonetically, and it was possible to sound out a word, even if you weren’t familiar with it. Although an expert could discern the various strokes that made up a particular kanji character, it was easier to read with hiragana.
They had both his former name and Matsuyama Kaze on the board, and they had a description of him. Fortunately, there were thousands of samurai who could fit the description given. Kaze had not been certain about Nobu’s assertion that there was a ten-thousand-ryo price on his head, but there was the reward amount clearly written on the board, with Lord Yoshida’s name authorizing it. No wonder Boss Akinari had tried to kill him. Kaze wondered how firm Goro and Hanzo’s resolve to shelter him would remain, once they had both the reward and penalties listed on the board read to them.