The samurai pulled themselves into a kneeling position and scooted out of the room backward, bowing the entire time to show their contrition.
Niiya walked over to the opening the samurai exited from and slid close the screens for privacy. He approached Yoshida, and Yoshida said, “Ieyasu-sama will be interested to know that it might have been Matsuyama who slaughtered Inatomi and his household. Okubo-san mentioned that the ronin had done something similar in Kamakura.”
Niiya nodded his head, and said, “We have another interesting bit of news.”
“What is that?”
“The other night, when Matsuyama escaped us by jumping into the canal, a man going to his privy in the middle of the night caught a glimpse of a strange figure. It was a man, soaking wet. The man only got a brief glimpse, but it could be this Matsuyama.”
“You never found the body in the canal?”
Niiya’s face burned red. “No, Yoshida-sama. I was sure I hit him. I never miss what I aim at, but I guess it was not a serious hit.”
Yoshida said nothing about Niiya’s assertions about his marksmanship. He had seen enough evidence to know Niiya was not just boasting idly. Instead, he asked, “Where was this man?”
“In Ningyo-cho.”
That afternoon it started to rain. Kaze had abandoned the horse at the edge of Edo. It would either find its own way back to its stable or a patrol would find it. Now he stood on the street, watching the Little Flower Whorehouse carefully. He was still in the disguise of an old man, in a rain-soaked and threadbare kimono. Rain dripped down the sloping sides of his peasant’s hat, forming a watery curtain that hid his face. He had wanted to find another disguise, but he felt none of the other costumes in the theater would pass muster on the street. They were suitable for a stage performance in the flickering glow of paper lanterns, but they didn’t look realistic in the daylight.
The Little Flower was tough to solve. It had only one door, and there seemed to be a servant guarding that door constantly. Kaze would get a glimpse of someone just in the doorway, occasionally letting vendors in who delivered food, sakè, and other supplies. Kaze could, of course, force his way into the house, using his sword, but that wouldn’t tell him if the girl was there, or where she might be located in the house.
There seemed to be no outside windows, although Kaze was sure that the house would have screens that opened into inner courtyards for ventilation and light. By getting on the roof, Kaze could enter the courtyards, but he would again have the problem of knowing if the girl was there and where she was kept.
It was a difficult problem, and one Kaze decided he would have to think about some more. He shuffled off down the street, returning to the Kabuki theater. As he walked away, another figure watched him intently. Kaze was very good about knowing his environment, sensing when he was being watched and when enemies were near. But the watcher was also good. Extremely good.
His entire life was devoted to both keeping out of the eye of those who might hunt him, and keeping track of those he would hunt. His natural excitement at having spotted Kaze was tempered by his knowledge of how truly dangerous this man was.
When they received the commission, the men assigned to the task studied a drawing to identify Kaze. It wasn’t a portrait in the conventional sense, but a sketch of Kaze’s face drawn to highlight points of identification. Did his earlobes join the head, or did they hang free? What was the exact shape of his jaw? What was the curve of his eyebrows? With a few strokes of the brush, a ninja who had seen Kaze at Hideyoshi’s sword tournament was able to create an identification drawing. The Koga clan, like all ninja clans, tried to remember the faces of the men of exceptional fighting ability, as well as the faces of the great daimyo. The former were likely to be with the latter, and a ninja had to identify both.
In addition to eyes, the ears of the ninja extended everywhere, especially in a busy city like Edo. The man already knew of the dripping wet man spotted in Ningyo-cho. He also knew of Yoshida’s encounter with an old man of exceptional fighting qualities at Inatomi-sensei’s house. He surmised that the two might be the same: a young man disguised as an old.
Therefore, he was already looking for an old man when he passed the ojiisan standing in the rain. There was much one could do with clothes, posture, and gray hair to give the appearance of an old man, but no one could disguise their hands. Another, not trained to the state of alertness of the ninja, might have missed the fact that the old man’s hands were much too young for the wet gray hair peeking out from the straw peasant’s hat. Even fewer would notice that the hands had the calluses of a swordsman. Yet a glance at the old man’s hands as the ninja passed him told him that the muscular ojiisan standing in the rain was not what he appeared to be.
Showing extreme caution, the ninja followed Kaze down the wet street.
CHAPTER 15
The actor in us.
We play parts throughout the day,
sometimes on purpose.
Hanzo rushed into the theater. He made his way past the half-empty floor and up to the stage, going behind the curtain. “All of Ningyo-cho is blocked off!” he exclaimed to Goro and Kaze. “Soldiers are going from building to building, searching them!”
“What are they looking for?” Goro asked.
“Obviously, me,” Kaze said.
The two peasants looked at the ronin with wide eyes. “If you were going to collect on that reward, now is the time to run to the soldiers and tell them I’m here,” Kaze continued. “If you help conceal me, you will become conspirators with me, and will be putting yourself in as much danger as I’m in.”
The two peasants looked at each other. Peasants were supposed to be masters of guile, and Kaze knew from contact with them that most peasants could be secretive and ruthless. These two seemed incapable of guile, however, and Kaze could see a whole range of emotions stream across their faces: surprise, fear, greed, uncertainty, and, finally, resolve.
“You are the only samurai who has ever treated us like men,” Hanzo said. “All others of your class have treated us as creatures lower than the beasts in the fields.” Looking at his partner, Hanzo said, “What do you say, Goro? Let’s help Kaze-san.”
“Hai! I agree!”
Hanzo looked around. “Maybe we can cover you with some of those costumes and baskets,” he said. “We can do it in a private corner when the actors are busy putting on their costumes.”
Kaze shook his head. “No. Under a pile of baskets or costumes is the first place they’ll look.” He glanced over at the low chests of makeup used the by actors. “I have a better idea.”
The squad of soldiers marched down the street, two or three of them breaking ranks to check each shop and house. Darkness had fallen, and the street was illuminated by the warm glow of torches and lanterns. The soft yellow light clashed with the hard reflections thrown off by spear blades, armor plate, and drawn swords. The curious gathered on the street to gape at the unusual sight. Curious or not, each person, whether on the street or in a building, was looked at by the soldiers. If a man of the right age and build was discovered, he was led to a nearby group with one of the soldiers who had seen Kaze at Inatomi’s house.
A runner approached the leader of a squad marching down the street toward Goro and Hanzo’s theater. “Anything to report, sir?” the runner asked.
The captain shook his head and winced. It was the officer whom Kaze had hit with the stick, and his atama, his head, still hurt. “No. Tell Yoshida-sama we haven’t found anyone suspicious yet, except the usual collection of whores and gamblers.” The runner scurried off to report as the squad approached the theater.