Although Yanagisawa was a prisoner just like all of Lord Matsudaira’s other banished foes and the criminals exiled for treason, smuggling, assault, or murder, he enjoyed favorable treatment. The local officials were awed by him because he was the most important person they’d ever been sent. He acted charming and gracious; his handsomeness had helped him win them over. They vied with one another to be his best friend. He’d brought glamour to the quiet, primitive life of Hachijo. Soon he had the run of the place. Most of the women among the natives and exiles-and more than a few men-were in love with him. Yanagisawa and his men had gradually taken over the administration of the island.
This was just as Yanagisawa had planned before he left the mainland.
Now the governor’s daughter, Emiko, knelt beside him, bearing a dish of raw oysters. Fifteen years old, lithe, and pretty, she gave Yanagisawa a seductive smile and said, “Please have some. They’re aphrodisiacs, you know.”
“Yes. I don’t mind if I do.” Yanagisawa smiled into her eyes as she fed him oysters.
The governor seemed pleased rather than disturbed by Yanagisawa’s taking liberties with his daughter and the fact that she was Yanagisawa’s mistress. Yanagisawa had recently dropped hints that he would soon be returning to Edo, to his former status as the most powerful politician in the regime. The island officials believed him even though he’d been sentenced to permanent exile. Anticipating that he would soon be able to grant favors such as postings in better locations, they’d tried harder than ever to please Yanagisawa. They’d practically thrown their women at him.
He intended to take full advantage of their generosity.
Emiko served more wine to the governor and officials. Soon their eyelids drooped; they began yawning. One by one they fell into deep, snoring slumber. The only guests still awake were Yanagisawa and his ten men. He dismissed the serving women. The only one that remained was Emiko.
“Did I do well?” she asked eagerly.
“Very well indeed,” Yanagisawa said.
The sleeping potion that he’d smuggled from the mainland, and Emiko had put in the wine at his behest, had done its job. The officials would sleep for hours, but he had no time to lose.
“Hurry,” he said, rushing his men from the room. “I’ve waited three years to get off this damned island. Let’s put as much distance between it and us as possible before anyone discovers we’ve escaped.”
Emiko ran after them. “Wait! You promised that if I helped you, you’d take me with you!”
Yanagisawa didn’t need her anymore. He hadn’t planned to take her, or his wife and family; they would only be in the way. But he didn’t have time to argue. “All right, come on.”
Outside, they groped their way down stone steps carved into the cliff. The wind tore at them. The moon lit their way along paths between the rocks on the hillside. Below, the ocean roared; waves swirled up white foam. Yanagisawa’s heart beat fast with urgency and exhilaration. Tonight marked his first step toward reclaiming his power.
They scrambled down the wooden landing ramp that sloped from the village to the sea, past small fishing boats drawn up for the night. At the end spread the dock. Tied to it were larger craft. One was the ship that had arrived eight days ago from the mainland, transporting new prisoners to Hachijo. It was a clumsy wooden tub with a single mast, a square sail, and a shallow draft. The crew had been waiting for fair weather, and they planned to embark on their return journey tomorrow. The ship was stocked with provisions, ready for the escape that Yanagisawa had been scheming.
Two of his men hurried to the ship and lowered its gangplank. The others found axes they’d hidden under the dock. They ran to the bigger fishing boats, leaped inside, and chopped holes in the bottoms. Yanagisawa wanted the officials stranded on the island until the next ship came in the fall. He didn’t want anyone pursuing him or his escape reported to Lord Matsudaira before he’d had time to set his plans in motion.
As the boats sank, he and Emiko and his men rushed aboard the ship. His men pulled up the gangplank. When he’d chosen which retainers to accompany him into exile, he’d been careful to pick four experienced sailors. Now they cast off the ropes. They worked the rudder and sail, steering the ship through the treacherous currents that surrounded the island.
Yanagisawa stood on deck in the bow with Emiko. She chattered about the wonderful things they would do on the mainland. He gazed across the vast sea that rippled with silver moonlight. Cold, salty spray dashed him. Leaning into the wind, he laughed for sheer joy.
“I told you I would return!” he shouted at Edo, invisible in the distance. “Here I come!”
Twelve days passed. The ship made slow progress because of the sluggish wind. Yanagisawa grew impatient to reach his destination. “How much farther to land?” he asked the captain.
“We should be within sight by tomorrow.”
But that night a storm blew up. Rain deluged the sea. Lightning seared the heavens; thunder boomed. Fierce wind blasted the ship, which pitched violently on waves as tall as its mast. While the sailors fought to hold it steady, the passengers huddled in the cabin. Furniture and baggage slid. Emiko clung to Yanagisawa as the ship rocked.
“We’re going to die!” she screamed.
“No, we’re not! Shut up!” After all his scheming, Yanagisawa didn’t intend to be thwarted by bad weather.
A sudden, huge crash jarred the ship. Emiko screamed louder as it flung everyone against the wall. Yanagisawa thought lightning must have struck. A sailor burst through the door, drenched to the skin, wading in water up to his knees.
“We’ve hit a reef! We’re sinking!” he cried as the water filled the cabin. “Abandon ship! Get into the lifeboats!”
Yanagisawa led the rush out the door. On the flooded deck, barrels and nautical equipment floated. The sailors were struggling to untie the two small wooden boats. Rain lashed Yanagisawa. He could hardly see through it. Water swamped him. He cursed in fury. This couldn’t be happening! How dare nature interfere with his plans!
A gigantic wave lifted the ship high up into the sky. Yanagisawa felt as though a monster had risen from the depths beneath him and raised him in its fist. Then the ship was falling, keeling over down the wave. Yanagisawa’s screams joined the others he heard above the thunder.
He was plunged into the sea. Its cold, heaving blackness engulfed him, assailed him with waves that battered his body. He flailed, desperately trying to get his head above the salty water that stung his eyes, filled his nose and mouth. At last he broke through the surface. He gasped air that was barely distinguishable from sea because the rain drove at him so hard. Lightning illuminated the sky and ocean with its dazzling white veins. Yanagisawa saw the ship nearby, half sunken. Heads bobbed in the water amid debris. He heard Emiko crying. A broken plank floated toward him. He grabbed it and hung on.
The storm lasted the whole night. When dawn came and the sea calmed, Yanagisawa was still clinging to his plank. Weary, sore, and half-drowned, he hauled himself onto it. He looked around at the new day he’d lived to see. The sky was overcast, the ocean like rippling steel. The ship was gone; so was everyone else. Yanagisawa couldn’t hear a sound except for the wind and waves. He was alone on the vast, awful sea.
He would have tried to swim for shore, but he couldn’t see it. Yanagisawa didn’t know how long he floated. As thirst parched him, he weakened, his consciousness faded, and he lost track of time. By day, the sun burned and blistered his skin. Night chilled him. Hunger gnawed at his insides. He lay helpless, eyes closed, as the waves rocked him toward the realm of the dead. Only his will kept him alive.