Sano sensed their desire to protect Hirata, their friend and former comrade. He tried not to calculate what Hirata’s mistake might have cost him, although he couldn’t help wondering, What if I’d had this information about the guns yesterday?
He said, “Do you think we have time for a ride to the police district before the rain starts again?”
Marume and Fukida grinned, happy at the prospect of gathering more timber for Hoshina’s funeral pyre. “We have time, rain or not,” Marume said.
23
Quays and warehouses abounded in Hatchobori, the district where the police commanders known as joriki lived in estates grouped together like an island amid the townspeople’s dwellings. They were famous for the airs they put on and the bribes they took. As Sano rode along a quay with his entourage, they passed a joriki riding with his attendants. Sano recognized him as Hayashi, a former colleague. He wore expensive chain mail, probably his latest gift from a lord whose retainers had gotten in a brawl and who’d paid him to hush up the affair. He bowed coldly to Sano: He still resented the fact that Sano had been promoted over him, especially because Sano had been a misfit in the exclusive police brotherhood.
The shooting range was a favorite haunt of the joriki. It was surrounded by wharves for firewood and bamboo poles, invisible behind a wall topped with sharp iron spikes. Lanterns hung over the gate flamed and smoked in the damp evening air. Two samurai youths lolled inside a guard booth. When Sano’s party stopped before them, they rose and bowed.
“Chamberlain Sano wants to go inside,” Detective Marume said.
The guards exchanged fearful glances that seemed an odd response to such a simple request. They had similar square jaws and chunky physiques; they looked like brothers. One said, “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today.”
“The field is flooded,” the other hastened to explain.
“That’s no problem,” said Marume. “Chamberlain Sano isn’t here to shoot. He only needs to see the guns.”
The guards spoke in rapid, panicky succession: “Nobody except the police commanders is allowed in the arsenal.” “Police Commissioner Hoshina’s orders.”
“The honorable chamberlain outranks your boss,” Marume said. “Open up.”
The guards reluctantly obeyed. Riding in, Sano asked them, “Who’s the caretaker of the arsenal these days?”
“Me,” mumbled the younger man.
“Come with us.”
Inside was a long patch of muddy ground, weed-covered in some places, under water in low spots. At one end stood flat, wooden, man-shaped figures riddled with bullet holes and a suit of armor mounted on a wicker horse. Opposite was the arsenal, a shed with stone walls, an iron-shingled roof, and an iron door and shutters. A similar, smaller building held ammunition and gunpowder. As Sano and his men rode toward the arsenal, he heard his name shouted. He turned and saw Captain Torai, chief retainer to Police Commissioner Hoshina, riding after them so hard that his horse’s hooves splashed up fountains of water.
“What a surprise to see you here,” Torai said as he caught up with Sano. “I didn’t know you were interested in shooting.”
“Only when I see someone I’d like to shoot,” Sano said.
Torai’s grin gave his face a wolfish cast. “May I be of assistance?” he said, obviously eager to find out what Sano was up to.
“No, thank you.” Sano kept riding.
“He wants to see the guns,” blurted the caretaker, who hurried alongside him on foot.
“Oh?” Torai sped up his horse, placing himself between the arsenal and Sano. “Why?”
“Just testing a theory,” Sano said.
Torai blocked the door to the arsenal. “What theory?”
“Do you want us to get rid of him, Honorable Chamberlain?” Detective Marume asked.
“It’s my duty to oversee anything that happens here,” Torai said, belligerent now.
Sano decided Torai might come in handy. “Stay if you wish, but get out of the way.” As he and his men dismounted, he ordered the caretaker, “Open the arsenal.”
When he stepped inside, the caretaker held up a lantern to illuminate walls lined with iron cabinets. Detectives Marume and Fukida opened these, revealing hundreds of compartments that each contained guns rolled up in oiled cloth.
Marume’s breath whistled out of him. “This is enough weapons to start a war.”
“There’s certainly more than I remember.” Sano wondered if Police Commissioner Hoshina was indeed plotting a coup, and building up the arsenal in preparation.
“So what?” Torai asked from the doorway.
Ignoring him, Sano asked the caretaker, “Do you keep an inventory of the guns?”
“Yes, Honorable Chamberlain.” The youth looked even more nervous. He removed a ledger from a cabinet and opened it to show pages filled with characters.
“We’re going to look through all the guns, compare them to the inventory, and see if any are missing,” Sano said.
“They aren’t,” Torai said. “Unless you’re blind, you can see that all the compartments are full.”
Marume and Fukida unwrapped guns, which included pistols as well as arquebuses, bearing the marks of many different craftsmen. Some were old, elaborate works of art; others modern, plain, and utilitarian. Sano and the caretaker marked off each in the ledger. By the time they were finished and emerged from the arsenal, they’d found thirty compartments that held, instead of guns, wooden dowels wrapped in cloth.
“How about that,” Sano said. “Thirty arquebuses are unaccounted for. What happened to them?”
Captain Torai looked surprised, and disturbed. Sano thought he hadn’t expected any weapons to be missing. Torai turned on the caretaker. “Well?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, uh, maybe the police commanders borrowed them and forgot to tell me.”
“There you have it.” Torai sounded relieved, although uncertain as to what trap he was trying to evade.
“Never mind the excuses,” Sano said. “I can tell you exactly what happened to those guns. Sosakan Hirata confiscated them with some others from a warehouse that belonged to Lord Mori. They’re a sign that someone on the police force was conspiring with Lord Mori to stockpile weapons and stage a coup. And my candidate is Police Commissioner Hoshina.”
“That’s absurd!” Torai was clearly less alarmed than disbelieving.
“Are you so sure?” Sano asked. “How much do you know about what he does when you’re not with him?”
Torai made a sound of disgust. “Hoshina-san isn’t the only person who had access to the arsenal. Someone else on the police force could have taken the guns.”
He turned a hard, searching gaze on the caretaker, who looked terrified. By this time Sano had no doubt that he was an accomplice, whether willing or not, to the theft. The caretaker started to back away across the shooting range.
“Not so fast,” Sano said.
The caretaker faltered to a stop. Sano intended to find out exactly what he knew about the missing guns. A little pressure and surely he would incriminate Hoshina. Now a look of concern came over Torai’s face as he read Sano’s thoughts.
“Go back to your duties,” he told the caretaker.
“Stay,” Sano commanded. His troops surrounded the man. “You’re coming with me.”
“Hoshina.san is loyal to Lord Matsudaira. He’s not involved in any coup,” Torai insisted.
“Maybe you’re right. There are other ambitious men on the police force.” Sano stared at Torai. Maybe he wasn’t really surprised about the missing guns. “What have you been up to behind your master’s back?”
Another man might have been alarmed because the tainted wind of treason had blown onto him. Police Commissioner Hoshina certainly had; yet Torai feigned puzzlement, looked behind him as if to see who Sano was talking about, then shrugged and grinned. “You’re just stabbing in the dark to save yourself.”