Sano hadn’t considered the larger implications of the murders, and Katsuragawa’s explanation had a certain terrifying logic. But something about it rang false. In the first place, Sano couldn’t believe that national peace alone had motivated Ogyu.
“Why didn’t Magistrate Ogyu explain this to me?” he asked.
“He probably assumed you understood.” Katsuragawa turned and resumed his slow walk.
Sano followed. “Do you really believe what you told me? Does Magistrate Ogyu? Wouldn’t the murderer, if he is a Niu, be allowed to commit seppuku? The family wouldn’t be punished, like commoners would. And the Tokugawas are strong. The daimyo wouldn’t risk a revolt. They have more to gain by holding on to their lands, their wealth-and their heads.”
When Katsuragawa didn’t respond at once, Sano said, “Please, at least consider what I’ve said. And if you decide I’m right, will you use your influence to reopen the murder investigation?”
Instead of answering, Katsuragawa bent a glance on Sano that simultaneously pitied him for his naïveté and expressed outrage at his effrontery. Sano saw the futility of asking for Katsuragawa’s help. Even if Katsuragawa didn’t believe in the disaster scenario, he and Ogyu and the other officials were bound by their own complex web of obligation, which Sano couldn’t hope to unravel.
Katsuragawa said, “Sano-san, I am prepared to help you find a new position. Perhaps a better one than you’ve just lost. I have many contacts.” His shrug indicated that he had only to wave a hand, and a new place would open for Sano. “There is also the matter of your marriage, which I understand your father would like arranged as soon as possible. I would be glad to offer my services as a go-between, and to act as guarantor to the extent that I am able.”
A new position, possibly a higher one with a larger stipend. And, with Katsuragawa negotiating for him and ensuring his financial security, a chance to marry into a high-ranking family. Sano could reclaim his social standing and some part of his honor. Such prospects would greatly ease his father’s disappointment.
Katsuragawa’s offer was generous, and Sano had to consider it. But he knew a bribe when he saw one. And the ghosts of Tsunehiko and Raiden stood between him and his acceptance of it.
“You’ll help me-if I stop investigating the murders?” he said, naming the obvious catch.
Katsuragawa’s mouth twisted with distaste at Sano’s bluntness. “All right, then: yes.”
“I can’t do that.”
Katsuragawa halted in his tracks. “Are you a fool, Sano Ichirō?” he demanded. He grabbed Sano by the shoulders and shook him. “Can you not see what you’re doing to yourself, to your father? Besides, you can do nothing about the murders now. You’re not a yoriki anymore. No one is obliged to answer your questions or follow your orders. If you attempt to conduct a private inquiry, you will be arrested and severely punished for interfering with government affairs. It’s over, Sano-san. Give up!”
“No.” As he pulled free of Katsuragawa’s grasp, Sano realized that with one word, he’d severed his relationship with his patron. An exhilarating sense of liberation came over him, tempered by fear. An influential patron who could provide introductions to the right people was an absolute necessity for a samurai who wanted to rise in the world. Without one, Sano could relinquish any hope of advancement. What had he done?
“Then you are a fool.” Katsuragawa brushed his hands together as if dusting off the last vestiges of his obligation to Sano and his family. He started away down the lane. Before he’d gone ten paces, he turned.
“Do you know why Magistrate Ogyu and I decided you would make a good yoriki?” he said. “Because we thought your inexperience would render you so incompetent as to be harmless. Because your indebtedness would make you easy to control.” Katsuragawa laughed in derision. “We were wrong about you then, but not now. If you pursue this ridiculous course, you are as good as dead.”
Twilight was falling by the time Sano reached his parents’ home, his horse still laden with the baggage from his trip, except for Tsunehiko’s ashes, which he’d reluctantly left with Ogyu’s clerk. Behind him trailed the two porters he’d hired to carry his possessions from the barracks. Dismounting, he helped them unload the bundles outside the gate, paid them, and sent them on their way. Then he stood alone in the gathering gloom, contemplating a thought just as dark.
As a samurai, he’d always known there might come a time when he must commit seppuku to avoid disgrace, or to atone for it. His training told him that time had come. After what had happened, only his ritual suicide could restore honor to his name and family. But although his warrior’s spirit welcomed the release and purification of death, he must forswear it. His life was not his to take until he had avenged Tsunehiko’s death, cleared Raiden’s name, and achieved justice for Yukiko, Noriyoshi, and Wisteria.
Sano roused himself to stable his horse and put his bundles in the entryway of the house. He slid open the door to the main room. To drive a dagger into his own stomach would have been easier. He dreaded facing his father, dreaded also seeing again the mark of death on the old man. So at first he was relieved to find the room empty. Then he saw something that disturbed him far more.
The door that connected the main room with the bedchamber stood open. Through it he saw his mother standing by the window, her back to him, despair evident in the slump of her shoulders. His father lay on the futon. His eyes were closed. Low, rumbling coughs shook his body almost continuously. Fear shot through Sano. He’d never seen his father take to bed so early. And the amount of sickroom paraphernalia arranged by the bed-tea bowls, washbasin, crumpled cloths, medicine jars-indicated that he’d been there all day, or longer.
“Otōsan?” Sano said.
His father stirred. Slowly he opened his eyes. A frown crossed his sunken face. Then the frown disappeared, as though the slight movement of facial muscles had exhausted him.
“Ichirō,” his mother said, turning with a strained smile.”What a surprise. We were not expecting you.”
Sano walked over to his mother and embraced her. Always a sturdy, robust woman, she now seemed smaller and more frail, as if weakened by her husband’s illness. Then he knelt beside his father.
“My son,” his father whispered. “Why have you come? Shouldn’t you be at your post? Even if your work is done for the day, the others will want you in the barracks.”
Should he make up some excuse, Sano wondered, and tell his father that he’d lost his position and his patron only when-or if-the old man grew stronger? Surely it would be an act of mercy.
His father’s emaciated hand emerged from under the quilt to touch Sano’s. “Go,” he said, making a feeble pushing motion. A cough shuddered through his body. “Do not shirk your duty.”
“Otōsan.” Sano swallowed against the dry lump in his throat. He couldn’t lie. His father’s own uncompromising honesty had always demanded the same from him. “I’m sorry, but I have something bad to tell you.”
He explained all that had happened, from the start of his investigation of the shinjū to his parting with Katsuragawa Shundai. When he finished, he braced himself for his father’s recriminations.
But his father said nothing. Instead he blinked once, slowly. Before he turned his face away, Sano saw the weak light in his eyes grow dimmer still.
“Otōsan, I’m sorry,” Sano said, less alarmed by the wordless rejection than by the knowledge that he might have just destroyed his father’s last chance for recovery. “Please forgive me. Don’t give up!”