Gradually strength returned. Ogyu opened his eyes and staggered toward the door. He wondered why Lady Niu was so anxious for him to prevent the investigation and so willing to take extreme measures to see that he did. Then concern for himself overrode his curiosity. He must act now to avoid ruin. Miraculously, though, he felt less fear than he had before the meeting. The threat, its size and shape now defined, began to seem more manageable. He actually smiled as he entered his mansion. He was no fool, but a cunning and powerful magistrate. He always knew when a situation required a bold stroke instead of circumspect maneuvering. This instinctive knowledge was another of the talents that had enabled him to rise to his present position. However, as a man of refinement and fastidious tastes, he wouldn’t dirty his own hands.
To the servant who met him in the entrance way, Ogyu said, “Send for Yoriki Yamaga and Hayashi at once.”
He must give the orders. But others would act to prevent the metsuke investigation and to end Sano Ichirō’s interference in the Nius’ affairs once and for all.
Chapter 18
A sudden pounding of hoofbeats scattered the crowd in front of the noodle restaurant where Raiden sat finishing his midday meal. The sumo wrestler looked up from his bowl to see two horsemen in full battle regalia: richly decorated leather armor, metal helmets and face masks. Swords drawn, they brought their galloping mounts to a halt in front of him.
“You, there!” one of them called.
Raiden uttered a cry of dismay at the dust that the horse’s hooves had thrown onto his food. He glared up at the riders. Flinging the bowl aside, he stood, arms folded, legs apart.
“You mean me?” he growled at the lead rider.
“Yes. You.” The rider’s mask distorted his voice but did not disguise its implicit threat. Two cold eyes returned Raiden’s glare. “Are you Raiden, the wrestler?”
Raiden fell back a step. His anger subsided as the first prickings of fear started within him. He recognized the crests on the riders’ armor and the winged ornaments on their helmets. These were yoriki, whose rare appearances in the streets always meant big trouble for someone.
“What if I am?” Raiden said, trying to sound brave. But his voice quavered, and his heart began to thud.
Instead of answering, both yoriki jerked their horses’ reins. The horses pranced backward, clearing the street in front of Raiden. The yoriki who had spoken gave a piercing yelclass="underline"
“Take him!”
At once a pack of men descended on Raiden. Two grabbed his arms and pulled him away from the restaurant. The others surrounded him, clubs raised. Beyond them, Raiden saw three doshin with jitte in hand, four other men who each carried a stout ladder, and a crowd of avid onlookers.
Raiden’s confusion and panic increased. He struggled to free himself. “Hey, let me go. What are you doing? What do you want with me?”
“You’re under arrest for the murders of Noriyoshi, artist, and Yukiko, daughter of Lord Niu,” the lead yoriki shouted from astride his rearing horse. To the others: “Take him to jail.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Raiden protested. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
But even as he spoke, he experienced an uncomfortable, familiar, and queasy sensation of doubt. The demon that lived in his mind sometimes affected his memory; people often told him he’d done things of which he had no recollection. He might have killed those people, then forgotten-he’d certainly hated Noriyoshi enough. But the thought of jail alarmed him. He must convince the police of his innocence.
“You’ve got the wrong man,” he said.
Suddenly a blinding rage boiled up inside Raiden, just as it had at frequent, unpredictable intervals since he’d injured his head. His demon surfaced. With a roar of fury, Raiden threw his massive weight right, then left. The men holding his arms let go. He heard one of them crash into the restaurant amid the excited cries of the diners. Raiden charged at his other attackers. He swept one aside with his arm and downed another with a punch in the jaw. He plowed over the fallen men, kicking and trampling. But the doshin’s men outnumbered him. Their clubs began to rain blows upon him. Still Raiden fought. Possessed by the demon, he felt no pain and cared not whether he lived or died.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the demon departed. Fear and panic returned. “No!” Raiden screamed.
He flung his hands up to protect his face-too late. Pain flared on his cheeks and mouth. He tasted blood, spat out one of his teeth. The clubs cracked against his arms, ribs, and back. He went down, sobbing in terror now. Pinioned beneath the doshins men, he lay gasping and whimpering like a wounded animal. The shouts of the crowd rang in his ears. Someone bound his wrists. The rope cut into his flesh. Hands dragged him to his feet. The ladders interlocked around him, forming a cage. A jitte prodded his back.
“Walk,” its owner shouted in his ear.
Still whimpering in pain and terror, Raiden staggered forward. He ducked his head to hide his shame. He knew what he would see if he raised his eyes.
He’d seen parades like this before. The proud mounted yoriki in the lead; the doshin marching behind them; and last, the assistants with their bound and corralled prisoner. He’d joined the crowds who flocked to see the spectacle; he’d jeered and hurled rocks at the prisoners. Now he was the victim of those taunts. The rocks were aimed at him.
“This is a mistake,” he cried as a rock struck his brow. He cowered within his ladder-cage, but more rocks flew between the rungs to pound his chest and back. “I’m not a murderer.” He must make everyone listen and believe, before they reached the jail. Then it would be too late. “Please, let me explain.”
He lifted pleading eyes to his tormenters. His spirits sank at the sight of the angry mob. The leering faces, merciless stares, flailing arms. The mouths crying out for his blood. “Please… ”
Again the jab in the back. “Shut up and keep moving!”
After a while, Raiden’s awareness of the crowd, his captors, and even his predicament faded. The simple act of walking required all his thought and energy. Finally the procession halted, and Raiden found himself outside the gate of Edo Jail with no clear memory of the route they’d taken. Fresh terror restored his wits.
“Please, no, don’t take me in there, I don’t want to go,” he babbled as his captors disassembled the ladder-cage. Like everyone else, he knew what went on in the jail. Once inside, he could forget about convincing the authorities of his innocence.
No one spoke to him. They dragged and pushed him down a foul-smelling corridor. He heard his own screams mingle with the inhuman howls of the other prisoners. Someone opened a door. A hard shove sent him stumbling into a dim room. He fell facedown in the corner. Rough hands bound his ankles. The door slammed.
Raiden rolled over. He was alone in a tiny cell with high, barred windows. Frantically he writhed on the floor, straining at his bonds.
“Let me out!” he shouted.
No answer came. At last, weakened to exhaustion, he gave up. He lay panting, bathed in sweat that soon turned icy in the draft that poured through the windows. He forced himself to think. Could he bribe the jailers? Failing that, his only hope of survival lay in enduring the torture that he knew would follow. No matter what they did to him, he must not confess to murder. Now he called upon all the self-discipline his twenty years of sumo training had instilled in him. With relief, he felt his mind grow quieter as fear receded. Courage flowed through him, the way it did when he stepped into the ring.
The door swung open. Two jailers entered the room. Each carried a long staff; each wore a spear and a whip at his waist. Raiden kept his eyes off the men and their weapons and concentrated his attention inward. Let them do their worst.