If only Lady and young Lord Niu had given him more details! And if only he dared risk asking for help. But he was still a fugitive. Lady Niu, who might have called off the manhunt, lay dead in the blood-spattered tableau that would forever haunt his memory. Even with her letter and the scroll in his possession, he couldn’t approach the magistrate, the police, or the castle guards; he might be killed before he could convince them to send troops to protect Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. With yearning he thought of his father’s students and his friend Koemon, all skilled, courageous fighters, and loyal to their teacher’s family. Just the allies he needed, and impossible for him to contact. He couldn’t go near his neighborhood, where the doshin would be patrolling in case he returned.
As Sano neared Yoshiwara’s gate, he saw that it stood wide open and virtually unattended. A group of men lounged to one side of it: the two guards leaning on their spears, and five or six other samurai. All held cups or flasks. Sano slapped the reins and charged past them through the gate.
“Stop!” he heard the guards call. He didn’t look back to see if they were following him.
The pleasure quarter exploded around him in a burst of light, noise, and confusion. Thousands of lanterns blazed from the eaves of the buildings along Naka-no-cho. Men on rooftops launched rockets. Smoke from a huge, flaming bonfire down the block made Sano’s eyes smart as he tried to steer his mount through the crowds. Yoshiwara seethed with Setsubun merrymakers of every description: samurai in full battle dress, peasants wearing nothing but loincloths and shoes, bands of musicians and drummers. Masked faces bobbed below him. The music and shouts merged into one deafening roar of sound. Drunks reeled from side to side, spilling sake and adding more aroma to air already pungent with liquor, urine, and vomit. Some of the yūjo had left their cages to mingle with the crowds. Sano had to stop when a parade of them cut across his path. Dressed in their gaudiest silks, the women tittered shrilly as they made mock bows to him. Roasted soybeans crunched under countless pairs of feet. Every establishment was open and full to capacity. Shrieks of laughter issued from teahouses; gay parties sparkled behind the windows of the pleasure houses.
Sano gritted his teeth as he edged around the yūjo parade, only to come to a standstill again at a large audience gathered around a juggler. Frantically he scanned the crowd. How in this inferno would he ever find Tokugawa Tsunayoshi and Lord Niu? At least, he consoled himself, the police would never catch him here.
He realized his mistake when he saw a doshin standing outside the teahouse that advertised women’s wrestling. Conspicuous because of his everyday work clothes and his unsmiling demeanor, he accosted a samurai coming out of the teahouse and began yelling questions into the bewildered man’s face. Nearby, the doshin’s assistants had detained a mounted samurai. As Sano watched, they dragged their victim from his horse and tore the tiger mask off his face. One held a spear to his neck. The other yanked open his cloak.
Sano turned his horse and forced his way to the opposite side of the street. Both samurai were roughly his own height, build, and age; the mounted one had a brown horse like his. The police were stopping and searching men who fit his description. Toda Ikkyu, doing the job of a good spy, must have reported his visit to the police and told them about the sandal and rope he carried-better proof of his identity than a possibly forged or stolen set of credentials. Sano knew he should get rid of these incriminating items, and the horse. Still, he couldn’t throw away any of the evidence that tied the Nius to the murders, any more than he wanted to abandon Wada-san’s horse. He might yet have a chance to return the horse and use the evidence to clear his own and Raiden’s names, to restore his honor, position, and consequently his father’s health.
With difficulty, he maneuvered the horse through the crowd and resumed his search. Having read an illustrated version of The Tale of Genji, he had an idea of how the shogun would look tonight. The women of that period four hundred years past had worn layers of sashless kimonos-five or six, each a different color, with flowing skirts that dragged on the ground and sleeves that covered their hands. They’d worn their hair long and loose and parted in the middle. But where was the shogun? What was he doing?
Sano tried to put himself in Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s position. As a man eager to shed the burdens of power and fame for one night, where would he go? The elaborate costume suggested that he wanted to mingle with the revelers in the streets and teahouses, protected from enemies or supplicants by a disguise not as easily penetrated as a simple mask. He could be anywhere, although he wouldn’t have come alone. He’d have brought bodyguards with him, possibly dressed in costumes of the same period. With that little to go on, Sano fought his way down the street. He only hoped Lord Niu had no more information about the shogun’s plans than he did.
Where were Lord Niu and the other conspirators? In their place, Sano would ambush Tsunayoshi outside the quarter for a quick, neat kill away from all the confusion, and an easy getaway. Yet he dared not try to predict the mad Lord Niu’s actions. Neither did he have any idea what disguises the conspirators might be wearing.
Realizing he couldn’t cover the whole quarter with any speed, Sano began stopping people he met. He shouted, “Have you seen- ” and then described the shogun’s party the way he imagined it. The answers he got were varied-”
“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know!” from a drunken merchant.
“Don’t be so serious. Come have a drink!” from some rowdy young samurai.
– and largely useless.
Then a pleasure house doorman said, “An old-fashioned lady, you say? Why are you looking for her, when there are so many pretty modern girls here?”
The mention of girls and the sight of the parading yūjo reminded Sano of Wisteria. She’d helped him once; maybe she would again. She must have many friends in Yoshiwara who could join in the search, and enough samurai admirers to stand against Lord Niu’s men. He started toward the Garden of the Heavenly Palace. Then he spotted another procession of yūjo gathered outside a teahouse. Joy and concern flooded him in equal measures as his gaze found the woman at the end.
Except for her distinctive round eyes, he wouldn’t have recognized Wisteria. Much thinner and paler, she wore a plain cotton kimono. Beside her swayed a very drunk man. As Sano watched, he flung an arm around Wisteria, hand groping for her breast. Wisteria’s face was frozen in a grimace that barely resembled a smile.
Sano had no time to wonder what had caused the high-ranking beauty to sink to such depths. “Lady Wisteria!” he called. Somehow he reached her side without trampling anyone. He called her name again.
“Wisteria!” he shouted, lifting his mask for a moment so she could see his face. “Wisteria, do you remember me?”
Her false smile vanished. “You!” she shouted, eyes ablaze with hatred. “I helped you. I gave myself to you. And look what’s become of me!”
Her angry gesture encompassed her drab, haggard appearance, her oafish customer, her place at the end of the line. Sano’s heart contracted. He had, he recalled now, reported their conversation to Magistrate Ogyu. Ogyu must have ordered her demoted to low-class prostitute and social nonentity so that no one would pay attention to any stories she might tell about Noriyoshi’s murder. Another life ruined by his actions. But he couldn’t let guilt or pity stop him from doing what he must.