“There he is,” Sano said, pointing.
He and his men jostled through the mob; they scaled a ladder. As they edged along the balcony, past the audience who knelt on its floor, a group of commoners seated themselves in the empty space around Captain Nakai.
“You’re too close,” he said. “Move.” His voice was belligerent, threatening. The commoners hastily decamped.
Sano had seen Nakai only once before-at a ceremony after the war, when the victorious army had paraded before Lord Matsudaira, carrying the severed heads of slain enemy troops-but Nakai had made a memorable impression. With his tall, athletic build and noble manner, he epitomized the warrior race.
Although Nakai was in his thirties, past his prime, Sano had easily imagined him single-handedly killing forty-eight men in battle. But today he sat idle, dressed in a brown silk robe, trousers, and surcoat instead of armor; his posture was slouched instead of proudly upright. Discontent shadowed his strong, carven features as he stared down at the ring.
“Captain Nakai?” Sano said.
Nakai turned. Recognition cleared the glum look from his face as he beheld Sano and Hirata. “Honorable Chamberlain. Sōsakan-sama.” He bowed, alert and animated. “Please sit down.” With a smile that showed broad white teeth, he offered them the space he’d kept clear.
“Many thanks,” Sano said. He and Hirata and their men sat.
“Are you fond of sumo?” Nakai said.
“Yes,” Sano said, “but that’s not why we’re here. We came to talk to you.”
“Me?” Nakai sounded awed and confused. Seeing him at close range, Sano noticed a flaw in his perfection. It was his eyes. Their expression lacked something-perhaps not so much intelligence as self-possession. “But why… how did you know to find me here?”
When Sano told him, Nakai’s face reddened. “Well, I know I should be at my post, but it’s not as if I’m really needed there. Besides, making up duty rosters and inspecting troops is dull work compared to fighting a battle.”
Sano knew that many soldiers had had problems readjusting to ordinary life after the war; they were restless, inclined to brawl among themselves and drink too much. But he didn’t care for Nakai’s attitude. Hirata and the detectives looked askance at Nakai: Samurai were supposed to follow orders and not complain.
“After all I’ve done for Lord Matsudaira, I deserve more.” Nakai obviously thought his accomplishments entitled him to a reward, even though his lord didn’t owe him a thing for doing his duty. He seemed unaware of his audience’s disapproval. “Many men who killed fewer enemy troops than I did have been promoted, but not me.” Bitterness colored his tone. “My family has distant cousins who fought on Yanagisawa’s side. I’m tainted by bad blood, through no fault of my own.”
Sano thought that was possible, for political ties mattered. But most likely Nakai’s superiors had passed him over in favor of men less skilled at combat with better social graces, who had the sense not to show themselves in a bad light to the shogun’s second-in-command.
“I’ve been a faithful servant to Lord Matsudaira. All I want is for him to recognize that. I don’t care about a bigger stipend.” Nakai donned a noble, martyred air. “All I ask is a chance to serve Lord Matsudaira in a higher capacity, where I can do even more for him than I already have.”
Sano seized the opening in his tirade: “Now is your chance. Lord Matsudaira has ordered me to investigate the death of Chief Ejima. I would appreciate your help.”
“Of course,” Nakai said, disconcerted; he obviously hadn’t expected to get his wish in this way. “What can I do for you?”
Below the balcony, across the audience that covered the ground, the wrestlers finished their ritual and marched out of the ring. The announcer shouted the names of the wrestlers who would fight the first match. The drums clamored. Two massive wrestlers, stripped to their loincloths, crouched at opposite ends of the ring. Anticipation stirred the crowds.
“I’m questioning everyone who came in contact with Ejima shortly before he died,” Sano began. “The records show that you had a private appointment with him.”
Nakai frowned as though trying to figure out the point of the conversation. “Yes, I asked Ejima to help me get a promotion. He was close to Lord Matsudaira, and I thought he could put in a good word for me.”
“What happened?”
Anger glinted in Nakai’s eyes. “Ejima said no. It was just a little favor, and he could have done it with no trouble to himself. People use their influence for other people all the time-that’s how one gets ahead in the bakufu. But Ejima said he didn’t know me well enough to recommend me to Lord Matsudaira. He said if I wanted to rise in the world, I had a lot to learn. Then he kicked me out.”
Sano had met many men like Nakai, good at their jobs but stuck in low ranks because they were grossly inept at politics. They didn’t understand the subtle techniques of courting friendship and placing other men under their obligation. They needed to learn that if one wanted favors from strangers, one had better have something to hold over their heads.
“Ejima was the same as the other men I asked for help,” Nakai said bitterly. “They all treated me as if I were a dog who’d pissed on their shoes!”
Hirata said, “Was Treasury Minister Moriwaki one of them?”
“…Yes, I did talk to him.”
“At the bathhouse?”
Scowling, Nakai nodded. “He wouldn’t give me an appointment. I had to follow him around until I caught him off guard.”
“What happened?” Hirata asked.
“He said he couldn’t help me; it was up to my superior officer to decide whether I should be promoted. He told me to go away.” Nakai’s temper erupted; he pounded the balcony so hard it shook. “The nerve of those old snobs! They all got their new, high positions after Lord Matsudaira defeated Yanagisawa. None of them would be where they are, if not for men like me.” He thumped his chest. “I fought in the battle while they hid at home. And now they won’t throw me a crumb from their banquet!”
Sano had to agree that Nakai had a legitimate gripe. Hundreds of troops had died, and men who’d never blooded their own swords had reaped the benefits. Sano thought of more men besides Ejima and Moriwaki-and himself-who fit that description. “Did you ask Court Supervisor Ono and Highway Commissioner Sasamura for their help?”
Nakai snorted out a breath. “For all the good it did.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Not long before they died.”
Sano also knew Nakai must realize that there was one man in particular who’d benefited most of all from Nakai’s efforts and had the authority to dispense rewards. “Did you ask Lord Matsudaira for a promotion?”
Nakai shook his head, simmering with resentment. “I would if I could. I’ve requested an audience with him. I risked my life to put him in power, and he won’t even grant me the courtesy of a reply!”
Sano and Hirata exchanged a glance; they noted that Captain Nakai’s grudge included Lord Matsudaira as well as all the victims he’d had contact with during the critical time period. He had plenty of reason for attacking Lord Matsudaira’s new regime. Sano said, “What did you do when Ono, Sasamura, Moriwaki, and Ejima brushed you off?”
Nakai grimaced. “I slunk away with my tail between my legs. What else could I do?”
“You didn’t take revenge on them?” Hirata said.
Suspicion crept into Nakai’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”
The wrestlers in the ring suddenly charged. The impact shuddered their flesh. Cheers burst from the audience. The wrestlers pummeled each other; they grappled and shoved as each tried to throw his opponent from the ring.