“He said you’ll never fulfill your potential,” Sano said, putting more words in Ozuno’s mouth. “You could have been the greatest martial artist in history. But you’ve wasted your training and your talent and your life. You’re nothing but one of a thousand rōnin outlaws.”
“I am the greatest martial artist! I’ve proved it tonight. Tomorrow he’ll know he was wrong about me. He’ll smell the smoke from the funeral pyres of all the men I’ve killed here.” Goaded into a rage, Kobori shouted, “And he’ll breathe your ashes along with theirs!”
He lunged at Sano, multiplying himself into an army that struck Sano repeatedly from all directions. But even as Sano jerked, spun, and cried out in pain, he perceived that Kobori had lost self-control. The insults to his pride, and his fear that his crusade would indeed fail, had gotten the better of him. He struck without caring whether he hit lethal points, venting his anger at Ozuno on Sano. His breaths now sounded more like sobs than like flames igniting. Sano sensed that Kobori wanted to torture him more than kill him. He forced himself to endure and suffer, biding his time.
Kobori slowed his movements, confident now of his victory over Sano, if not his future. Sano deliberately fell onto a gable that jutted from the roof. Kobori reached down to grab him. Sano’s eyes were so awash in blood and sweat that he could barely see. Guided by blind instinct, he shot out his hand and locked it around Kobori’s wrist. His fingers found two indentations on the bone. He squeezed with all his might.
Kobori exhaled in surprise. For just an instant, his muscles went slack as Sano’s grip drained the energy from him. Sano yanked Kobori down. He stiffened his other hand and jabbed the fingers under Kobori’s chin. Kobori uttered a cry of pained alarm. He reared back from Sano. His free arm swung up to strike a death-blow at Sano’s face. At the same time Sano thrust himself forward in a last, desperate effort. His forehead slammed Kobori high on the right breast.
The shock of the collision reverberated through Sano’s skull.
White lights exploded across his vision as if the stars in heaven were splintering.
Before Sano knew whether Kobori’s blow landed on him, the universe went black and silent.
Reiko, Hirata, the guards, and detectives tore through the dark, labyrinthine house. “There must be stairs to the roof,” Fukida said. Ahead of him, Lieutenant Asukai called, “Here!”
They rampaged up the staircase. Marume pushed open a trapdoor. The men clambered through it onto the roof. Lieutenant Asukai pulled Reiko up. Wind buffeted her. The thatched roof was a wide, slanted gray landscape in the moonlight. She heard no sound, no movement on it: The fighting had stopped. Then she saw two human forms lying side by side on the slope of a gable, as though tossed by the wind, their bodies broken.
“Over there!” she cried, pointing. Dread tightened around her heart.
One of the figures moved, then rose unsteadily to his feet. He stood over the other, prone figure. Reiko’s dread turned to sickening horror. Two men had fought. One had conquered and survived. She thought she knew which.
“No!” Reiko screamed.
Her voice echoed across the hills. The victor slowly turned to her.
As the moonlight revealed him, Reiko braced herself to see the face of Kobori, the assassin who’d slain her husband. But instead the light illuminated Sano’s face. It was so battered, bloody, and swollen that Reiko barely recognized him. But it was Sano, alive and victorious. Such relief overwhelmed Reiko that she almost fainted. She moaned and would have run to Sano, but he held up his hand.
“Don’t come any closer,” he said. “Kobori’s alive.”
The prone figure stirred. Marume and Fukida rushed across the roof. They seized Kobori and bound his wrists and ankles with his sash. Reiko hurried to Sano. He held her in his arms as she wept with joy.
“I thought you were dead!” she cried. “I thought the Ghost killed you!
Sano gave a chuckle that turned into a coughing fit. “You should have a little more faith in me.”
They looked down at Kobori, trussed like game from a hunt. His face was unmarked but deathly pale, bathed with sweat. His breath wheezed through gritted teeth. The consciousness in his dark eyes was fading like the glow of embers quenched by water. But he looked up at Sano; malicious humor animated his features.
“You think you’ve won,” he whispered. “But I defeated you before our fight began. Do you remember the night I came to your house?” His chest heaved in a soundless laugh. “While you were sleeping, I touched you.” As Sano and Reiko gazed at him, too shocked and horrified to speak, he closed his eyes. His last breath sighed from him.
34
The sun floated up through the gray dawn sky like a drop of blood swimming in an ocean of quicksilver. Temple bells rang, echoing across the hills, awakening Edo. Over the Nihonbashi Bridge streamed townspeople bound for work and travelers laden with bundles and armed with walking sticks. Along the banks of the canal, fishermen off-loaded their catch from boats. Gulls screeched and flocked. Through the crowds entering the fish market wandered a news-seller.
“The Ghost and his lady have been defeated!” he cried. “Read the whole thrilling story here!”
Customers eagerly snatched the broadsheets from him; coins exchanged hands. Near the foot of the bridge, a curious mob gathered at the place where executed criminals were displayed as a warning to the citizens. Today there were two severed heads mounted on a gibbet. One belonged to a woman; her long black hair blew in the cool, moist breeze. The other had the shaved crown and topknot of a samurai. Their faces were withered, pecked by birds, and rotting after four days of exposure to the elements. Their mouths and empty eye sockets gaped. Flies buzzed around them; maggots teemed in foul red holes. Bare bone showed on noses, cheeks, and brows. Dried gore blotched the ground under them. Only the tags affixed to the gibbet identified the criminals.
The woman’s read, YUGAO, MURDERESS; WOUNDED WHILE RESISTING ARREST; SURVIVED LONG ENOUGH TO BE EXECUTED. The man’s read, KOBORI, ASSASSIN; KILLED IN A FIERCE BATTLE.
Little boys swarmed around the heads, laughing and making fun of them. One hurled a stone that bounced off the man’s. They scampered away.
At Edo Castle, officials walked, trotted on horseback, or rode in palanquins out the main gate. They fanned into the Hibiya administrative district, going about their business, secure in the knowledge that the Ghost no longer stalked the city and they were in no more danger than usual. The wind that swept the streets carried ashes from funeral pyres, a reminder of the men who’d perished in the battle against Kobori. Black drapery on the castle gate honored their valor.
Inside the chamberlain’s compound, Masahiro stood in the garden. The boy wore a white jacket and trousers; his bare toes peeked through the grass. A little wooden sword hung in a scabbard tied to his sash. His face was solemn with concentration. Suddenly he contorted his features in a fierce scowl. He drew the sword, emitted a loud roar, then lunged and slashed at an invisible foe.
“That was very good,” Sano said as Masahiro looked eagerly to him for approval. “Now try this.”
Clad in his own white garments, he drew his own wooden practice sword and demonstrated a series of moves. Masahiro imitated them with more exuberance than grace, but Sano took pride in his son’s first baby steps toward mastering the martial arts. He took pleasure from the vivid purple irises blooming around the pond, the sweet fragrance of jasmine, the coolness of the morning, and the sound of Reiko’s voice speaking to the servants nearby in the house.
He relished the fact that he was alive.