Suddenly Lady Yanagisawa’s hold broke. Reiko collapsed onto the floor, gulping air, moaning with relief; she clutched her sore, bruised throat. As her vision cleared, she saw the detectives holding Lady Yanagisawa, who screamed curses as she thrashed in their grip. But the pounding in Reiko’s ears continued, and she realized that her heart wasn’t the cause.
“What’s that sound?” she said.
The detectives listened. Lady Yanagisawa fell silent; she ceased to struggle. The pounding stopped. Running footsteps outside signaled a horde entering the estate. Men’s voices arose in furious shouts amid the clash of steel blades. The noise resounded through the mansion. Into the reception room marched a brigade of samurai troops clad in armor, brandishing swords. Reiko staggered to her feet. She saw the Matsudaira clan crest on the troops’ armor, and astonished comprehension filled her.
The Matsudaira faction had invaded Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s domain. The pounding she’d heard was a battering ram, breaking down the gates.
The invaders faced off against the detectives. Their hostile stares took in Reiko and Lady Yanagisawa. The leader of the Matsudaira troops demanded, “Who are you?”
A detective explained that he and his comrades were the sōsakan-sama’s retainers. He identified the women, then said, “What’s going on?”
“Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s army has retreated from the battle,” the leader said. “Most of his allies have defected to our side. And Lord Matsudaira has convinced the shogun to throw the chamberlain out of the court. We’re here to capture him.”
A wail of horror arose from Lady Yanagisawa. Reiko could hardly believe that the corrupt, wily chamberlain had finally fallen from power. But now she heard blades ringing, loud crashes, and screams of agony as his guards tried in vain to defend him and his territory against the invaders. Down the corridor, past the reception room’s doorway, filed Matsudaira troops, leading Yanagisawa’s officials. Then came the chamberlain himself. Two of his rival’s soldiers held his arms. His posture was proud, his expression fierce; he gazed straight ahead. Behind him stumbled Kikuko, escorted by another soldier. She saw Lady Yanagisawa and cried, “Mama, Mama!”
“No!” shrieked Lady Yanagisawa.
She broke away from Sano’s detectives. Weeping, she flung herself toward her child and husband as they disappeared from view. The leader of the Matsudaira troops seized her. He said, “We have orders to take the chamberlain’s whole family. Come along quietly now.”
Dazed by too many emotions to comprehend, Reiko watched her enemy borne away from her.
The detectives led a meek Koheiji offstage beyond the backdrop. The curtain fell. Outside it, the audience booed louder while exiting the theater. Hirata, walking alongside Sano as they followed the captive actor, experienced a tremendous letdown.
The investigation was over. The man he’d dismissed as a trivial nobody had killed Senior Elder Makino. And Hirata had done nothing to win back Sano’s trust, prove himself a worthy samurai, or salvage his reputation. Playing by the rules hadn’t helped. The best clue he’d discovered-Daiemon’s secret quarters-wasn’t enough. Nothing that had happened had required heroics from Hirata. He must wait for an opportunity to redeem himself that might never come. If only he could have one more chance, now, at restoring his honor!
Suddenly, loud yells and scuffling erupted nearby on the other side of the curtain. The gang of rōnin burst through the curtain, waving their swords, chased by Ibe, Otani, and their troops. Hirata had barely time to realize that the rōnin meant to have their fight, the consequences be damned, when the leader with the red kerchief came charging toward Sano. Bellowing with maniacal abandon, the rōnin raised his sword in both fists.
“Look out!” Hirata yelled.
At the same moment, Sano turned and his eyes perceived the attack impending. His hand flew to his sword. But Hirata drew his own sword first. He leaped in front of Sano. In the instant that the rōnin arrived within striking distance of them, Hirata slashed him across the belly.
The rōnin roared. He faltered to a stop. Pain and madness blazed in his eyes. He began to crumble, the sword still raised in his hands. With his last strength he swung the blade violently downward as he died.
It happened in a flash. Hirata had no time to dodge. The blade sliced down his left hipbone, then deep into his thigh. He cried out as agony shot through muscles, veins, and sinew. Letting go his sword, he toppled hard onto the stage. Throbbing spasms of pain wrenched his features into a grimace.
He heard Sano exclaim in horror and alarm, “Hirata-san!” He glimpsed the rōnin lying dead nearby and the detectives and the watchdogs’ troops fighting the gang. They all dissolved into a blur as he saw the blood spurting from his thigh, out of the tear in his clothes, and spreading around him. Hirata’s pulse raced; gasps heaved his lungs as dizziness weakened him. Terror pierced the depths of his spirit. Many times he’d fought and been injured; always, he’d survived. But he recognized that this wound was different.
Now Hirata saw Sano, his face aghast, bending over him. Sano was alive, unhurt. He seized Hirata’s hand in his strong, warm grasp. He shouted, “Fetch a doctor!”
Even as Hirata moaned in pain and horror of impending death, triumph dazzled him. He’d taken the fatal sword cut meant for Sano. He’d performed his heroic act and achieved the ultimate glory of sacrificing himself for Sano.
“You’re going to be all right,” Sano said urgently, as if willing himself as well as Hirata to believe it. Hirata felt someone binding his thigh, stanching the flow of blood. “Just hold on.”
“Master,” Hirata said. His cracked, barely coherent whisper conveyed all the respect, obligation, and love he felt toward Sano. Pain and lethargy prevented him from speaking more. Sano’s image grew dark, indistinct.
“You’ve proved yourself an honorable samurai,” Sano said in a voice raw with emotion. It seemed to echo across a vast distance. “For saving my life, you have my eternal gratitude. The disgrace you brought upon yourself is gone. I’ll never doubt your loyalty again.”
Hirata reveled in the words. As he felt himself raised up from the hole into which his disgrace had sunken him, he was dimly aware of his physical and spiritual energy fading. Any effort to save him seemed futile. He thought of his wife Midori, who would grieve for him, and his daughter Taeko, who must grow up without him. Sadness pierced Hirata. He thought of Koheiji and felt brief amusement that the actor had turned out to be an agent of his fate. He remembered his hunch that Tamura would figure into the solution of the mystery. Instinct had proved correct one last time.
And now Hirata heard a rushing sound, like a tidal wave coming to carry him into the black emptiness obliterating his vision. He sensed legions of samurai ancestors awaiting him in a world on the other side of death. Sano’s hand holding his was all that tethered Hirata to life.
35
The passage of three days brought milder weather, rains that engulfed Edo, and tentative peace to the city.