“Kajikawa!” Sano shouted.
* * *
Outside the chamber, Reiko whispered urgently through the hole in the wall to Masahiro: “Free your father! Quickly!”
Masahiro jumped up, her dagger in his hand. Voices inside the room exclaimed. Reiko heard Sano say, “How did you get loose? Where did you get that dagger?”
“From Mother,” Masahiro said as Reiko ran down the passage and around the corner.
“She’s here?” Sano sounded almost as much vexed as pleased.
“Yes,” Reiko called. She reached the doorway to see that Sano’s hands were free; Masahiro was cutting the bonds from his ankles. “Hurry!”
The blood flow to his feet had been stopped for so long that Sano could barely stand. He winced in pain. Yanagisawa writhed, grunting through his gag. The other men begged Masahiro to free them, but there was no time. Supporting Sano between them, Reiko and Masahiro toiled through the palace. Sano limped and cursed. They heard the shogun wail, but he and Kajikawa were far ahead. Sano stumbled and went down on his knee on the polished floor of the corridor whose walls were decorated with paintings of pine trees. The Corridor of Pines, Reiko thought. This was where Lord Asano had attacked Kira, where everything had started.
Reiko and Masahiro helped Sano rise. They caught up with Yoritomo and Kajikawa near the main entrance. Kajikawa lumped the shogun along the hall like a sack of radishes. The shogun screamed every time his knees hit the floor. Kajikawa panted, straining to lift the shogun and urge him ahead while holding the sword to his throat.
“Wait!” Sano called.
Yoritomo reached the door and opened it. Daylight shone in. Reiko heard a roar of voices rise as Yoritomo led Kajikawa and the shogun outside. Another roar came from behind her and Sano and Masahiro. Reiko turned and saw Yanagisawa hobbling down the corridor. Somehow he’d gotten free. While she and Sano and Masahiro labored toward the door, Yanagisawa was in hot pursuit.
38
Breathless and sweating, Hirata arrived at the palace to find a noisy, agitated mob outside and hear the words that passed from one person to another: “Kajikawa is holding the shogun hostage!” He pushed through the mob and came up against a ring of troops stationed some twenty paces from the palace. They spread their arms to prevent people from moving closer.
“Stand aside!” Hirata shouted at the nearest guard.
The guard recognized him but didn’t budge. “My orders are to keep everybody away from the palace. If you go in there, you could get the shogun killed.”
A cry went up from the crowd: “Somebody’s coming out!”
The palace door opened. Guards drew their bows, aimed arrows at it. Yoritomo stepped onto the veranda. His face blanched with terror. His hands flew up.
“Don’t shoot!” he cried. “His Excellency is coming!”
The shogun stumbled out the door. The crowd gasped. His knees buckled; his feet dragged; his eyes rolled. His hands clawed at an arm clamped across his chest. The arm belonged to Kajikawa, who walked behind him. They looked like a Bunraku puppeteer and puppet-a puppeteer who held a sword against his living puppet’s throat. Kajikawa’s expression was defiant as he pushed the shogun forward. The guards lowered their bows. Apprehension chased through Hirata.
Kajikawa was insane. He would never survive this. Neither might the shogun. And what had become of Sano?
Yoritomo descended the stairs, his hands raised in supplication. “Kajikawa wants to leave the castle. You have to let him go, or he’ll kill His Excellency!”
People moaned, exclaimed, and passed the news to others behind them. Guards frantically conferred among themselves, trying to figure out what to do. Hirata seized control.
Shouting, “Clear a path!” he plowed through the mob, pushing people right and left. Troops hurried to help. A path opened from the palace to the gate. Troops held back the mob while Hirata stood at the edge of the path, ready to grab Kajikawa when he passed. With Yoritomo leading the way, Kajikawa lugged the shogun down the stairs. Anxious murmurs swept the audience. Yoritomo drifted sideways and lagged behind Kajikawa. Kajikawa dragged the shogun across the empty space around the palace.
They’d traversed half the distance, when four figures burst out the door.
The first figure was Sano, followed by Masahiro and Reiko. The last was Yanagisawa. The crowd roared.
“Kajikawa!” Sano ran down the stairs.
Kajikawa half turned but kept walking.
“Don’t do this. Let His Excellency go.” Sano gestured toward the troops, the mob. “Wherever you go, this is what you’ll meet. You won’t get away.”
Kajikawa seemed to notice the pandemonium for the first time. Fear cracked the shell of his defiance. He paused. Reiko descended the stairs with Masahiro; they stopped at the bottom, her arm around him. Yanagisawa clutched the railing and panted, out of breath.
Suddenly Hirata felt the familiar aura. He looked across the cleared path. Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano stood in the crowd on the other side. They returned his gaze, impassive. A movement on the periphery of his vision turned Hirata’s head. He saw Yoritomo stoop to pick up something from the ground. It was a branch. Yoritomo raised it in both hands as he sneaked up behind Kajikawa. His expression wavered between terror and determination. Hirata’s gaze homed in on the branch like a falcon sighting a sparrow aloft in a vast sky. The branch was black, as long and almost as thick as a man’s arm. It was coated with ice from the storm. Hirata recognized the kink near the end where Yoritomo gripped it. A broken-off stub protruded above Yoritomo’s hands.
The branch was the one Tahara had thrown.
Flabbergasted, Hirata looked at Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. They were intently watching Yoritomo.
Cheers blared as the crowd noticed Yoritomo preparing to attack Kajikawa. Kajikawa frowned, puzzled and suspicious. Yoritomo was within striking distance when Kajikawa turned, slewing the shogun around with him. Kajikawa saw Yoritomo ready to bring the branch down on his head. Surprise and dismay appeared on both men’s faces. Kajikawa flailed his sword at Yoritomo. It seemed more reflex than deliberate. Yoritomo had no time to dodge or strike back. The blade swiped the left side of his throat.
The crowd’s cheers deepened into groans. Shock altered Hirata’s perception. Time seemed to slow down, as if cosmic forces had stayed its flight.
Sano’s expression filled with horror. His lips parted. He uttered words that were drawn out like the sonorous notes from a war trumpet, unintelligible.
The cut on Yoritomo’s throat was a thin red line that broadened like a river during the rainy season. Blood spurted, gushed, and stained his clothes. His eyes and mouth opened wide. Pain twisted his features. He let go of the branch. It drifted downward through the air, like a feather, while his arms fell to his sides and his legs gave way. A dull sheen spread over his gaze. He crumpled to the ground. The branch landed, bouncing twice before it came to rest.
Reiko pressed her hand to her mouth. Beside her, holding a dagger, Masahiro gaped. Kajikawa’s mouth flexed, forming a smile, then a downturned grimace, smile, then grimace, childlike glee, then ghastly horror. His arm around the shogun loosened. The shogun collapsed like bamboo blinds folding.
A loud bellow, as if from a wounded animal, drowned out the exclamations from the crowd. Yanagisawa staggered down the steps and dropped beside his son. He hauled Yoritomo into his lap. He shouted into Yoritomo’s lifeless face.
Hirata was dumbstruck by the consequences of a trivial action, a branch selected at random and casually tossed. The crowd heaved around him, buffeting him, squeezing him, in a wave of mass shock. He turned to the secret society.