With wordless eloquence, Momozono gestured toward the dark, open space beyond the railing. Below the tall beams that supported the veranda, the cliff dropped off precipitously. No one could survive such a fall. “I’ll be dead before the police can arrest me.”
As his heart pumped currents of panic through him, Sano chanted, “Jin! Jin!” When he tried to form the ideograph, his fingers wouldn’t intertwine and fold. “Please,” he whispered, “have mercy!” His spine gave way, and he crumpled. Momozono’s will constricted his lungs; his heart seemed ready to explode. His ears reverberated; he could barely hear Tomohito shouting, “No, Momo-chan, no!”
“Get out of the way, Your Majesty,” ordered the prince.
Faint scuttling noises impinged on Sano’s last vestiges of consciousness as the emperor crawled away. “Help!” Sano called.
His voice was a dying whisper trapped in his throat. Marume, Fukida, and the Tokugawa troops were far away at the battlefield. Momozono loomed over Sano and began breathing loudly, first in hisses, then wheezes, then huge gulps. Sano felt the last of his strength fade away. The power of kiai paralyzed him. He couldn’t manage the slightest flinch of muscle or fragment of speech.
Momozono’s voracious breaths stopped. He stood immobile, staring at Sano. Currents of energy swirled within the blackness of his eyes. The force radiating from him grew until the night thrummed and the whole cosmos seemed on the brink of shattering. Then Momozono’s mouth opened, stretching so wide that all his teeth showed around the gaping dark hole of his throat. Helpless, Sano watched Momozono inhale a huge breath. As Sano’s thoughts dissolved in a turmoil of pain and terror, he fought desperately to remain lucid. The Way of the Warrior decreed that a samurai must face death with dignified courage, and Sano couldn’t die without a final prayer.
Reiko! I love you! My spirit will watch over you until we are reunited in the netherworld!
The inhalation swelled Momozono’s thin chest as he prepared to release the full force of his power. With stoic tranquillity, Sano resigned himself to the inevitable.
But instead of a deafening scream, Momozono emitted a grunt. The tension in the air snapped like a burst bubble; the vibration ceased. Alarm replaced the wild ferocity in Momozono’s eyes. He staggered forward a step. Then his expression went blank, and he crashed facedown on the veranda. On his back, a red stain spread from a slit in his kimono. Over his lifeless body stood Sano’s savior: Chamberlain Yanagisawa.
Yanagisawa bent at the waist, breathing as hard as if he’d run all the way from the battlefield. The blade of the sword in his hand dripped Prince Momozono’s blood. Sano was overwhelmed with gratitude and relief. Yanagisawa’s complexion was deathly pale between the livid bruises; his body shook with tremors induced by what must have been a fierce struggle to approach and slay the man with the power of kiai. But his face wore a brilliant, sardonic smile.
“You once called me a back stabber,” he said to Sano. “Aren’t you glad I lived up to my reputation?”
36
The day before Sano left Miyako, he and Chamberlain Yanagisawa bid official farewell to the Imperial Court. Obon had ended, and a fresh wind had swept away the bonfire smoke. Clouds diffused the sun’s glare and cast shifting shadows upon the courtyard outside the Purple Dragon Hall. Nobles lined the yard, kneeling still while drums beat a slow, ritual cadence. On this morning two days after the Tokugawa army had quelled the revolt, the Imperial Palace basked in serenity. To Sano, walking behind Yanagisawa as guards, palace functionaries, and Shoshidai Matsudaira escorted them across the courtyard, the scene had the quality of an ancient painting: eternal, untouched by the hand of fortune. Yet Sano knew better.
The procession mounted the steps to the hall, whose raised doors revealed the imperial throne room. Inside, Emperor Tomohito sat in his canopied pavilion. Sano and Yanagisawa knelt on the veranda opposite him, with their escorts flanking them. They bowed in solemn reverence.
Shoshidai Matsudaira said, “The honorable chamberlain and sōsakan-sama have come to take their leave of the Imperial Court.” His voice trembled; he looked ill. Yanagisawa had reprimanded him for allowing a conspiracy to foment right under his nose. Soon he would be demoted and another Tokugawa relative put in charge of Miyako.
From his place below the emperor’s throne, Right Minister Ichijo addressed Yanagisawa and Sano: “We thank you for coming and solving the difficult problems of our capital.”
Beneath his courteous manner Sano detected a combination of relief at seeing them go, and suppressed elation. Rumor said that Ichijo’s promotion to the rank of prime minister would soon be announced. He’d achieved his lifelong goal.
“We thank you for your cooperation,” said Yanagisawa, “and regret that we must depart so soon.”
Sano offered his own thanks and regrets, but he guessed that their polite speeches fooled no one.
“I grant you my blessing for a safe journey back to Edo,” said Emperor Tomohito.
All the arrogance had deserted him; his chastened expression lent him a new maturity. Sano predicted a long, peaceful reign for the young sovereign, who had finally learned his place in the world.
While priests chanted an invocation, Sano perceived a vacancy in the palace; there was a quietude formerly broken by hoots, yelps, and frenetic motion. The air seemed charged with the absence of Prince Momozono. Yesterday Sano had issued orders for the prince’s cremation and burial. Perhaps his spirit would find peace at last.
The ceremony drew to a close, and Sano pondered the most dramatic effect wrought by the murder case: the change in Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Yanagisawa had offered no explanation for saving Sano’s life, but Sano hadn’t needed one. The chamberlain had brought Yoriki Hoshina with him when he’d rescued Sano. While Yanagisawa had described the discovery that had sped him to the temple, joy had lit his face as if he’d swallowed the sun. The investigation had made a detective out of him; the battle had turned him into a samurai. Love had redeemed his spirit.
Now the procession exited the courtyard. As Sano and Yanagisawa walked through the narrow streets of the kuge district for the last time, Right Minister Ichijo joined them.
“A private word, if I may?” Ichijo said.
Sano and Yanagisawa dropped behind their entourage and walked with the right minister. Ichijo said, “We all know that your investigation is not quite complete.”
“True,” said Yanagisawa.
“I will explain what you saw when you followed me to the Ear Mound,” said Ichijo, “if you will keep the information confidential.”
Yanagisawa raised an eyebrow at Sano, who smiled. Some things never changed. Ichijo was still a consummate politician. Loath to tarry in Miyako, Yanagisawa and Sano had agreed that they would return to Edo, leaving Detective Fukida behind to tie up loose ends. But perhaps Fukida needn’t worry about this one.
“Very well,” Yanagisawa said.
“I have a secret mistress and daughter in the village of Kusatsu,” Ichijo said quietly. “I visit them whenever I can. I also send them money through intermediaries. That’s what I was doing at the Ear Mound. I hired those two rōnin to protect my family from bandit raids and convey cash to them.”
Sano said, “That’s not illegal. Why the need for secrecy?”
“The woman is a peasant,” Ichijo said. “For a man in my position, an affair outside the noble class is unseemly. It would have damaged my career. I was passing through the Pond Garden on my way to Kusatsu when Left Minister Konoe was murdered. I didn’t want to be caught at the scene, so I continued on my trip.” He added, “Konoe knew my secret. He was blackmailing me.”
The procession reached the palace gate. “Thank you for the information,” Sano said, glad to have a mystery solved.