It was the end of Sano’s journey.
Pallbearers stood at the base of the steps, holding Yoshisato’s bier. A somber Yanagisawa waited by it. The priests had congregated on one side; on the other, the people with the flowers, birdcages, and incense burners. Troops and mourners filled the courtyard. Sano recognized top army officers and government officials, the most powerful daimyo, and important Tokugawa clan members. There wasn’t enough room for the rest of the procession, which must wait outside during the funeral. The shogun, his mother, Lord Ienobu, and other relatives climbed out of the palanquins. Attendants led them to the bier. The priests chanted, drummed, and rang bells. Incense smoke clouded the air. The crowd around Sano shifted as troops quietly worked their way toward him. They meant to capture him without making a scene and disrupting the funeral.
Breathless, drenched in sweat that stung the cuts on his face, Sano desperately looked around. Walls and the crowd hemmed him in. Troops blocked the gate. There was no place to run or hide. People around Sano noticed the troops homing in on him, the blood on his robes. They receded from him until he was standing alone in the middle of an empty space. The chanting, drumming, and bells faded to murmurs, taps, and jingling, then died. Voices buzzed outside the compound as people there realized something extraordinary had happened. Sano heard people inside whisper back his name. Disgust appeared on the faces turned toward him, the loathed object of all attention. He’d never felt so shunned or in so much despair. This was worse than all the bad times in the past, when he’d still believed salvation was possible.
As his time left on earth dwindled, every detail of the scene around Sano took on a crystalline, unnatural clarity-the outline of the mausoleum’s roofs against the blue sky; the snarls on the statues at the entrance; the gleams of reflected sunlight in the other men’s eyes. His vision fragmented; he saw everything simultaneously-the mute, immobile priests; the troops faltering because there was no protocol for arresting a criminal at a state funeral; the desert of paving stones around his solitary self. He watched the shogun and Ienobu slow their pace toward the mausoleum entrance, Yanagisawa pause on his way to meet them, and Lord Tsunanori step forward from the ranks of the dignitaries. Sano’s vision narrowed. Everything on its periphery lost definition as he focused on those four men.
The shock on their faces quickly altered. The shogun’s expression reverted to his customary stupidity and bewilderment, Ienobu’s to his usual canny caution. Lord Tsunanori looked irate. Yanagisawa’s face went dark. Sano focused on the shogun. He experienced a rage so powerful that his whole body engorged with hot blood and the cuts on his face throbbed. Here was the weak, selfish, frivolous fool who had brought him to this.
But the same clarity that affected his vision took command of Sano’s mind. His thoughts detached from his emotions. He saw the remainder of his life laid out before him, a short road with four branches. All led to death. But he had four choices of what to do next.
He could let himself be arrested and burned.
No.
He could draw his stolen sword, seize his last chance to fight for his life, and be massacred by the troops in an ugly, dirty, public spectacle.
No again.
He could seize his last chance for revenge on Yanagisawa and the shogun. Since he couldn’t kill both before the troops killed him, it would have to be the shogun. Even as Sano’s emotions demanded blood, his mind calculated the consequences. If he killed the shogun, he would become the murderer and traitor that the court had decided he was. That would permanently besmirch his honor, compromise the legacy he would leave for Reiko, Masahiro, and Akiko. He could forget his hope that after he was dead the regime would spare them. As the kin of the man who’d killed the shogun, they would be hunted down and slaughtered.
Sano mentally erased those three branches of the road. The crowd stirred restlessly. Ienobu scowled. Confusion appeared on Lord Tsunanori’s face. The shogun looked timidly to Yanagisawa, who opened his mouth to speak. Troops hastened toward Sano. Sano contemplated his last choice.
He could finish the investigation. The murderer he’d sought was here. Now it seemed inevitable that circumstances should have brought Sano and Lord Tsunanori together today. The fourth branch of the road glowed with a mystical light in Sano’s mind. He’d begun his career as a detective. He could die a detective who had managed to solve his last case. He could deliver one last murderer to justice.
That would be a legacy his family could cherish for however long they lived.
Honor steered him down the fourth branch of the short road to death.
As the troops closed in on him, Sano spoke. “Lord Tsunanori!”
His voice sounded clearer, louder, and more resonant than usual, amplified by his conviction that the choice he’d made was the right one. It silenced the crowd. Calmed by his sense of inevitability, Sano raised his hand and pointed at the daimyo.
“You murdered the shogun’s daughter,” Sano said.
39
Tahara and Kitano appeared at the top of the trail that led downhill from the clearing. “You two are early,” Tahara said cheerfully. His smile slipped as he became aware of the changed atmosphere between Hirata and Deguchi.
“Something’s different.” Kitano sniffed the air, as if he smelled danger.
As much as Hirata wished to delay the confrontation, he said, “You’re right. There aren’t going to be any more rituals. It’s over.”
Deguchi nodded. Tahara turned an incredulous gaze on him. “You’ve turned against us? Why?”
Deguchi’s expression was apologetic but resolute. Hirata answered, “He’s as sick of conspiracies as I am.”
“How could you?” Kitano asked Deguchi in a hard, angry voice. “After all we’ve been through together?”
“You murdered our teacher and stole his magic spell book,” Hirata said. “Why should you expect loyalty from a fellow criminal?”
“You defected to him?” Tahara pointed at Hirata.
Deguchi stared at the ground, miserable.
Fury strengthened Tahara’s and Kitano’s aura, deepened its pulse. Tahara said, “Whatever Hirata-san has told you, ignore it. He’s leading you astray.”
“Remember who your friends are,” Kitano said.
Deguchi’s aura shrank under pressure from the other men’s. He set his jaw.
“Then remember what we have on you.” The twinkle in Tahara’s eyes were chips of ice. “Those men who tortured you when you were a child? We know you tracked them down and killed them. We could turn you in.”
So they knew at least part of Deguchi’s story, Hirata realized. Deguchi beheld them with shock. Hirata understood that Deguchi had told his two friends about killing his abusers but never expected them to use it against him. Not all had been cozy and secure within the trio. Tahara and Kitano hadn’t taken their mutual loyalty for granted. They probably had goods on each other, too.
Deguchi stepped farther away from them and closer to Hirata, furious at their attempt to blackmail him. Tahara and Kitano couldn’t hide their dismay. They weren’t afraid of Hirata by himself, but Hirata plus Deguchi was a different matter.
“All right, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. Let’s talk about this.” Tahara gave a strained version of his roguish smile. He and Kitano obviously didn’t want a two-on-two fight. “Hirata-san has mixed up your mind. You’ve forgotten what we’ve accomplished together.”