Bundori: A Novel of Japan (7 page)

“But this only confirms that the killer is a samurai who knows how to prepare a trophy,” Sano said. Morosely he touched the label tied to the pigtail. Then he frowned in surprise when he read the inked characters.

“ ‘Araki Yojiemon’?”

“I understand that war trophies are supposed to bear the dead man’s name,” Dr. Ito said. “Perhaps the killer did not know who Kaibara was, and chose another name rather than leave the label blank.”

“But why this particular one?”

Araki Yojiemon, Sano recalled, had been a vassal of Tokugawa Ieyasu during the country’s Sengoku Jidai-Time of War-more than a hundred years ago. The Araki clan had served the Tokugawa for generations, Yojiemon as a general in the battles Ieyasu had fought for Oda Nobunaga, during that great warlord’s drive to conquer the nation. Sano failed to see any connection between Araki Yojiemon and Kaibara Tōju’s murder.

“And if the killer didn’t know who Kaibara was, what would be his motive for murder?” Sano added. “Why kill a total stranger?”

Dr. Ito shrugged, sharing his bafflement. On a hunch, Sano detached the label and tucked it into his sash beside Kaibara’s pouch. He must determine what, if any, significance the label had, and could think of one possible way to do it.

“Have you any advice for me, Ito-
san
?” he asked.

This, evidently, was the moment the doctor had been waiting for. Beaming in triumph, he said, “What I have is important news for you. And if you make use of it, you may not need advice. Mura?”

He nodded to the
eta
, who took from a cupboard a large, covered brown ceramic urn. “Sano-
san
, it is my dubious pleasure to inform you that this unusual murder is not the first of its kind.”

“Not the first? What do you mean? How do you know?” Sano looked at his friend in confusion.

Dr. Ito only smiled and, with a wave of his hand, directed his attention to the
eta
.

Mura pushed the urn over to the table. With a sharp knife, he scraped off the wax that sealed the lid. He pried up the lid and set it aside. Then, grimacing in distaste, he plunged his hands into the urn’s depths.

Sano gasped when he saw the dripping object that Mura lifted onto the table. Sake, apparently used as a preservative, streamed from a severed male head. An opaque white film clouded the dead man’s eyes; his skin had turned grayish-white. In contrast, the prominent wart on his nose had darkened, and the lips had peeled back to expose yellow, overlapping teeth. His short black hair made only a skimpy pigtail.

“No label.” Sano spoke through a wave of nausea. “I wonder why not?”

But the head, like Kaibara’s, was mounted on a square board, and traces of rouge still adhered to its cheeks. This murder and Kaibara’s were unquestionably the work of the same person.

“When did this happen?” Sano demanded. “Do the police know about it?”

But of course they must. How like Hayashi to withhold information from him! Anger boiled inside Sano.

“The head was brought in by the corpse handlers ten days ago, at my request,” Dr. Ito said. “And I doubt very much whether the police were informed.”

“Why not?” Sano tore his gaze from the gruesome trophy and faced his friend.

Dr. Ito exchanged glances with Mura. “The victim was an
eta
,” he said.

“Oh. I see.” Enlightenment dispelled Sano’s confusion.

The authorities concerned themselves as little as possible with the outcasts; the police didn’t bother investigating their murders, no matter how unusual. But for Dr. Ito’s intellectual curiosity, the
eta
’s death would have gone disregarded, along with whatever information it could furnish about the killer. Sano felt a rush of gratitude toward his friend, whose assistance and inspiration grew more valuable to him as their relationship progressed.

“Thank you, Ito-
san
,” he said.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Dr. Ito feigned bewilderment, but a twinkle in his eye told Sano he understood and appreciated the tribute.

“Mura told me about the murder,” he continued. “The man lived in his settlement. Having an unrealistically high opinion of my expertise, he asked me to help find the killer. But unfortunately, there was nothing I could do except preserve the evidence. Unless… ”

He fixed Sano with a challenging gaze.

“Unless I help.” Sano thoughtfully studied the head. “Maybe I can. If the same person committed both murders, then maybe investigating this one will lead me to the killer.”

At Sano’s request, Mura clipped a lock of the murdered
eta
’s hair and wrapped it in paper for him to carry to Aoi. Then Sano took his leave of Dr. Ito, elated at the new possibilities that had opened up before him, but at the same time disturbed.

Kaibara’s decapitation wasn’t an isolated incident. The killer had already demonstrated his willingness to kill more than once, for purposes yet unknown, and the Tokugawa
bakufu
was not his only target.

There was a madman loose in Edo, and how many more lives were at stake?

A cold spring twilight descended upon the Asakusa temple district in the north of Edo. The rooftops of the shrines and temples curved and peaked against a radiant cerise sky. Bells tolled, their harmonious music winging over the western hills, the river, and the city. In the lanes that crisscrossed the district, paper lanterns glowed from the eaves of inns, shops, and food stalls, where pilgrims flocked, seeking food and shelter after their journeys and prayers. Orange-robed priests filed into the monasteries for their evening rites. Voices and laughter rang out; a cheerful serenity reigned.

Through the rippling tide of humanity strode the Bundori Killer. Barely aware of his surroundings, he ignored the noise, the crowds, the welcoming lights. His fellow men threw him uneasy glances, perhaps frightened by his air of grim purpose. Well, let them look. Let them stand in awe of Lord Oda’s war hero. He headed for the Asakusa Kannon Temple, which shone like an enchanted fortress amid the lanterns that blazed within its grounds. The first two murders had whetted his appetite for more, and made him yearn harder for the past. Soon he would face another battle, and he must pray for victory.

☼

In the sweltering confines of his lamplit field tent, Lord Oda Nobunaga paced before the generals summoned to this urgent night meeting.

“My traitorous brother-in-law, Asai, has allied himself with Lord Asakura of Echizen,” he fumed.

During the ten years since the Battle of Okehazama, Oda had risen to the forefront of military power. He had crushed many rivals and gained an important ally, Tokugawa Ieyasu. He’d seized the capital at Kyōto. At times he seemed invincible and his eventual subjugation of the country a certainty. But the news of Asai’s treachery, coming on the eve of his planned assault upon Lord Asakura’s territory, drew murmurs of consternation from Oda’s generals, among whom the Bundori Killer now numbered.

“Asai controls the passes of northern Omi Province,” General Tokugawa Ieyasu said. “He’ll ambush our army there before we can reach Echizen.”

Bravely the Bundori Killer said what needed saying. “Then we must retreat now, so that we may live to triumph later.” As all heads turned toward him, the young upstart, he added, “I will command the rear guard.”

And pray that I can fend off Asai and Asakura long enough for my lord to reach Kyōto safely, even if I must die in the effort.

☼

Outside Asakusa Kannon Temple, pilgrims clustered around a huge stone urn full of smoldering incense sticks. Some pilgrims were lame, others diseased. Chanting prayers, they cupped their hands to capture the healing smoke that rose from the vat, applying it to the affected parts of their bodies. The Bundori Killer marched past them to the temple’s main entrance. Doves, heavenly messengers of Kannon, goddess of mercy, cooed and fluttered in the eaves. He entered the temple and crossed the hushed, cavernous hall.

The day’s worshippers had deserted the temple. Two priests brushed past him, treading silently on bare feet, as he stood alone at the altar. He beheld the many-armed gilded statue of Kannon, the stalks of sacred golden lotus, the painted murals, the flickering candles and smoking incense burners that bathed everything in a shimmering golden haze. Then he bowed his head in prayer.

O, Kannon, let my troops crush the enemy forces. Let my victories follow one after another, as a tribute to my Lord Oda.

And then, because he was not so lost in the past that he’d forgotten the duties and dangers of his present-day reality:

I pray, let me destroy those who must be punished for the evil they have done. And those who dare stand in my way-especially the shogun’s
sōsakan
.

He dropped a coin in the offertory box to speed his prayers to the goddess, then left the temple. Outside, the sky had darkened; the crowds had almost disappeared. Only a few lanterns still burned in the streets. He joined the travelers on the road that led out of Asakusa. One hundred and nineteen years past, Lord Oda’s army had clashed with Lord Asakura and the traitor Asai. But in the here and now, would the man he sought to kill fall before his sword tonight? Would he win another trophy to satisfy the debt of honor that had gone unfulfilled for so long?

For a moment, he pondered the practical difficulties of finding his next victim and avoiding capture. Then, with a giddy, ecstatic rush, he relinquished his hold on the ordinary world and slid into his dream realm.

☼

Spring had given way to hot, humid summer. Lord Oda’s army had survived Asai’s ambush and returned safely to Kyōto, thanks to the Bundori Killer’s masterful deployment of the rear guard. Now the time had come to crush Asai and Lord Asakura for good. Lord Oda’s troops were on the march again, moving quietly by night, on horseback and on foot, beneath a swollen yellow moon, toward Asakura’s headquarters.

The Bundori Killer led his unit. Inside his armor, sweat trickled down his back and chest. Scouts had just brought news that Asai and Asakura had marshaled twenty thousand troops across the Anegawa River. His metal helmet amplified the pounding of his heart, almost drowning out the sounds of the army’s hoofbeats and footsteps, and the insect chants from the woods around them.

Under his command he had the troops levied from among Oda’s conquered foes. Had they really transferred their allegiance to their new lord? Could he trust them?

He hid his doubt and his youth behind the imperious bearing of a seasoned general who expects and receives obedience. The army marched on toward glory, or death. The moon reached its zenith and began to descend.

“Listen!” someone murmured.

From a distance came the faint pulse of war drums. Oda’s drummers struck up a thunderous counterthreat. The army increased its pace. Hooves pounded; thousands of swords rasped free of their scabbards. The troops took up positions on the riverbank, gunners and archers in the forefront, then swordsmen and spear fighters, with the generals in the rear.

Suddenly the drumming stopped. As the Bundori Killer gazed across the dark water at the waiting enemy host, his anxiety disappeared; he knew no fear or doubt. It was every samurai’s duty to win his lord’s battles, or to die trying. With stoic resignation, he awaited Lord Oda’s command.

The menacing silence lasted an eternity. The hot night was perfectly still. Then Lord Oda’s cry shattered the calm.

From the river’s opposite bank came Lord Asakura’s answering challenge.

Amid murderous shouts and deafening gunfire, both armies plunged across the water.

What has your search turned up?“ Sano asked Hirata from astride his horse when they met that evening on the wide boulevard that fronted Edo Castle ’s moat.

Hirata spread his hands in despair. “
Gomen nasai
-I’m sorry, but we went to every building within two gates of the murder scene, and didn’t find any witnesses, anyone who acted suspicious, or any blood. One gate sentry reported seeing Kaibara last night, alone. Another saw a man in a cloak and hat who might have been carrying a basket. But he didn’t get a good look at the man’s face.”

He stared gloomily at the bridge that led across the moat to the main gate. Above the towering stone walls, the castle’s guardtowers and keep loomed blackly against the star-flecked sky. Torches burned on the hill, flickering in the darkness.

“We’d hoped to cover a wider area today, but it was slow going with just the four of us.”

“You’ve done well nevertheless,” Sano told Hirata, who straightened his shoulders and managed a smile. The young
doshin
had at least spared him the tedious footwork. “And we have a new lead.” Sano explained about the
eta
murder. “While your men continue the search, meet me tomorrow morning at the hour of the dragon at Kaibara’s house in the
banchō
” -the district west of the castle, where the Tokugawa
hatamoto
lived.

“And Hirata, this earlier murder means that until we catch the killer, no one is safe. On my way here, I stopped at every gate and told each sentry to detain, search, and note everyone who passes after dark. I ordered every neighborhood headman to have armed citizens patrol the streets between dusk and dawn. I want you to do the same in as much of southwest Nihonbashi as you can before the gates close. We don’t want to panic the townspeople, but, we must warn and protect them.”

If Hirata minded following a hard day’s work with a busy night, he didn’t show it. He nodded briskly and said, “Yes,
sōsakan-sama
.”

They made their farewells, and Sano watched him sprint away through crowds of homebound samurai. Across the boulevard rose the high stone walls of the great daimyo estates. Was the killer behind them? Or was he prowling the streets in search of another victim? Sano’s hunter’s instinct stirred despite the inconclusive end to the day’s inquiries. Beneath the surface of Edo ’s controlled, orderly life, he sensed an evil presence, ready to wreak violence at any moment.

“Wherever you are, I’ll find you,” he vowed aloud.

As he crossed the bridge and entered the castle gate, bound for his meeting with the shogun, and, later, his rendezvous with Aoi, he wished he could believe his own words.

Armed guards admitted Sano to the shogun’s private reception room, where lanterns lit lavish gilded murals of blooming plum trees and blue rivers, brilliant floral designs filled the spaces between the ceiling’s cedar beams, and sunken charcoal braziers dispelled the evening chill.

“Ahh,
Sōsakan
Sano,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi said from the dais where he reclined upon silk cushions. In the soft light, his rich robes gleamed, and his face looked younger and more animated. “Come, rest from your labors. This spring air can be as, ahh, fatiguing as it is exhilarating.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

Sano knelt before the dais, awed and disconcerted to find himself alone with Tsunayoshi, except for three bodyguards who stood like silent shadows by the doors, and three equally quiet servants who awaited their master’s orders. Still, Sano recognized a unique opportunity to further his acquaintance with the lord who controlled his fortune. And Tsunayoshi’s conversation proved that he, too, welcomed the chance to develop their personal relationship.

“You are a scholar, are you not?” At Sano’s assent, the shogun went on to ask, “With whom did you study? And which subjects?”

“With the priests at Zōjō Temple, Your Excellency,” Sano answered, relaxing. His father, despite extreme financial hardship, had given him the best education possible. And considering the value that the shogun placed on scholarship, how fortunate that he had! Sano offered a silent prayer of thanks to his father’s spirit. “I studied literature, composition, mathematics, law, history, political theory, and the Chinese classics.”

“Ahh, a truly educated samurai.” Interest kindled in Tsunayoshi’s eyes, and he leaned forward with an eager smile. “I presume you are familiar with the Book of Great Learning.”

Having had long passages of it drilled into his memory by the strict priests, Sano could and did answer yes. He hadn’t expected a literary discussion, but he must follow his master’s lead. He’d heard tales of Tsunayoshi’s temperamental nature. One misstep could result in disaster.

However, the shogun apparently decided that it was time for business. “We shall have an enjoyable discussion about the classics someday soon.” He sat upright and assumed a stern expression. “Now. What progress have you made in your, ahh, investigation of Kaibara Tōju’s murder?”

Just then, footsteps sounded in the corridor. At a command from someone outside, the guards opened the door. Sano turned and saw Chamberlain Yanagisawa enter the room. With him came a young samurai about fourteen years of age. He wore his hair in a style that signified that he hadn’t yet had his manhood ceremony: the crown shaven, but with a long, dangling forelock tied back from his brow. His face was as delicate and lovely as a girl’s.

“Please forgive my interruption, Your Excellency.” Yanagisawa knelt beside the dais and bowed. The boy did the same, but kept his forehead to the floor and his arms extended while the chamberlain sat up and continued speaking. “But I took the liberty of assuming you wanted to see Shichisaburō tonight.” He gestured toward the boy, adding, “I believe you once expressed an interest in him.”

Sano had heard of Shichisaburō, current star of the Tokugawa No theater troupe. He came from a distinguished stage family, had great talent, and specialized in samurai roles, which explained his hairstyle. The shogun, an enthusiastic arts patron, would naturally want to meet him-but now? Surprised and disturbed by Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s ill-timed intrusion, Sano looked toward the dais.

The shogun was gazing at Shichisaburō as if entranced, eyes aglow, lips parted. Even before he’d come to the castle, Sano had heard stories about Tsunayoshi’s fondness for young men and boys, his harem of beautiful actors, peasants, and samurai. Now he saw the truth in those rumors. He felt a spasm of disgust, though not at the shogun’s sexual preference. Manly love was practiced by many samurai, who considered it an expression of Bushido. Rather, he was disturbed to learn that another rumor was also true: Tsunayoshi allowed erotic pursuits to distract him from official business. Sano fought his unfilial emotions as his father’s voice spoke from the past:

“A good samurai does not criticize his lord, even silently.”

Tsunayoshi seemed to have forgotten all about the murder investigation. “Rise, Shichisaburō,” he ordered huskily.

The boy stood, and the shogun looked him up and down. Prodded by a sharp glance from Yanagisawa, the young actor smiled tremulously. Tsunayoshi’s breathing quickened, and his throat contracted as he swallowed. Sano looked at the floor, embarrassed to witness this naked display of lust. Then, to his relief, Yanagisawa beckoned a guard.

“Take Shichisaburō to His Excellency’s chambers to wait until he finishes his business with
Sōsakan
Sano.” This casual mention of his name was Yanagisawa’s only acknowledgement of Sano’s presence.

As the door closed behind Shichisaburō and the guard, disappointment creased Tsunayoshi’s face. Sano squirmed inwardly until Yanagisawa’s smooth voice filled the awkward silence.

“Are you discussing Kaibara’s murder?”

“Murder? Ahh, yes.” Tsunayoshi blinked, and his eyes refocused on Sano, but a wistful sigh betrayed his lingering regret over Shichisaburō’s departure. “
Sōsakan
Sano was just about to report on his progress. Won’t you join us? I am sure we will both benefit from your, ahh, insight.”

Yanagisawa and Tsunayoshi exchanged a glance that Sano couldn’t read. He detected an emotional bond between them, but he couldn’t grasp the nature of their relationship. Were they really lovers? They didn’t touch, or appear to desire physical contact; Yanagisawa remained seated below the dais to Tsunayoshi’s right, turning sideways so he could see both the shogun and Sano. Beneath their formal manner, Sano sensed fond admiration on Tsunayoshi’s part; on Yanagisawa’s, something more intense and ambivalent. He must pay close attention to their every move, to the inflections of their speech when they addressed each other. If, as he’d begun to suspect, he must always deal with his two superiors as a team, then he wanted to understand the dynamics between them.

What he saw so far disturbed him. Did Yanagisawa deliberately encourage the shogun’s overindulgence in pleasure?

Sano shut his mind against this disrespectful thought. “I’m honored by your presence, Chamberlain Yanagisawa,” he said.

Yanagisawa nodded in bland acknowledgement. “Then inform us,
Sōsakan
Sano, of what you have learned today,” he said, assuming the role of interrogator. “Have you found the killer yet?”

“Well, no,” Sano faltered. There was no escaping the truth, but Yanagisawa’s direct query made it hard for him to emphasize the progress he’d made. He glanced at the shogun. Surely Tsunayoshi didn’t expect miracles after a single day’s work?

But Tsunayoshi frowned in disappointment. “Ahh, how unfortunate.” He seemed content to let Yanagisawa take over the meeting. Again his gaze wandered toward the door, and he shifted restlessly on his cushions.

“But I’ve interviewed the people who found Kaibara’s remains,” Sano said, hurrying to head off more leading questions from Yanagisawa. He wished the chamberlain would leave, and that he hadn’t brought Shichisaburō. The rapport between himself and Tsunayoshi had weakened, and, with the shogun preoccupied, he saw little chance to restore it. “The old couple who run a pharmacy, and the gate sentry who-”

“You received a description of the killer from them?” Yanagisawa interrupted.

“No, Honorable Chamberlain, I didn’t.” Once again forced to answer in the negative, Sano forgot what he’d planned to say next. His nervousness increased.

“Hmm.” Yanagisawa’s monosyllable conveyed disapproval, scorn, and satisfaction.

Suddenly Sano remembered the look Yanagisawa had given him that morning. Now it appeared as though the chamberlain was acting upon his inexplicable hostility. That Sano still couldn’t fathom how he’d earned it put him at an extreme disadvantage. Since protocol prevented him from requesting an explanation which Yanagisawa was under no obligation to give, how could he make amends?

“I’ve learned that Kaibara frequented the pharmacists’ district,” Sano said, striving to sound confident and capable. “It’s possible that the killer is an enemy of his, who knew his habits and lay in wait for him.”

“Perhaps,” Yanagisawa conceded grudgingly. Tsunayoshi looked up from his private reverie. Sano’s spirits lifted. Then Yanagisawa said, “I suppose you have evidence to substantiate this… scenario?” Fantasy, his tone implied.

This time Sano didn’t intend to let the chamberlain make him say the damning word “no.”

“Tomorrow, when I call on Kaibara’s family-”

“Do you mean to say that you have not yet done so?” Yanagisawa’s voice rose in surprise; his mouth quirked in a malevolent smile. “Really,
sōsakan
, I fear that you are formulating a theory without facts to support it.”

Sano fought back a rising tide of anger and confusion. Why was Yanagisawa undermining him? He felt even worse when he saw Yanagisawa and Tsunayoshi exchange another glance, this time with perfect comprehension. This man is a fool, said Yanagisawa’s headshake. I guess you’re right, said Tsunayoshi’s rueful shrug and smile.

Knowing he must act fast to salvage the shogun’s good opinion of him, Sano blurted, “When I went to Edo Morgue to examine Kaibara’s remains, I discovered that-”

“The morgue!” Yanagisawa’s horrified exclamation stopped him. “To go to that place of death-and to mention it in His Excellency’s presence, yet.” He turned to the shogun. “Please forgive this man’s offense. His birth and upbringing, and not he himself, are undoubtedly responsible for his deplorable lack of judgment.”

He capped this sincere plea on Sano’s behalf with a quick, icy glare that proved he didn’t want Sano forgiven, and had deliberately insulted his family. Helpless anger incensed Sano. He hated Yanagisawa for putting him in the wrong.

“My apologies, Your Excellency.” He forced the words out of his constricted throat.

Tsunayoshi roused himself. “Accepted,” he muttered.

Choosing his words carefully, Sano said, “I only meant to say that I’ve discovered that Kaibara was not the Bundori Killer’s first victim. Ten days ago, another man was murdered in exactly the same manner.”

Relief filled him when the shogun sat up and stared. And Yanagisawa’s nostrils quivered; his finely shaped mouth tightened in displeasure.

“Your Excellency, I believe that this earlier murder will provide clues to the killer’s motive and identity,” Sano said, pressing his point while he still held Tsunayoshi’s attention.

“An astute, ahh, deduction.” Tsunayoshi stroked his chin thoughtfully.

But Sano’s triumph was short-lived. “Another murder,” Yanagisawa said, his dark, liquid eyes alight with mischief. “Well,
Sōsakan
Sano, does this not invalidate your theory that the killer is an enemy of Kaibara’s?” Unerringly he’d spotted the weakness in Sano’s logic. “And it is amazing how, in just one day, you have managed to complicate a simple murder case so enormously.” His scornful laugh sent a chill down Sano’s spine. “Yes?”

“No!” Driven to his own defense, Sano threw caution aside. “This other murder has opened up a promising line of inquiry.”

He started to outline tomorrow’s plans, but his voice trailed off when he saw Tsunayoshi contemplating the door. Yanagisawa laughed again, sealing his defeat.

Beneath his anger, Sano felt the frightening, lost-at-sea sensation that had plagued him since his arrival at Edo Castle. This meeting had strange undercurrents that threatened to pull him down, or at least carry him in the wrong direction. The chamberlain obviously didn’t want him to succeed in catching the Bundori Killer. But why not? And Yanagisawa must have deliberately timed his interruption of the meeting, bringing the young actor in order to distract Tsunayoshi. Now Sano experienced a sudden stab of dread.