Bundori: A Novel of Japan (12 page)

“What’s going on here?” Tsuda asked a colleague.

“Those samurai got drunk and looted a shop,” the other
doshin
said. “The townsmen tried to stop them, and a riot started. Two people were trampled to death.”

Tsuda bent an accusing stare upon Sano. “The Bundori Murders have caused a lot of trouble,” he said. “But not as much as they will if they go on.”

Sano could neither disagree nor dodge the blame. This most recent incident in the age-old conflict between samurai and townsmen could burgeon into the full-scale warfare that had troubled Edo ’s early history. He’d seen the heightening tension that the murders had wrought. He’d experienced the fear himself. And now he knew he must stop the Bundori Killer soon-for the sake of the whole city, as much as to save individual lives and fulfill his own vows.

Tsuda led him into the main building. In the reception room, a large space broken by square pillars hung with lanterns, more
doshin
and their noisy prisoners had gathered. An emaciated man with long, matted hair, dressed in rags, harangued the clerks seated at desks on a raised platform.

“I am the Bundori Killer,” he shouted. Two guards tried to drag him away, but he repelled them with wild kicks and punches. “Take me to the magistrate at once!”

“And just what proof is there that you have in fact committed murder, Jihei?” the chief clerk asked wearily.

“Proof? I need no proof! I am the Bundori Killer! I weave magic spells to strike down evil men with an invisible sword and make trophies of their heads!”

He whirled in a manic dance, and a glimpse of his haggard face and sunken, red-rimmed eyes gave Sano pause. Was this man really the Bundori Killer, turning himself in? Incredulous, he glanced at Tsuda.

The
doshin
grimaced. “He’s a simpleton who lives under the Nihonbashi Bridge. He’s confessed to all the murders, even though we know he couldn’t have killed Kaibara because he was in jail then.”

That anyone, even a simpleton, should want to confess to a crime he hadn’t committed escaped Sano’s understanding. Clearly the Bundori Murders had loosed a current of madness that ran just beneath Edo ’s surface.

“Come on,” Tsuda growled. He ushered Sano into a bare, windowless cell that Sano recognized from his police days as the place where samurai criminals-in deference to their status-were interrogated instead of at the jail. He lit the lamps, called two guards to watch the door, and left.

Sano waited. After at least two hours had passed, the door opened, and in walked
Yoriki
Hayashi.

“So,
sōsakan-sama
.” Hayashi’s lips twisted in a sarcastic smile. “You’ve decided to contribute to the troubles the murders are causing?”

Sano refused to take the bait. Arguing that he’d only been on the case for two days, or that he wasn’t responsible for the mass hysteria the murders had provoked, would only invite more insinuations and preclude the cooperation he wanted from Hayashi.

“If you’re concerned about the disturbances in the city, then you should help me catch the killer,” Sano said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “I want five more
doshin
to conduct inquiries, while their assistants perform door-to-door searches. And I want clerks to solicit and take statements from citizens who might have information about the murders.”

Hayashi’s response was a burst of derisive laughter. “You expect me to defy Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s orders-for you? Never!” His bold sneer and aggressive posture bespoke the secure knowledge that his rude, unaccommodating behavior had Yanagisawa’s sanction. “We the police can control the townspeople-but I doubt you will have as much success in finding the Bundori Killer.”

Seeing the futility of trying to gain Hayashi’s agreement in the face of Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s opposition, Sano changed the subject.

“Tonight a man tried to kill me,” he said, holding down the anger that had its roots in past injustices Hayashi had inflicted upon him. He described the attack, the sword fight, and his own necessary victory. “I found this on the body,” he finished, handing over the dead man’s pouch. “I believe he was a hired assassin, paid to keep me from investigating the murders.”

Hayashi’s slim hands lovingly counted the gold coins, but he snapped, “
Muimi
-nonsense! So the man died with money on him. You say there were no witnesses to the attack. Why should I believe that this… assassination attempt was not just a common street brawl?”

Sano took back the pouch and removed the paper that Hayashi had missed. “Because of this,” he said, unfolding and proffering it.

Ripped from a larger sheet, it had characters inked on both sides. On one, the name “Junnosuke” and a date; on the other, the disjointed words:

caution

highly skilled at
kenjutsu

usual terms

usual method

as soon as possible

“The killer called me by name,” Sano explained. “The letter is dated the day I took charge of the investigation. I don’t claim to be highly skilled at swordsmanship, but anyone who attacks me should use caution. And the usual terms?” He pointed at the gold coins now resting in Hayashi’s palm. “Partial payment upon accepting the job; the rest after my death.”

“And why would an assassin retain a compromising document such as a letter ordering him to kill?” Hayashi asked skeptically. “Assuming that this is such a letter-which I cannot.”

“He’d torn off the incriminating passages and used the rest to wrap some dried melon seeds.”

For some reason, mention of the seeds caused Hayashi’s derisive smile to slip, a muscle to twitch in his jaw.

“You know this man,” Sano challenged. “Who is he?”

But Hayashi had himself under control now. “
Okashii
-ridiculous! He was probably someone you offended.”

Sano had considered the possibility. He knew that many of his colleagues resented his promotion. Chamberlain Yanagisawa disliked him. But assassination was an extreme way to redress a minor grievance; its timing too coincidental. And Hayashi’s involuntary reaction had strengthened his conviction.

“I want the police to find out who the assassin was, and who hired him,” Sano said. “I believe it was the Bundori Killer, who considers me a threat, but doesn’t want to attack me himself, either because of my skill or status, or because he’s busy stalking other victims. If you investigate the attempt on my life as a new case, separate from the murders, you needn’t fear going against Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s orders.”

“But you’ve given me insufficient justification for diverting the efforts of our already overworked police force to the task of investigating a common ruffian who is already dead.” Hayashi’s mocking manner returned. “You are nowhere near catching the killer; why should he deem you a threat? And remember: I have received no orders to assist you-with anything.”

He replaced the coins and paper in the pouch, which he handed back to Sano. “And now, if you will excuse me, I have many criminals to attend to. As I would not, if you had caught the Bundori Killer by now.”

He opened the door and told the guards, “Get a clerk to take the
sōsakan-sama’s
statement.” To Sano: “Afterward, you will be free to go. But if you continue to engage in brawls, not even your status will protect you from the law. His Excellency does not condone such unseemly behavior.”

As Sano sat down to wait, the new threat of the shogun’s disapproval only compounded his problems. For despite the lack of solid proof, he was sure of several things.

His assailant wasn’t just a common Edo street brawler, or a jealous rival. Someone wanted to stop his inquiry into the Bundori Murders. Probing the assassin’s background could lead him to the killer. In the meantime, to pursue the investigation would mean risking his own life.

It was nearly midnight when Sano finished with the police, much too late for him to meet Aoi. When he reached the castle, he dispatched a messenger to the shrine with his apologies. But it wasn’t too late to consult the Edo Castle historical archives. Chief Archivist Noguchi was an avid scholar who didn’t confine his studies to the daytime. Often Sano and the other clerks had stayed up with him until dawn, copying, restoring, and poring over old scrolls by lamplight until their eyes ached.

Inside the castle’s Official Quarter, Sano dismounted outside the mansion that housed the archives. The guards, accustomed to their master’s irregular hours, took charge of Sano’s horse and bowed him through the gate. At the door, a manservant met him and led him into the study.

“Sano-
san
!” Noguchi, working alone tonight, knelt in his alcove behind a desk cluttered with scrolls, burning oil lamps, and writing materials. “What brings you here?” When he saw Sano’s condition, his frown lifted the wrinkles on his forehead into his shaven crown. “My friend, what has happened to you?”

Upon hearing about the attack, he left his desk and bustled in fretful circles around Sano, assessing the damage. “Oh, no. Oh my! Shall I call a doctor?”

“I’m fine,” Sano assured Noguchi. His cuts stung, but weren’t serious, and he could tend them when he got home.

“Some refreshment, then.”

“No, thank you, I’ve already eaten,” Sano said, hoping the polite formula would discourage Noguchi from pressing hospitality on him. He hadn’t eaten since noon, but he wanted to get to the purpose of his visit.

After assuring himself that Sano was indeed all right, Noguchi relaxed and said, “Well, at any rate, I’m glad you’ve come. I have good news for you. The Ueda have set a time and location for the
miai
between you and Miss Reiko.”

“That’s good,” Sano said, trying to sound enthusiastic. His marriage negotiations had taken second place to the murders. “Thank you, Noguchi-
san
”

“It will be an afternoon meeting at the Kannei Temple the day after tomorrow,” Noguchi continued. “If that is suitable to you and your honorable mother, of course.”

When Sano pictured this first important acquaintance with his prospective bride, he found that his imagination had endowed the yet-unseen Ueda Reiko with Aoi’s face and figure. Alarmed, he said, “Those arrangements will be fine,” and reiterated his thanks. “Now I need your help with something else.” Quickly he explained that he wanted information about Araki Yojiemon and Endō Munetsugu, and why.

Noguchi puffed his cheeks and blew them out. Then he said, “Sano-
san
… I’ve heard rumors that you have somehow earned Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s disfavor. Of course, I expect that these rumors are unfounded.” His blinking eyes begged Sano to agree.

Sano realized that word of his conflict with Yanagisawa had spread. The guards and servants present at his meeting with the shogun must have fed choice excerpts into the castle’s rumor mill. Yanagisawa himself, seeking for whatever reason to blacken his reputation, had no doubt dropped disparaging remarks about him in all the right places. Sano knew his downfall had begun.

His face must have reflected his dismay, because Noguchi wailed, “Oh, no, the rumors are true, then! Sano-
san
, what have you done?”

“Nothing to offend Chamberlain Yanagisawa, at least that I can see.” In his agitation, Sano began pacing the room. He succumbed to his impulse to confide in the only friend he had at Edo Castle. “But the chamberlain seems determined that I not catch the Bundori Killer.”

Noguchi’s head swiveled back and forth, following Sano’s movements. “Then you must not,” he said, as though this were the most reasonable course of action in the world.

Sano stopped in his tracks and stared in disbelief. When he began to protest, Noguchi cried, “No, wait! Allow me to explain!”

He harried over and clutched Sano’s arm. “You’ve not been in the shogun’s service long enough to understand the way of things.” Although they were alone, he glanced around furtively and lowered his voice to a whisper. “His Excellency’s condition is on the decline. He grows weaker and more self-indulgent with each passing year. Someday soon he will abandon the practice of government and devote himself entirely to the theater, Confucianism, religion, and boys, leaving Yanagisawa to rule the land.”

Sano pulled free of Noguchi’s grasp and went to stand by the window. Arms folded, he stared at the opaque paper panes. “Tokugawa Tsunayoshi is still our lord, no matter what his character,” he said, although having his own suspicions about the shogun confirmed dealt him a severe blow. For what future had he if abandoned to Yanagisawa’s mercy? “The shogun wants the killer caught. I can’t disobey his orders. And besides, this might be my only chance to distinguish myself and to make a name for my family.”

Back and forth he paced, on a path that led nowhere, as did any course that involved opposing Chamberlain Yanagisawa.

Noguchi followed him like a small, persistent shadow. “My friend, what you don’t understand is that if you defy Yanagisawa, you will not even keep your position, let alone distinguish yourself in it.” He paused for breath, then said, “Saigo Kazuo, Miyagi Kojirō, and Fusei Matsugae. You have heard of these men?”

“Yes. They were all His Excellency’s advisers when he became shogun ten years ago.”

“They
were
. Each had considerable influence with His Excellency, but lost it when Yanagisawa rose to power. Saigo ended his days as a highway inspector in the far north.”

Noguchi stopped trying to keep up with Sano, but his loud whisper followed, irritating as a mosquito’s buzz. “Miyagi supposedly died of a fever. But many say Yanagisawa ordered his murder.

“And Fusei. Officially he committed
seppuku
because he was caught embezzling funds from the treasury. What really happened is that after much harassment by Yanagisawa, he went mad and drew his sword on Yanagisawa in the council chamber. He claimed that his dead mother’s spirit told him to do it.”

Noguchi didn’t need to add that compulsory suicide was the penalty for drawing a weapon inside Edo Castle. “The chamberlain ruthlessly eliminated all these men whom he perceived as obstacles in his path to supremacy, without the shogun’s lifting a hand to save them.”

Sano’s steps faltered. He’d heard rumors of Yanagisawa’s machinations, but none as bad as these. “I accept the possibility that what happened to those men could happen to me, too,” he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. “And it’s my duty to catch the Bundori Killer.”

Heaving a mournful sigh, Noguchi knelt, easing his body to the floor. “Sano-
san
. Please listen to reason. Do not ruin yourself over this murder investigation. When you see the shogun, convey to him that he should turn the job over to the police. You are intelligent; you can find a way to do this without a loss of face on your part or his. And Chamberlain Yanagisawa will help you-perhaps even reward you for yielding to him. Then leave the job to the police. They have the men. The expertise. Yanagisawa’s sanction.”

He gestured for Sano to sit opposite him. “Come. Save yourself before it is too late.”

Sano remained standing.

Then Noguchi said timidly, “Have you considered the full consequences of your rash behavior, Sano-
san
? While you toil alone at the murder investigation, the Bundori Killer remains free to kill again. How many lives might be saved if you conceded?”

As this last remark hit home, Sano hid his discomposure by turning his back to Noguchi. He might accept the danger to himself, but could he sacrifice innocent people to his goals and principles? When he’d begun this assignment, he’d thought only of the good he could do. But now he found himself in the exact situation that he’d hoped his new status would allow him to avoid: Because of him, others might die. The nightmare of his first murder investigation was beginning again. Slowly he turned to face Noguchi.

“Oh, you see now.” Noguchi’s smile anticipated his capitulation.

“No,” Sano had started to say yes, but the negative slipped out, spoken by that inquiring, truth-seeking part of his nature that he’d never been able to control. “I have to find out who the Bundori Killer is and why he kills, then bring him to justice.”

With a sense of incredulity, he felt the familiar pull between practical wisdom and personal desire within him. For what conflict could he have expected to encounter while obeying his lord’s orders? And how could he have foreseen that anyone would want to prevent his catching a multiple murderer who was terrorizing the city?

Even as he saw the futility of perseverance, he made one last appeal to Noguchi. “Will you help me?”

Noguchi looked away, and Sano understood that the meek, kindly archivist wanted to help a comrade, but feared punishment from Yanagisawa. Sano said nothing, hoping Noguchi’s love of scholarly research would sway him.

Patience won out. Sighing, Noguchi rose clumsily. “Oh, well. Come along. But please, for my sake, do not tell anyone that I came to your assistance.”

Noguchi picked up a lamp and led Sano out the back door, along a sheltered walkway through a garden scented with night-blooming jasmine, to a huge, windowless storehouse. Its thick, whitewashed earthen walls and heavy tile roof protected precious original documents from fire. Sano helped Noguchi swing back the massive, ironclad door.

The storehouse’s dark interior exuded a musty, metallic odor. As they entered, the wavering flame of Noguchi’s lamp revealed hundreds of iron chests, labeled with painted characters, stacked against the walls. As far as Sano could tell, they weren’t in any particular order. “Shimabara Rebellion,” about a peasant uprising that had taken place fifty years ago, sat wedged between “The Ashikaga Regime,” of some two hundred years past, and “Nobuo,” the name of a poet who had died last month. Never having understood the archival filing system, Sano was glad of Noguchi’s assistance.

“This one, I think,” Noguchi said. He tapped a chest labeled “Oda Nobunaga.”

“And these.”

The last two both bore the unpromising notation “To Be Sorted.” Sano helped shift the heavy chests, free the relevant ones, and carry them into the study.

With the reverent air of a priest conducting a sacred ritual, Noguchi knelt beside the chest labeled “Oda Nobunaga” and lifted the lid. His little eyes glowed. Sano, kneeling beside him, saw scrolls stacked to the brim, some clean and intact, others stained and crumbling. He smelled old paper and mildew: the odors of the past, which never failed to stir his intellectual curiosity. Feeling privileged to touch the old documents and read the words of witnesses to historic events, he’d disliked his assignment to the archives only because it offered no chance to distinguish himself. Now Sano’s love of history reclaimed him. As he and Noguchi scanned the records of Oda Nobunaga’s life, seeking any mention of his two allies, Araki Yojiemon and Endō Munetsugu, neither could resist reading irrelevant but fascinating passages.

“Oh, my, here are the writings of the Buddhist priest Miwa,” Noguchi exclaimed. Untying a faded silk cord, he opened the scroll and intoned:

“Lord Oda Nobunaga was a beast such as the world had never before seen. In his quest for power, he destroyed his own family to gain the territories of Matsuda and Fukada Provinces. He forced one uncle to commit suicide and had another murdered. He killed his younger brother, whom their mother plotted to install as head of the family in his place. Later he slaughtered another brother to become the ruler of Owari Province. In savage battles, he destroyed the Imagawa, Takeda, and Saitō clans and hundreds of thousands of their troops. By the time of his death at age forty-nine, he had strewn countless severed heads and rotting corpses across the countryside and conquered half the nation’s provinces.”

“Described that way, Oda Nobunaga sounds more like evil incarnate than like a great lord,” Sano said.

Noguchi laid the scroll aside. “You must remember that the clergy had no love for Oda Nobunaga. When the Ikko sect rebelled against him, he burned their temples and killed over forty thousand men, women, and children. But he was the quintessential warlord of his time-a master of
gekokujō
.”

The low overcoming the high: the process by which a warrior rose to power by overthrowing his superiors. Few had practiced it as effectively as Oda Nobunaga.

“But one might imagine that the clergy found much satisfaction in the manner of Oda Nobunaga’s death,” Noguchi continued. “For as he lived by treachery and violence, so did he die by it. Here is the account of what happened one hundred seven years ago.” Opening another scroll, he read:

“While Lord Oda was enjoying a holiday at the Honno Temple in Kyōto with but a small force to guard him, he was besieged by the army of an ally turned traitor, General Akechi Mitsuhide. Lord Oda’s troops died in the attempt to defend their master. Lord Oda fought the attackers alone. An arquebus ball shattered his arm. With no hope of survival, he retired within the temple hall and committed
seppuku
to avoid capture. His body was destroyed in the flames of the burning temple.”

“An unspeakable act, the murder of one’s lord,” Sano said, feeling the horror that this transgression of Bushido always inspired in him.

“And one for which Akechi received just punishment,” Noguchi reminded him. “Lord Oda’s loyal allies, Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu, fared much better.”

Sano quoted an old and apt saying: “ ‘Nobunaga quarried the stones to build the country’s foundations, Hideyoshi shaped the stones, and Ieyasu laid them in place. ’ ”

“Or: ‘Nobunaga ground the flour, Hideyoshi baked the cake, and Ieyasu ate it. ’ Heh, heh, heh.”

“Yes.” Sano smiled, appreciating Noguchi’s joke. No one could deny that Tokugawa Ieyasu and Toyotomi Hideyoshi had benefited from Oda’s ruthlessness-and his murder. Hideyoshi, Oda’s direct successor, had consolidated the domains he’d inherited. Ieyasu had eventually become the first shogun to rule over the unified nation whose construction his predecessors had begun. If not for Akechi Mitsuhide’s treason, neither might have achieved military supremacy.