Kill the Shogun (7 page)

The man took a piece of tissue and used it to hold the sword’s scabbard. Using another piece of tissue to hold the sword’s hilt, he slowly removed the sword a small way from the scabbard and moved it about, letting the light play off the polished surface of the blade. There was a protocol for a formal sword viewing, and the man followed it exactly, removing the blade slightly more and once again showing its beauty. He never completely removed the blade from the scabbard, because it would be an impolite gesture to have a totally naked blade in the presence of a daimyo.

Okubo reached out and took the sword from the merchant. He touched the sword’s hilt directly, not using the tissue. If he touched the actual blade, he would use a tissue, but for now he just wanted to get a feel for the blade and its weight.

“I can feel the power of this sword,” Okubo said in wonder, more to himself than to the merchant. He drew the blade out from its scabbard. There was no convention of politeness that prohibited a daimyo from showing a naked blade before a merchant. Only when in the presence of another daimyo or
the Shogun himself was a daimyo prohibited from drawing a sword.

“I, ah …” The merchant looked uncomfortable.

“What is it?”

“Well, Okubo-sama, you have already noted the unusual power found within Muramasa blades. They hunger for blood. But, great Lord, I would not feel comfortable unless I warned you that this power can have an effect on the owner of the blade, as well as the blade’s victims. Muramasa blades have been known to drive their owners to rash action. They have been the ruin of more than one owner, and some swear they are unlucky. They have even been known to, ah, drive owners to madness.”

Noting the look on Okubo’s face, the merchant hastily added, “I have no fears selling this blade to a man of such exceptional strength and character as yourself, of course.”

Okubo returned the sword to its scabbard. “My head of household will pay you,” Okubo said.

“Thank you, Okubo-sama! Thank you.” The merchant placed his hands on the tatami mat and bowed until his head touched the mat. Okubo waved the merchant away. When the man left the room, Okubo
took
the sword out of its scabbard and placed it before him. The polished blade gleamed with a cold malevolence. He stared at the long ribbon of steel. He could feel the hate and death radiating off the surface, filling the room with insanity. With such a blade, one could bring to closure a lifetime of enmity. One could aspire to any height, achieve any aim. One could even become Shogun.

Okubo shook his head, as if recovering from a dream. Perhaps he was already insane, he thought, daring to think thoughts that were forbidden and deadly.

H
onda was also staring at something, but in this case he felt no power emanating from it. It was a simple, earthenware teacup
filled with the frothy, bitter brew that resulted when tea was prepared in the formal way.

“Is something wrong, Honda-sama?”

Honda looked sharply at his companion, the man who had prepared the tea with nonchalant elegance. He was too sensitive to the moods of the people around him to make a man like Honda feel really safe in his presence.

“No, nothing,” Honda said gruffly.

But, of course, there was something wrong. What he was engaged in went against his entire life. He was a rough warrior, and offering his life and services to the Tokugawas was the twin star that guided his actions. Now he was doing something that made him feel embarrassed and ashamed. Yet, with the changing order of Japan, he believed that he had to do this, and that he would have to change, too.

The Gods knew that Ieyasu-sama had changed. Honda was with Ieyasu almost from the beginning, when Ieyasu was a youth scratching to retain control of his own fief, buffeted by more powerful daimyo on all sides of him. Initially, Ieyasu had been cautious to a fault. They even invented a proverb about Ieyasu, “tapping on a stone bridge,” to show his extreme caution in all things. He knew his limitations and refused to exceed them.

Then, as his fortunes changed, his attitude changed, also. Now it seemed like he accepted the awesome title of Shogun as something owed him for his years of struggle, scheming, and planning. But Honda knew the life of a man, any man, could be ended with a sword stroke, so all things of this earth were ephemeral. It didn’t even take a sword stroke; Ieyasu had almost been assassinated by an unseen gunman sitting in a fire tower. True, there was no chivalry in such a killing, but Ieyasu would be just as dead if the bullet hit him, regardless of the conventions of bushido, just as Nakamura was dead. Honda snorted.

“Did you say something, Honda-sama?”

Honda looked up from his tea. He held the cup in two hands, one hand on the bottom, the other cupping the side, in the proper fashion. Despite his present circumstances, he wanted to show he was not a complete barbarian. “No,” Honda said. He put his teacup down. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get on with it.”

Inky water that
mirrors only the surface.
What lies underneath?

W
elcome, welcome!” The gap-toothed man at the door gave an oily bow, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as Kaze and the vegetable merchant entered. The merchant had insisted that he treat Kaze to a drink to thank him for his help with the gamblers, and Kaze had seen no graceful way to avoid his landlord’s unwanted generosity.

The building looked like a large house, and there was no sign on the front. Like many buildings in Edo, it had a ramshackle, hastily built look to it. Much of the town was being reconstructed from whatever lumber and materials were available. The wood joinery, normally so meticulous and carefully fitted by Japanese carpenters as they put together a house like a giant puzzle, was sloppy and ill-fitted, because so much of the construction was done by inexperienced craftsmen. Only the rich, like the new daimyo flooding the city, could afford real craftsmen.

In the entry, Kaze took off his sandals and stepped up to the board floor. He was carrying his sword, having given up even the pretext of not being a ronin. After his encounter with the gamblers,
it was obvious to the vegetable merchant and his household that he was not just a street entertainer.

“Just a drink tonight,” the merchant said.

The man with the gap teeth, who wore a perpetual, if insincere, smile, led them into the depths of the building. Behind one of the ratty
shoji
screens that lined the hallway, Kaze heard the rattle of dice and a thump as the wooden dice cup was slammed to the mat in the room. A small shout escaped from a group of men as the cup was removed to reveal the results.

“Whose establishment is this?” Kaze asked.

The merchant gave a weak smile but didn’t otherwise respond.

Oblivious to the merchant’s discomfort, the gap-toothed man said, “This is Boss Akinari’s place, Samurai-sama. Here you’ll find the cheapest sakè and the fairest dice in all of Edo. Please enjoy yourself and come back. Your friend is a regular here. Most of our customers are regulars. That’s because they know that Boss Akinari always runs a fair game.”

Kaze looked at the merchant with one eyebrow raised. The merchant gave him a sick smile. The merchant had more than just a drink on his mind when he invited Kaze. Obviously, he was testing the waters to see if the arrangement he made with Boss Akinari’s men was valid and to see if he was still welcome at the gambling house. He had brought Kaze along to provide some protection.

The man slid back a shoji screen. It looked no different from any of the others in the hallway, but in this room were a half-dozen men drinking instead of gambling. Kaze and the merchant found an unoccupied spot on the tatami mat and sat facing each other. They blocked out the others in the room, as Japanese are trained to do, creating their own private space in a crowded environment.

Kaze and the vegetable merchant ordered sakè, and the gap-toothed man scurried off. Soon he was back with an iron kettle
filled with hot water. In the water were two porcelain flasks. He put the kettle down and handed the two men sakè cups; small porcelain saucers, decorated with a chrysanthemum, done in blue paint. The merchant filled Kaze’s cup with sakè and, in the Japanese manner, Kaze returned the compliment and filled the merchant’s cup.

As they were drinking, the shoji screen slid open and Nobu stuck his head in. The big wrestler looked around, apparently just checking things in the room. When he saw Kaze and the merchant, he seemed surprised. He dipped his head in a greeting, then gently closed the door.

In a few minutes, he returned. He walked up to Kaze, who looked at the large man with a quizzical look.

“Boss Akinari would like to talk to you,” Nobu said.

“Me?” Kaze asked, puzzled.

“Yes. I told him about you, and he wants to have a drink with you.”

Kaze shrugged and got up. The merchant also started to get to his feet, and Nobu put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. “No. Just the ronin,” he said.

Kaze was led through the building to the back. The hall was just like the entrance, lined with nondescript shoji screens. Nobu slid a screen open.

Sitting alone in a dimly lit room was a large man in a blue kimono. He wasn’t as big as Nobu, but his bull-like neck and massive arms proclaimed him a man not afraid to use physical force to implement his will. His head was shaved, in the manner of a priest, and he wore his kimono open, as you might on a hot summer’s evening. Across his chest was a blue tattoo that outlined, in meticulous detail, the scales of a dragon. The tattoo showed clearly that this was no holy man. This type of tattoo was favored by palanquin porters and toughs, and the man sitting in the room didn’t have the bowed legs of a porter.

The man looked Kaze over carefully. Boss Akinari was surprised that the ronin was just of average height. He expected a bigger man, considering how the ronin took care of three of his best men.

“Sit down. Have a drink,” Boss Akinari said gruffly.

Kaze shrugged and sank to the mat.

As Boss Akinari handed Kaze a sakè cup and started to fill it from a flask, Nobu slid the shoji shut.

“I hear you gave my men a bad time,” Akinari said, not bothering with the polite pattern of introduction.

Kaze took the cup and dipped his head in thanks. Then he took the bottle and poured Akinari’s drink.

“It was more a lesson in manners,” Kaze said.

Akinari gave a snort. Kaze couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or comment. He sipped his sakè.

“That’s good stuff,” Akinari said, as Kaze took a drink. “Not the swill I serve to customers. After a few drinks, they can’t tell the difference, anyway.”

Kaze didn’t respond. The sakè was better than what he was drinking with the vegetable merchant, but it was not top quality. Either Akinari didn’t know the difference, or someone was cheating him on the sakè he was being sold. Maybe both.

“I wanted to talk to you to make sure my arrangement with the vegetable dealer will go smoothly,” Akinari continued.

“Shouldn’t you talk to the vegetable merchant about that?”

Another snort. Kaze still wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or not.

“Nobu told me you’re pretty strong. You’re the guy who can disrupt things, not that mouse of a merchant.”

“And what do you think I would disrupt?”

“Didn’t the merchant tell you?”

“No. I just rent a room from him. I have no interest in his business.”

Akinari hesitated, absorbing this information, then said, “To
pay off his gambling debt to me, I’ve arranged for the merchant to haul things into the city for me, when he goes out to the country to buy vegetables.”

“What kind of things?”

“Do you know what tobacco is?”

“That weed brought to Japan by the hairy barbarians, the Europeans? The one you smoke?”

“Yes. The foreigners introduced it to Japan a few years ago. Smoking it is quite good for the health. It’s gotten popular with some people, but Ieyasu-sama hates it. He’s banned it. Says he’ll confiscate the home of anyone caught trading in it.”

“And?”

“That makes it valuable! The people who like it can’t seem to stop smoking it. I have a string of clients who will pay almost any price for it. Your vegetable merchant will make it easy for me to supply tobacco. He’ll smuggle tobacco leaves into Edo under his
daikon, shiso
leaves, and other vegetables. I want to make sure you won’t give us any trouble. Those tobacco smokers are real pigs about getting it, and I want a steady supply.”

Kaze finished his drink. “The vegetable merchant is nothing to me. It will be inconvenient if his house is seized by the Tokugawa authorities for smuggling tobacco, but that’s his concern, not mine.” Kaze stood up. He again gave a small nod, not a formal bow, and said, “Thanks for the drink. I have to go now. I want to take a bath, and the public bathhouse in the neighborhood closes early.”

Boss Akinari seemed surprised at Kaze’s leaving. “Now, now,” he said, “you’re a good fellow. Why don’t you take a bath here? We have our own bathhouse. I’ll call a servant to lead you there.”

Having your own bath was a luxury. Like most people in the lower classes, the vegetable merchant’s house had a privy, but not a bath. Everyone in the household used a public bath, paying a few
sen
for its use.

Boss Akinari bellowed out for a servant, and the gap-toothed man opened the shoji and stuck his head in.

“Take this man to the bath,” Akinari ordered.

Kaze thought, Why not? “Thank you,” he told Akinari.

“No, it’s nothing,” Akinari said, waving his hand and giving the polite response for the first time in his conversation with Kaze. “I meant it when I said you were a good fellow,” Akinari continued. “I can always use good men, especially if they’re as strong as you. I have over a dozen men, but Nobu says you’re something special. If you ever want a job with me, just say so. Say, what’s your name?”

“Matsuyama Kaze.”

Akinari’s face remained impassive, but Kaze was puzzled because he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in the gambler’s eyes. Still, the fellow was hard to read, and Kaze couldn’t figure out what his reactions meant, so he didn’t think too much of it. He followed the servant out of the room.

T
he surface of the water was a black mirror. The light from two paper lanterns reflected off the surface, hiding the depths in darkness. Wisps of steam emerged from the
ofuro
and rose into the air, disappearing into the dark light of the bathhouse. The ofuro was a large wooden enclosure, standing chest high, and filled with hot water.

Many bathhouses were open on one or more sides, especially if there was a view of a garden or some glimpse of nature. This bathhouse was an enclosed room, buried in the back of the gambling den. A sullen servant was sitting on a small stool. He looked up and gave a quick dip of his head as Kaze walked in with the gap-toothed man, who then left Kaze and returned to his post. The servant in the bathhouse didn’t seem surprised that a stranger was walking in, and Kaze surmised that the gamblers often used
the bath. Dedicated gamblers might gamble for days on end, so being able to soak in a hot refreshing bath would not be an unusual amenity.

With a minimal exchange of words, the servant helped Kaze strip off his clothes and sandals. The servant carefully folded Kaze’s kimono and placed it on another stool, and invited Kaze to occupy the seat he had been perched on. Kaze sat as the servant carefully scrubbed him, using a rough cloth. Taking a wooden bucket with a handle attached to its side, the servant dipped into the ofuro to scoop out water to rinse Kaze off. As was the custom, Kaze would be clean when he entered the bathwater. There was no plumbing in the bath. The tub was filled by hand with buckets, and the water poured on Kaze was free to find its way between the slats of the floorboards and onto the earth beneath the building.

When he was thoroughly clean, Kaze stood and the servant placed the stool next to the ofuro, making it easier for Kaze to get in. The water was scalding, but Kaze eased himself into it with a welcome sigh. There was a bench seat in the tub, and Kaze sat on it, the steaming water coming up to his chin. The heat of the water flowed into his muscles, relaxing his joints.

“I’ll be outside next to the firebox,” the servant said. “If you need more heat, just pound on the wall and I’ll put more wood on the fire.” The ofuro’s water was heated by a copper firebox that intruded into the side of the tub. The open side of the firebox was outside.

Kaze nodded his understanding and watched the servant leave. Then he immediately got out of the tub, took his sword, and placed it next to the tub. He held the scabbard and pushed on the tsuba, the sword guard, until he heard the click that indicated the sword was free of the friction point that held it into the scabbard. Some samurai took baths with wooden swords in their hands, so they would be instantly ready to fend off an attack. Kaze didn’t
do this, but he did want his sword, named “Fly Cutter” because of a trick that Kaze could do with it, close at all times. He got back into the tub.

Sitting in the water, Kaze closed his eyes. He was in that curious state where ignoring your surroundings makes you acutely aware of them. He let his mind drift, remembering his journey to the battlefield.

A
year after Sekigahara, Kaze journeyed to the battlefield. He had never been there. Since he had no idea where the daughter of his Lord and Lady was taken, searching the central region of Honshu, the Kinki district, where Sekigahara was, was as good as searching any other part of Japan.

Although he was there to search for the girl, he also wanted to see the place where his Lord had died and where Japan had been transformed. What he found was a large, U-shaped valley, bordered by hills. The hills were covered with a wild profusion of unusually large wildflowers. They had intense colors, especially the red flowers, which were a deeper shade than any Kaze had seen before. A great number of foxes ducked in and out of the flowers, covering some hillsides so thickly that the foxes also looked like they were some kind of rust-colored flower.

In another place, Kaze might have found the scene charming, but he well understood what it meant at Sekigahara. The wild-flowers were fertilized by the blood of thirty thousand men, draining their life into the earth. The year before, the foxes had feasted on the bodies of these men, growing fat for the winter so an unusually large number of them survived the snows and lived to breed.

All the abundant life around him came from death.

Sekigahara was astride the Nakasendo Road and only a short march from the Tokaido Road. Whoever controlled this area
could control the movement between Kyoto, the ancient capital, and Ieyasu’s domains around Edo.

The forces opposing the Tokugawas had covered the hills, and Ieyasu had marched his army into the middle of the valley. In addition, Ieyasu had decided not to await the arrival of his son, who had a third of the Tokugawa army. The son was diverted besieging a castle, and Ieyasu was furious at his tardiness. If Ieyasu won at Sekigahara, the stubborn castle captured by his son would have no meaning.