Raiden paused to fill his cup with sake and drain it with one swallow. “Two springs ago, I was the top wrestler in Lord Torū’s stable. I had fine living quarters in his estate, ten apprentices to serve me, and all the women I wanted. The best food, and as much of it as I could eat. 1 fought the best men and defeated them all. The shogun himself praised my skill.”

Surely an exaggeration. If Raiden had been a top wrestler, Sano would have heard of him, but he hadn’t. And Lord Torū was one of the lesser daimyo. His wealth amounted to a fraction of the Nius‘, hardly enough to maintain a luxurious sumo stable. Besides, the shogun’s interests tended toward Confucianism and the arts, not popular sport.

“A great life, don’t you think?” Raiden said, downing another cup of sake. A certain wistfulness in his voice told Sano that the wrestler was bragging just as much to bolster his ego as to impress. Sano could pity him, even as he remembered Raiden assaulting the merchant.

Raiden emptied his bowl and signaled the proprietor to bring him another. Sano reached in his cash pouch for more money. “But Lord Torū dismissed me because I picked up the master-of-arms and threw him against the wall. Unfair, don’t you think? After all, I didn’t really hurt the man. He lived. And I didn’t mean to do it. Ever since I hurt my head in a match a while back, there’s been a demon living inside it, making me do awful things.” He touched his temple and added sadly, “That’s how I got my name: ‘Thunder and Lightning. ’ I strike anywhere, anytime, and when I do, everybody had better get out of the way.”

Raiden, apparently a man used to dominating the conversation, showed no interest in Sano. Other than his habitual “don’t you think?” he asked no questions. Sano ate in silence and let him ramble on. Identifying himself would only inhibit the careless flow of confidences, and Raiden was telling him plenty without the least urging. Already he’d learned that the wrestler was short on funds and had a consistently volatile temper. Both these qualities would make him dangerous prey for a blackmailer like Noriyoshi.

Now Raiden launched a tirade about the hardships of his life: poor food, greedy landlord, disrespect from other wrestlers. Sano decided it was time to guide the conversation to a more relevant subject.

“Did you hear about the artist who committed shinjū?” he asked. “Noriyoshi, I think his name was.”

Raiden stopped eating long enough to give Sano a wary glance. “Maybe,” he said casually. He sucked a noodle into his mouth and wiped his lips on his sleeve. But a sudden jerk of his body at the mention of Noriyoshi had already belied his nonchalance.

“You knew him?” Sano prodded.

“Maybe.” Raiden’s tone remained casual, but he began to chew with a savage intensity.

“You didn’t like him?”

Raiden said nothing. Sano waited. He didn’t think the garrulous wrestler could remain quiet for long. And he was right. Raiden hurled his empty bowl out the door and shouted, “I hated the miserable scum!”

His body tensed, and his flaccid hands balled into fists. His face darkened the way it had just before he’d attacked the merchant.

Sano saw the other diners staring at them. A few got up and ran out of the restaurant. Surreptiously moving his hand to his sword, he said, “Easy now, it’s all right,” in what he hoped was a soothing tone. Even after such a brief acquaintance, he could recognize the signs of an impending rampage. Could he stop the wrestler before he hurt someone?

Then, to Sano’s amazement, the tension left Raiden’s body, and his face went blank. He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it, and gaped at Sano without apparent recognition.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a fuzzy voice. “Were we talking? Did you just ask me something?” He looked down. “Where’s my bowl?”

Sano allowed himself to relax tentatively, relieved that Raiden’s dangerous mood had passed. “We were talking about Noriyoshi,” he said, hoping the name wouldn’t provoke another outburst. “Why did you hate him?”

Raiden frowned in bewilderment. “Did I hate him? Oh, yes, I guess I did. Because he got me thrown out of Lord Torū’s stable. The master-of-arms wouldn’t have told Lord Torū that I broke discipline and almost killed him. He didn’t want to lose face. But Noriyoshi was there that day, delivering some paintings. He saw the whole thing. Told me that if I didn’t pay him a thousand zeni a week, he would tell Lord Torū. I didn’t have the money. He talked; Lord Torū dismissed me. Terrible, don’t you think?”

Sano felt less satisfaction at learning Raiden’s motive than he’d anticipated. Raiden seemed to have no control over his demon. He was capable of killing on a moment’s impulse during one of his sudden rages, but had he the wits to arrange a double murder that looked like suicide?

Both Kikunojo and Raiden had readily admitted that they’d been Noriyoshi’s blackmail victims. But if Kikunojo’s link with Niu Yukiko seemed weak, Raiden’s was weaker still. Upper-class samurai women never attended public sumo tournaments, let alone the street-corner matches. Even if social events had brought Yukiko into contact with the Torūs, Raiden’s association with them had ended almost two years ago. What circumstance could have linked Noriyoshi and Yukiko and united them with Raiden the night of the murder? Intuition told Sano that a direct connection between Noriyoshi and the Niu clan must exist, that it provided the motive for the murders. So far, however, he saw nothing.

“Have you ever fought a match against Lord Niu’s men?” he asked.

The proprietor had brought Raiden a third bowl of noodles without being asked, perhaps to forestall another violent episode. “Sure,” Raiden said as he dug into it. “The tournament at Muen-ji.” The Temple of Helplessness, built on the burial site of the Great Fire’s victims, was a popular site for public spectacles. “Three years ago.”

“Have you met his daughters? The eldest one, in particular- Yukiko?”

“Heh, heh, heh.” Raiden ground his huge elbow into Sano’s side. “Know what you’re thinking. But no. The daimyo never let us near their women. They don’t trust us. A pity, because some of them… ” He began describing the charms of the women, whom he’d only seen from a distance.

Sano thought he was telling the truth. He had none of Kikunojo’s intelligence or acting talent to help him lie easily and convincingly. That he did have a careless mouth and little instinct for self-preservation was obvious. He hadn’t bothered to find out who Sano was or why he was asking questions, and his lewd remarks about Lord Torū’s women would earn him a harsh punishment if they reached the wrong ears. Sano finally had to interrupt his rambling discourse.

“Are you glad Noriyoshi is dead?” he asked.

Raiden emptied the last of the sake into his cup. “I’m not sorry. But there’s at least one person even less sorry than I. I wasn’t the only one he blackmailed, and from what I hear, he got a lot more money out of the other fellow.”

“You mean Kikunojo, the Kabuki actor?” Sano asked.

The wrestler gave him a puzzled look. “Him, too? Didn’t know that. No, I was thinking of someone else.”

“And who is that?”

“A member of a very powerful clan,” Raiden answered. For the first time, he looked around furtively and lowered his voice. “I don’t know which member, and I won’t say the family name, but-”

Bending over, he drew on the dusty ground with his chopstick. He produced a picture far less skillful than any of Noriyoshi’s, but Sano easily recognized its subject.

It was a dragonfly crest, insignia of the Niu clan. Here at last was the connection between Noriyoshi and the Nius.