Chapter 14

Sunset had turned the western sky to a clear, lavender-streaked gold by the time Sano and Tsunehiko reached the inland village of Totsuka. Although Totsuka was the sixth Tōkaido station and the usual stopping place for travelers who had left Edo in early morning, Sano had hoped to push on farther. He wanted to shake their still-unseen pursuer, if indeed one existed. But night was fast approaching, wrapping the land in its chill darkness. He and Tsunehiko were cold, tired, and hungry; the horses, too, needed warmth, rest, and food.

“We’ll spend the night here,” Sano said after they’d cleared the checkpoint at the entrance to Totsuka.

Tsunehiko, who had turned glum and silent from fatigue, smiled again. “Oh, good, Yoriki Sano-san,” he said with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Totsuka’s thatch-roofed inns, restaurants, and teahouses stood side by side along the Tōkaido. Lanterns burned cheerily against the encroaching night. From the doorway of each establishment, pretty “waitresses”-the illegal and officially nonexistent village prostitutes-beckoned to the travelers. Earlier arrivals carried baggage into inns and drank in the teahouses. Medicine sellers hawked their salves and potions. A band of pilgrims peered into a religious-supply shop. Snatches of song and music burst from fenced courtyards, where the inns’ customers had already begun their parties. Surrounding the commercial district, the villagers’ houses nestled cozily among the trees.

Sano and Tsunehiko rode up the street in search of lodgings. They bypassed the stately, templelike edifices reserved for daimyo and court nobles. Near the middle of town, they found a small, modest inn whose front door opened directly onto the street. Its cylindrical orange lanterns bore the name Ryokan Gorobei. Signs advertised low prices for room and board; but the building seemed tidy and in good repair. The floor of its entrance way was swept clean, and its back wall was decorated with a shrine to Jizo, patron god of travelers and children. The fat little god sat on his shelf, surrounded by rice cakes, cups of sake, and burning oil lamps.

“This will do,” Sano said, dismounting.

Before he led the way inside, he looked backward. Was it just his imagination that made him think the watcher pursued them? He saw the familiar faces of travelers they’d met on the road, but none with whom he could associate that malignant presence. Trying to shed his anxiety, he told himself that soon he and Tsunehiko would be safe within four walls.

“Welcome to the Ryokan Gorobei, welcome!” The smiling innkeeper rushed out of his living quarters in back of the entrance-way to greet them. Short, bald, and rotund, he looked a bit like Jizo himself. He bowed and said, “Thank you for choosing my humble inn. I am Gorobei, and I will do everything in my power to make your stay a pleasant one.”

He brought them a register to sign, then called to the stable boy, who ran out to take charge of the horses. Then he picked up one of Jizo’s lamps and led Sano and Tsunehiko into the storage room. They left most of their baggage there, keeping with them only the things they would need that night. Tsunehiko hung his swords on the rack with those of the other guests, but Sano hesitated, his hand on the scabbard of his long sword. What if the watcher should make an appearance tonight?

“You need not worry about leaving your weapons, master,” said the innkeeper. “Very, very safe here. Ryokan Gorobei has its own nightwatchman.”

“No reflection on your establishment, but I’d rather keep them with me,” Sano told him.

Gorobei led them across a small but pretty garden to the guest quarters. Climbing the steps of a narrow veranda, he slid open a door. The room, just large enough to sleep two men, was bare and clean. Its only furnishings were the tatami mats, a charcoal brazier, and a wall cabinet to hold bedding and the guests’ personal items. Gorobei lit the brazier and the lamps that stood beside it. Then he smiled and bowed.

“I hope these poor lodgings will serve, masters. The bathhouse and privy are that way.” He pointed.”Please let me know if there is anything you need. “ With another bow, he bustled off toward the entranceway, where voices indicated that another party had arrived.

Once bathed, dressed in a comfortable robe, and enclosed in the warm, bright little room, Sano felt his tension melt away. Physical comfort made all threats seem distant and unreal.

“I’m starving,” Tsunehiko announced, wheezing as he knelt beside the brazier. “When do we eat?”

As if in answer to his question, the door slid open. A maid entered on her knees. She bowed, then gave them two trays that held generous portions of fish, rice, vegetables, and soup. Sano, weary of scrutinizing every face he saw, was glad that inns had no public dining rooms and guests ate in their own quarters. The maid poured the tea and sake, then withdrew.

“Good stuff,” Tsunehiko mumbled, his mouth full.

Sano nodded in agreement. The rice was fragrant, the vegetables and soup well seasoned and savory. Ryokan Gorobei offered good value for its prices. He must remember to leave a generous tip. The knot of worry in his stomach loosened, releasing a voracious hunger. He ate almost as much as Tsunehiko, leaving only a portion of untouched radish pickle for his disappointed secretary to finish.

“My, it’s noisy,” Tsunehiko remarked as they finished their last cups of sake. “What are they doing over there?”

He leaned over and started to slide back the window panel.

“Don’t-” Sano flung out a hand to stop him.

Tsunehiko looked around in surprise. “Why not?”

Sano dropped his hand. “Never mind,” he said. He didn’t want to reveal their whereabouts, but he couldn’t resist looking outside. Maybe this time he would see the watcher. “Go ahead.”

Tsunehiko opened the window. The laughter and music that had grown steadily louder during their meal rushed in on a cold gust of wind. Sano looked across the garden toward the other guest rooms. Through the open window of one, he saw a group of samurai. A woman in bright kimono, probably the inn’s “waitress,” knelt in their midst, playing the samisen. One of the samurai struck a clownish pose and began to sing in an off-key voice. The others roared with laughter. In another room, two priests chanted sutras. Sano turned his gaze to another wing that stood a little apart from the rest. Was the watcher one of those shadowy forms silhouetted in flickering lamplight against the translucent windows? Or was he staying at another inn, ready to pick up their trail in the morning? Maybe he lurked somewhere in the darkness beyond the village. Safe within his own cozy room, listening to the ordinary noises, Sano could almost believe that the watcher posed no danger to them.

Almost.

Tsunehiko yawned. “I’m so tired,” he said.

Sano yawned, too. His body’s need for sleep was fast overcoming his mind’s desire to stay alert. When the maid returned to fetch the trays, he asked her to set out their bedding. Then he put on his cloak and swords.

“I’m going out for some fresh air,” he told Tsunehiko. He didn’t want to frighten his secretary, but he wanted to take one last look for the watcher, and assure himself that they would be safe for the night.

Outside, he made a circuit of the courtyard, which had grown quiet as the parties wound down and the guests prepared for bed. He looked out onto the deserted street. A few lanterns still burned outside the teahouses and inns. On the way back to his own door, Sano greeted the nightwatchman, a younger version of Gorobei who must be the innkeeper’s son. Otherwise he saw no one. He no longer felt the watcher’s presence. Was his own fatigue making him less sensitive to it?

Back inside the room, he locked the windows and doors, frowning at the flimsy wooden catches designed more to ensure privacy than security. Tsunehiko already lay asleep on the floor, his fat body hidden under the quilt with only the top of his head showing. His daytime wheezes had turned into soft, phlegmy snores. Sano shed his cloak and swords and extinguished the lamps. He lay down on his futon, drawing the quilt over himself. As drowsiness descended upon him, he heard the rhythmic beat of the night-watchman’s wooden clappers signaling “All is well.” But his hand reached out from under the quilt, toward the weapons that lay beside him. With his last conscious effort, he grasped the hilt of his long sword and unsheathed it.