“You’re under arrest for the murders of Noriyoshi, artist, and Yukiko, daughter of Lord Niu,” the lead yoriki shouted from astride his rearing horse. To the others: “Take him to jail.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Raiden protested. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

But even as he spoke, he experienced an uncomfortable, familiar, and queasy sensation of doubt. The demon that lived in his mind sometimes affected his memory; people often told him he’d done things of which he had no recollection. He might have killed those people, then forgotten-he’d certainly hated Noriyoshi enough. But the thought of jail alarmed him. He must convince the police of his innocence.

“You’ve got the wrong man,” he said.

Suddenly a blinding rage boiled up inside Raiden, just as it had at frequent, unpredictable intervals since he’d injured his head. His demon surfaced. With a roar of fury, Raiden threw his massive weight right, then left. The men holding his arms let go. He heard one of them crash into the restaurant amid the excited cries of the diners. Raiden charged at his other attackers. He swept one aside with his arm and downed another with a punch in the jaw. He plowed over the fallen men, kicking and trampling. But the doshin’s men outnumbered him. Their clubs began to rain blows upon him. Still Raiden fought. Possessed by the demon, he felt no pain and cared not whether he lived or died.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the demon departed. Fear and panic returned. “No!” Raiden screamed.

He flung his hands up to protect his face-too late. Pain flared on his cheeks and mouth. He tasted blood, spat out one of his teeth. The clubs cracked against his arms, ribs, and back. He went down, sobbing in terror now. Pinioned beneath the doshins men, he lay gasping and whimpering like a wounded animal. The shouts of the crowd rang in his ears. Someone bound his wrists. The rope cut into his flesh. Hands dragged him to his feet. The ladders interlocked around him, forming a cage. A jitte prodded his back.

“Walk,” its owner shouted in his ear.

Still whimpering in pain and terror, Raiden staggered forward. He ducked his head to hide his shame. He knew what he would see if he raised his eyes.

He’d seen parades like this before. The proud mounted yoriki in the lead; the doshin marching behind them; and last, the assistants with their bound and corralled prisoner. He’d joined the crowds who flocked to see the spectacle; he’d jeered and hurled rocks at the prisoners. Now he was the victim of those taunts. The rocks were aimed at him.

“This is a mistake,” he cried as a rock struck his brow. He cowered within his ladder-cage, but more rocks flew between the rungs to pound his chest and back. “I’m not a murderer.” He must make everyone listen and believe, before they reached the jail. Then it would be too late. “Please, let me explain.”

He lifted pleading eyes to his tormenters. His spirits sank at the sight of the angry mob. The leering faces, merciless stares, flailing arms. The mouths crying out for his blood. “Please… ”

Again the jab in the back. “Shut up and keep moving!”

After a while, Raiden’s awareness of the crowd, his captors, and even his predicament faded. The simple act of walking required all his thought and energy. Finally the procession halted, and Raiden found himself outside the gate of Edo Jail with no clear memory of the route they’d taken. Fresh terror restored his wits.

“Please, no, don’t take me in there, I don’t want to go,” he babbled as his captors disassembled the ladder-cage. Like everyone else, he knew what went on in the jail. Once inside, he could forget about convincing the authorities of his innocence.

No one spoke to him. They dragged and pushed him down a foul-smelling corridor. He heard his own screams mingle with the inhuman howls of the other prisoners. Someone opened a door. A hard shove sent him stumbling into a dim room. He fell facedown in the corner. Rough hands bound his ankles. The door slammed.

Raiden rolled over. He was alone in a tiny cell with high, barred windows. Frantically he writhed on the floor, straining at his bonds.

“Let me out!” he shouted.

No answer came. At last, weakened to exhaustion, he gave up. He lay panting, bathed in sweat that soon turned icy in the draft that poured through the windows. He forced himself to think. Could he bribe the jailers? Failing that, his only hope of survival lay in enduring the torture that he knew would follow. No matter what they did to him, he must not confess to murder. Now he called upon all the self-discipline his twenty years of sumo training had instilled in him. With relief, he felt his mind grow quieter as fear receded. Courage flowed through him, the way it did when he stepped into the ring.

The door swung open. Two jailers entered the room. Each carried a long staff; each wore a spear and a whip at his waist. Raiden kept his eyes off the men and their weapons and concentrated his attention inward. Let them do their worst.

The shorter jailer closed the door and stood beside it, leaning on his staff. The other, a huge brute with one eye sealed shut by shriveled scar tissue, towered over Raiden.

“Ah, Raiden, the mighty warrior,” he mocked. “Lying on the floor like a trussed pig. Now tell me the truth: did you kill Niu

Yukiko?“

“No. I did not. And if you leave me unharmed, I will reward you handsomely.”

One-Eye laughed. “With what?” He leaned over, and with one vicious yank tore off Raiden’s threadbare kimono. He found the money pouch and emptied three zeni from it onto the floor. “This?” To his companion, he called, “Shall I prove that the great Raiden lies?” He flung aside his staff and drew his whip.

The whip whined through the air. It lashed against Raiden’s chest with a crack of fiery agony. Raiden gasped, but managed not to scream.

“I didn’t kill her,” he whispered.

“Yes, you did,” One-Eye said. “You killed her, and you killed Noriyoshi, and then you threw them both into the river. Admit it!”

“No.”

The whip whined again. “You killed them.”

“No.”

“Yes. Say it: I killed Niu Yukiko. I killed Noriyoshi.”

Over and over came the whip and the accusations. Raiden’s world shrank to a space that contained only his anguish and the jailer’s ugly face. He imagined that he was being punished for all the things his demon had done. Mauling other wrestlers, tearing up the practice room, wrecking teahouses and brothels. But none of it was his fault. He wasn’t a bad man, just an unfortunate one.

“No… wasn’t me… don’t deserve this. Good man… good samurai. No. No.” The words blubbered from his bloody, swollen mouth.

Then One-Eye went to work with his spear. Tears ran down Raiden’s face as it gouged his flesh. His muscles shrieked their agony; his bladder and bowels loosened. The floor beneath him grew slick with his blood, urine, and feces. Still he managed to repeat:

“No. I didn’t kill anyone.”

Finally One-Eye stepped back. “He’s a tough one,” he said to his companion. “Maybe he’s telling the truth.”

Raiden’s battered body untensed, savoring the respite from torture. Cautious hope stirred in his pain-befogged mind. Were they going to give up?

The short jailer mumbled something Raiden couldn’t understand. Then they both left the cell, slamming the door behind them.

“Merciful Buddha,” Raiden whispered thankfully.

Now his tears flowed in relief as he waited for someone to come and free him. But he grew uneasy as time passed and no one came. What was taking them so long? The ropes had numbed his hands and feet; he wanted them untied, now. He wanted to leave this terrible place. He wanted a bath, a drink, and medicine for his wounds.

“Hey,” he rasped. “Come back. Let me out.”

The door opened. Through it came his two torturers. One-Eye’s evil smile sent a thrill of fear through Raiden. A smoky metallic smell made his nostrils quiver. It came from the stone ewer that Short Man carried. Then Raiden understood.