“Not yet,” Sano said firmly. “Before I confront Yanagisawa, the theory that Makino planned to defect needs further investigation. Daiemon can’t be trusted, because he’s still a suspect himself. Neither can Lord Matsudaira, because he and his nephew are on the same side. I’ll not have them use me as a cannon to shoot down their rival who may be innocent.”

Sano reflected that “innocent” was an unapt term to describe Yanagisawa, who was guilty of so much. Still, it would be dishonorable to punish him for a crime he might not have committed. And if Sano was going to take on the powerful Yanagisawa, and break their truce that had protected him for three years, he should prepare himself for a fight to the death.

“I want to be armed with evidence against Yanagisawa before I walk into fire,” Sano said.

10

A separate compound within Edo Castle enclosed Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s estate. Guards in watchtowers, and high stone walls topped by sharp spikes, kept out trespassers. The mansion was a labyrinth of interconnected wings surrounded by retainers’ barracks. Deep within its protected center was the private domain of the chamberlain. In his office, where a painted map of Japan covered an entire wall, Yanagisawa sat at his desk on a raised platform. Below the platform knelt two men. One was Kato Kinhide-the shogun’s adviser on national finance, a member of the Council of Elders, and Yanagisawa’s principal crony. The other man was Yanagisawa’s chief retainer, Mori Eigoro.

“What’s the report on my war treasury?” Yanagisawa said.

Kato unfurled a scroll on the desk. He had a broad, bland face, with eyes and a mouth like slits in a worn leather mask. “Here is the balance as of today.” He pointed at characters inked on the scroll. “And here are the tributes we expect to receive from our allies.”

Chin in hand, Yanagisawa frowned at the sums. Lord Matsudaira surely had much more in his war treasury. Yanagisawa battled his doubts about the wisdom of challenging Lord Matsudaira. Yet it was too late for misgivings. And determination had won many a battle against overwhelming odds.

“How many troops do we have?” Yanagisawa asked.

“Five thousand currently in Edo,” said Mori. His lithe, fit physique contrasted with his pitted complexion, puffy eyes, and air of dissipation. “Two thousand more are on their way from the provinces.”

But Lord Matsudaira had the entire Tokugawa army. Yanagisawa inhaled on his silver tobacco pipe, trying to calm his nerves. The air in the room was already hazy and acrid with smoke. Perhaps his downfall had begun.

“How goes our campaign to purge our opponents from the bakufu?” Yanagisawa said.

Kato presented another scroll that bore a list of detractors. He pointed to three names. “These men are gone,” he said. “I convinced them to accept posts in the far north. They decided not to gamble that joining Lord Matsudaira would protect their families from you.” Kato’s finger touched a name near the top of the list. “After I tell him I’ve discovered he’s been stealing and selling rice from the Tokugawa estates, he’ll never lift a hand against you.”

Satisfaction abated Yanagisawa’s fears. “Very good,” he said. “Where do we stand on allies?”

Mori opened a third scroll. Pointing to four names at the bottom of a list, he said, “Yesterday these men swore allegiance to you.”

“It’s a pity they don’t have more troops or wealth,” said Kato.

“Most of the men who do chose sides a long time ago,” Yanagisawa said. “Not many of them are still available. Though there’s one notable exception.”

“Sano Ichirō?” said Kato.

Yanagisawa nodded.

“But Sano has resisted all our attempts to win him over,” Mori said. “I think he’s a lost cause.”

Yanagisawa said, “We’ll see about that.” He and Kato and Mori smoked their pipes while they contemplated the scroll. “There’s one person we can cross off the list.” Yanagisawa picked up a writing brush from his desk, dipped it in ink, and drew a line through Senior Elder Makino’s name.

“How fortunate for us that he died at this particular time,” Kato said.

“Indeed,” Mori said. “After he decided to join Lord Matsudaira’s faction, he was a mortal danger to us.”

“You’ve never told me how you found out he planned to defect,” Kato said to Yanagisawa.

“Makino started hinting that he wanted me to give him more money and authority in exchange for his support,” Yanagisawa said. “I ignored his hints because he already had as much as he should, but I knew he would try to satisfy his greed elsewhere.”

“So we had him watched,” Mori said. “Our spies saw him talking with Lord Matsudaira’s nephew Daiemon several times.”

“Lately Makino had seemed afraid that our side would lose,” Yanagisawa said. “When we added up his greed, his fear, and his relations with the enemy, we concluded that he would soon turn traitor.”

Admiration for Yanagisawa’s perspicacity glinted in Kato’s eyes. “Makino could have done us much harm by spying for Lord Matsudaira while pretending he was still loyal to us. It’s a good thing you caught on to him.”

“We can be thankful that someone eliminated him and saved us the trouble,” Mori said.

Yanagisawa watched his companions avoid his gaze. The atmosphere seethed with their suspicion that he was responsible for their stroke of luck. That he’d known about Makino’s betrayal had given him ample cause to want his former crony dead. That he’d had a spy planted in Makino’s estate implied opportunity to commit the murder. But Yanagisawa didn’t answer their unspoken question of whether he was guilty or innocent. He wouldn’t admit to the crime, not even to his most trusted comrades, for he knew they could betray his trust as Makino had done. Nor would he claim innocence, for he wanted them to believe him capable of assassinating whoever crossed him. Intimidation was his strongest hold over his subordinates.

Fear for his own future was his primary concern.

“Makino’s death isn’t an unmitigated blessing,” Yanagisawa said. “The murder investigation is as serious a threat to us as he ever was.”

Above Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s office, a hole the diameter of a coin pierced the elaborate woodwork of the ceiling and overlooked the desk. In the attic above, Lady Yanagisawa lay on a tatami mat on the floor, an eye to the hole, peering through it at the chamberlain, Kato, and Mori. Their voices drifted up to her. Beside her lay her daughter Kikuko. A quilt shielded them from the damp winter cold. Daylight from grilles set in the peaked gables dimly illuminated their faces. Nearby, rodents scrabbled, their pungent odor fouling the musty air. But Lady Yanagisawa didn’t notice the discomforts of this place from which she habitually spied on the chamberlain. All her attention focused on him, the beautiful, clever, and powerful husband she adored.

Throughout their ten-year marriage, she’d hoped for him to love her in return, despite overwhelming odds. Theirs had been a union of political and economic convenience. She came from an affluent clan related to the Tokugawa, and the chamberlain had wed her for her dowry and connections. Why else would he choose a woman so ugly, so devoid of charm? He’d engaged in sexual relations with her during the few months after their wedding, then stopped when she’d become pregnant with Kikuko. After he discovered that their child was feebleminded, he’d never touched Lady Yanagisawa again. For years he had ignored her and Kikuko. But although his indifference tormented Lady Yanagisawa, she still dreamed of winning his love.

To her joy, recent events had given her fresh hope.

Her abduction by the Dragon King, and her brush with death, had taught Lady Yanagisawa that life was short, and those who waited for what they wanted might die before ever getting it. The revelations had overcome her innate shyness. Instead of just spying on her husband from a distance, she’d dared approach so close within his view that he couldn’t help noticing her. At first she’d lacked the nerve to speak, but one day, upon encountering him in the garden, she murmured, “Good morning, my lord.” And miracle of miracles, he answered!