With its thatched roof and plain, half-timbered construction, the estate was nearly identical to the others crammed into the labyrinthine bancho, differentiated only by Dannoshin’s name written on the gate. After dismounting there, Sano and his detectives followed Yanagisawa and his contingent into a gravel courtyard shaded by the bamboo leaves. An old man dressed in a faded indigo kimono came hurrying out of the house.

“Who are you?” the man said, clearly startled to behold the army of samurai and the Tokugawa crests on their garments. He backed up the steps in alarm before bowing. “What can I do for you, masters?”

“We’re looking for Dannoshin Minoru,” said Chamberlain Yanagisawa. “Tell us where he is.”

“He’s not home,” the old man said.

Advancing up the flagstone path with his troops, Yanagisawa demanded, “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. I’m just his servant.”

“Then we’ll just have a look around,” Yanagisawa said.

While he and his men rushed into the house, Sano went up to the servant, who hunched timidly on the veranda.

“When did your master leave?” Sano asked.

“Seven days ago.” Anxious to propitiate, the servant volunteered, “The night before that, a girl came here. She and my master talked. After she left, he told me to pack him some clothes and provisions for a journey.”

The girl was Mariko, Sano deduced. She’d brought the news of Lady Keisho-in’s impending trip. Dannoshin had then made preparations to outpace and ambush Keisho-in and hired Black Lotus mercenaries to help him. One of them must have ridden back to Edo after the kidnapping, posted the ransom letter on the castle wall, then vanished unnoticed by anyone.

Sano led his detectives into the house. Beyond the entry way, Yanagisawa’s men swarmed the corridor, pushing open doors in the paper-and-wood wall partitions, tramping through rooms, hunting occupants. The smell of incense tinged the air. The house’s interior was dingy and ill-furnished. Sano supposed Dannoshin had hoarded his money to fund his revenge against Hoshina and pay for help from the Black Lotus. But perhaps the sect had cooperated partly because he could have turned its members in to the police if they refused.

From somewhere in the back of the house, Yanagisawa called, “Sōsakan Sano!”

“Go and help search the premises,” Sano told his men.

He jostled past the troops and found Yanagisawa in a chamber, standing before a teak table. The table held candles with blackened wicks, incense burners full of ash, and an ornately carved black lacquer cabinet.

“It’s a funeral altar,” Yanagisawa said.

According to custom, the cabinet should have contained a portrait of the deceased, but it was empty. Sano touched a finger to the carved flowers surrounding the blank interior.

“These are anemones,” he said. “This is Dannoshin’s funeral altar to his murdered mother.”

“He must have taken her portrait with him,” Yanagisawa said.

Sano inhaled the incense smoke absorbed by the walls and tatami. Anxious for clues to the Dragon King’s character as well as location, he opened a cabinet. He found quilts and a futon. Dannoshin must sleep in this shrine to his mother. He must have worshiped her spirit for twelve years, nursing a murderous, obsessive need for revenge.

Sano stepped into the study, a niche in a corner lined with shelves of books. On a desk lay two sheets of paper scribbled with black calligraphy. Sano picked these up. Yanagisawa read aloud over his shoulder:

“ ‘The woman struggles desperately in the lake,

Her long hair and robes spread,

Like flower petals strewn on the dark water.’

“This is a draft of the poem in the ransom letter,” Yanagisawa said.

“And it’s proof that Dannoshin is indeed the Dragon King.” Sano examined the second page and said, “Listen to this.

“ ‘Despoiler of feminine virtue,

Selfishly taking his pleasure at will,

The scoundrel Hoshina leaves destruction in his wake,

Never caring nor looking back at the pain he causes,

While fortune blesses him with wealth and prestige.

But Hoshina will not escape his comeuppance forever,

The Dragon King will rise up from the ocean to exact retribution,

He will grasp Hoshina in his golden claws,

And breathe flaming wrath upon the despoiler,

Whether it be the death of them both.’

“So much for any doubt that Dannoshin is out to get Hoshina,” Sano said.

Yanagisawa’s troops burst into the room, bringing three women. One was gray-haired and matronly, the others teenaged girls. All were whimpering with terror. “These are the housekeeper and maids,” said a soldier. “They say they don’t know where their master went.”

Sano’s detectives appeared at the door. “The barracks behind the house are empty,” Detective Inoue told Sano. “So are the stables. It looks like Dannoshin has taken all his retainers with him. There’s no one else here.”

Yanagisawa cursed under his breath. Sano’s heart plummeted under the gravity of frustration and despair. To have tracked the Dragon King to his home territory, only for the trail to end there, was a crushing letdown. Sano and Yanagisawa hunted through the study niche, rummaging in drawers, riffling papers, thumbing ledgers, searching for clues to where the Dragon King was now. The detectives and soldiers searched the rest of the estate. At last they gathered, all empty-handed, in the courtyard.

“Does the great sōsakan-sama have any ideas?” Yanagisawa’s mocking tone had a sharp, desperate edge.

Memory suddenly transported Sano back to a time when he’d worked at a place where they could find the information they needed. “Actually, I do,” he said. “Come with me.” He led the rush out the gate to their horses.

Midori uttered a long, keening wail of anguish as a spasm convulsed her. Her back arched; her body heaved up from the bed. The pain squeezed her eyes shut, bared her teeth. Her fingers clawed into the futon. Tears and sweat drenched her face. Lady Yanagisawa, kneeling on one side of Midori, dabbed her brow with a cloth. Keisho-in squatted on the other side.

“The pains are coming more and more frequently. The birth will happen soon,” she said with the smug air of an expert.

Reiko pounded on the door, as she’d done countless times since Midori’s labor had begun in the night. “Help!” she called to the guards. Now it must be past noon, and her voice was hoarse, her anxiety turning to panic. “My friend needs a midwife. Please bring one immediately!”

Earlier, the guards had responded by yelling at her to be quiet. This time someone thudded a fist against the outside of the door. Ota, the Dragon King’s chief henchman, said, “We’re not falling for any more of your tricks.”

“It’s not a trick,” Reiko cried in desperation. Childbirth was an event fraught with hazard, and without a skilled midwife to handle any trouble that arose, Midori and the baby were in grave peril. “Come in and see for yourself.”

Nothing happened. Midori gasped and lay still, temporarily released from pain. Thunder grumbled outside; rain tapped on the roof and dripped through the holes onto Midori. Then the door opened. Ota, his face belligerent with suspicion and annoyance, pointed his sword at Reiko, backing her into the room while he entered with two other men. As they approached Midori, she wailed, shuddering violently, seized by another contraction. Ota and his companions leapt back from her genuine agony. Their faces expressed the primitive awe and fright of men confronted with the spectacle of childbirth.

“She needs a midwife,” Reiko said. “She needs clean water and bedding and a dry, comfortable place to have the baby.” Determined to protect Midori’s well-being, Reiko forgot caution and ordered the men, “Go tell your master! Now!”

They fled, although obviously less intimidated by Reiko than eager to get away. Reiko knelt beside Midori and pressed against the potent points on her spine, trying to relieve the labor pains. Midori panted; Lady Yanagisawa wiped her face; Keisho-in peered under her robes, watching for the child to emerge. Soon Ota returned. His cruel grin mocked the women’s hopeful expressions. “My master wants to see you,” he told Reiko.