“Your loyalty must be of valuable help to His Majesty,” Sano said. Momozono humbly shook his head, but his eyes brightened with pleasure. “Now perhaps you can help me. How well did you know Left Minister Konoe?”

The prince hopped up and down, hooting and growling, striking out with his fists.

Startled, Sano dodged the blows. “You didn’t care for the left minister, then?”

Rolling his eyes, Momozono reeled backward. “Forgive me, I can’t h-help myself.”

“I think it’s more than that,” Sano said. “What did Konoe do to you?”

“I suppose you’ll find out from someone else if I don’t tell you. L-left M-minister Konoe was the one who had me locked up in the storehouse. H-he gave the order to exile me.” Momozono looked Sano straight in the eye, and Sano fought the impulse to avert his gaze from the prince’s twitching face. “Yes, I-I hated him,” Momozono said defiantly. “When His Majesty and I found him dead, I rejoiced. But I didn’t do it. If I’d wanted to kill him, why would I have waited t-ten years?”

Hatred could fester over time, Sano knew. Momozono and the emperor shared an alibi. Which of them was it really meant to protect? Tomohito had rescued his cousin once already.

With a self-deprecating laugh, Momozono said, “How can you think I could k-kill anybody?”

Just then, Emperor Tomohito waved to him from across the battlefield, calling, "Bring me another sword!”

Momozono picked up a sword from the pile of toy weapons. He dropped it twice as he lurched toward the emperor. Watching, Sano tried and failed to imagine him as the killer. If Momozono fumbled the simplest tasks, how could he master the art of kiai? Where would he have learned it? Perhaps he exaggerated his symptoms, but Sano still believed that the conspiracy and the murder of Left Minister Konoe were related. How could a despised outcast mount an insurrection?

The emperor spied Sano. Ignoring the sword Momozono offered him, he dropped his toy horse and swaggered over. “What do you want?” he demanded.

Kneeling, Sano bowed, honoring the churlish youth as the descendant of the gods. Had they granted his bloodline the power to manipulate cosmic forces? Had his imperial ancestors bequeathed to him the secret of kiai?

“I’ve come to ask you some questions,” Sano said.

“Stand up,” Tomohito ordered.

Obeying, Sano returned the emperor’s scrutiny. The armor added bulk to Tomohito’s large build, and menace to his petulant, childish face. He said, “You’ve got nerve coming here, after what you did. You arrested my consort! You knocked me down!”

Sano noted these offenses as motives for Tomohito to want him dead.

“May lighting strike down all you Tokugawa bullies!” the emperor shouted.

While Momozono emitted anxious yelps, Sano experienced a stab of alarm, accompanied by the urge to laugh. The emperor had the power to invoke the wrath of the heavens, yet Tomohito’s curse sounded like a child’s extravagant threat. If he also commanded the power of kiai, his unbridled temper would make him all the more dangerous.

Sano hastened to appease the emperor: “I regret what I did. Lady Asagao has been freed.”

But Tomohito, with the short attention span of youth, had lost interest in the subject. “You’re a real fighter, aren’t you?” he said, studying Sano with grudging admiration. Pointing at Sano’s long sword, he ordered, “Let me see that.”

Sano couldn’t refuse an order from the emperor. He unsheathed his sword and handed it over.

“This is really nice.” Tomohito ran a grubby finger along the blade. Suddenly he leapt backward and slashed at Sano, yelling, “Hah!”

Sano ducked just in time to escape a cut to the head. “Careful! That’s not a toy.”

“N-no, Your Majesty,” Momozono wailed.

He grabbed the emperor’s arm, but Tomohito pulled away. His eyes shone with the thrill of wielding a real blade. He circled, feinted, and sliced at the air. Sano noted Tomohito’s skill. The emperor outshone many samurai of his age. His footwork was quick, each strike gracefully executed.

“You’re pretty good, Your Majesty,” Sano said. “How long have you studied kenjutsu?”

“All my life!”

“Who taught you?”

The emperor aimed a swipe at Sano’s legs; when Sano jumped to avoid it, he laughed. “The best swordsmen in Miyako.”

“What other martial arts did they teach you?”

“You ask too many questions!”

The emperor’s impressive swordsmanship meant he could discipline his energies when it suited him, and discipline was crucial to the power of kiai.

“The battle your soldiers are fighting,” Sano said. “It’s the Jokyu War, isn’t it?”

That was the war by which Emperor Go-Toba had tried to overthrow the military dictatorship. He’d summoned the Minamoto to a festival in Miyako where his army had attacked them.

“So what if it is?” Tomohito whirled and slashed around Sano.

“Then you’re not being true to history,” Sano said, flinching as the blade came dangerously close. “Your imperial faction is beating the Minamoto.” On the battlefield, boys in red-laced armor played dead. “But in real life, the Minamoto defeated your ancestor. Instead of seizing power, he died in exile.”

“If I’d been in his place, I would have won!”

“Is it a game, or are you rehearsing for a real revolt?”

The sword flew out of Tomohito’s grasp. He exclaimed in annoyance. Sano retrieved his sword and sheathed it. “Please answer my question, Your Majesty.”

Prince Momozono had an attack of spasms. The emperor scowled. “I just got clumsy for a moment. Of course the battle is a game, to pass the time. There’s not much to do here; I get bored.”

Observing Tomohito’s refusal to meet his gaze, Sano said, “Has anyone encouraged you to think about restoring power to the Imperial Court and ruling Japan yourself?”

“Nobody tells me what to think. And I’m tired of talking. I’ve got better things to do.”

The emperor and Momozono started toward the battlefield. Sano blocked their way. "Do you know of a house in the cloth dyers’ district owned by Lord Ibe of Echizen Province?”

“I don’t know any people or places anywhere but here,” Tomohito said sullenly. “I can’t go outside.”

But an accomplice could, and there was one other promising candidate for that role besides Right Minister Ichijo.

“Where were you during the second murder?” Sano asked.

Jutting his chin belligerently, Tomohito said, “I was praying in the worship hall when I heard the scream. My cousin was there, too.”

Sano looked at Prince Momozono, whose face went into a terrible frenzy of tics. The emperor must have sensed Sano’s disbelief, because he looked uneasy and muttered, “We have to go now. Come on, Momo-chan.”

“W-wait,” said the prince. “I just remembered s-something about the n-night the left minister d-died. After the s-scream, when we were h-hurrying through the P-pond Garden, I saw a light in the c-cottage. It went out b-before we got there.”

If this was true, then there’d been someone else at the scene of the murder. Sano looked at the emperor.

“Yes, there was a light,” he said eagerly. “I remember now. I saw it too.”

Sano discounted the story as a lie designed to pin the crime on a mysterious unknown culprit. Watching the emperor resume his battle and Prince Momozono his station beside the arsenal, Sano tallied the results of the interview. He had Momozono’s motive for the first murder, Tomohito’s for the second, and a new joint alibi as flimsy as their previous one. Even if the prince didn’t have the power of kiai, the emperor might, and Sano was sure that the conspiracy involved Tomohito’s participation. But he understood the consequences of incriminating the emperor. He envisioned Tomohito denouncing the Tokugawa regime, and the ensuing civil war. Hopefully, he could prove the guilt of a lesser person.

Perhaps Lady Jokyōden was the murderer and traitor. Sano had planned to visit her next, but a disturbing alternative suddenly occurred to him. He left the palace, knowing that he was risking trouble as well as seeking information.