“I couldn’t work out how he could bring himself to murder Yoshi,” said Kit. “Even if that meant getting rid of me. Only Yoshi’s death was a mistake, wasn’t it? You believed Yoshi was with Yuko. So when the first attempt failed…”

“What attempt?” asked the kumicho.

“He sent a hit man.”

Mr. Tamagusuku’s first blow caught Kit in the shoulder, freezing his arm. The second just missed his throat and would have landed, if the kumicho’s bodyguards had not dragged Tamagusuku-san off in time.

“I…know…nothing…about…a…hit man.”

“What about a bomb?” asked Mr. Oniji, shrugging when everyone in the room turned to look at him. “Just asking,” he said.

“Well?” demanded the old man.

Mr. Tamagusuku hesitated.

It was enough.

Stepping forward, Kit kicked Tamagusuku-san hard between the legs, and would have kicked again, if not for the bodyguards. When they yanked Kit away from Mr. Tamagusuku, they were less gentle than when it was the other way round.

“Take him outside,” said the kumicho.

And as fingers locked onto his elbow, Kit realised the old man had been talking about him. “Wait,” he said. “Please let me say something first.”

“No.” The kumicho’s voice was firm. “This is not about you anymore. You will wait outside while we make our decision.”

“One moment, if I may?” said Mr. Oniji. He turned to Kit. “How many people have you told about this?”

It was a question with only wrong answers.

“None,” Kit said, and watched Mr. Oniji smile.

The last of the black-eared, high-circling kites had abandoned its kingdom to the stillness of the coming storm. Shingle shifted slightly as it was lapped by waves, and the Nureki boys looked at anything and everything except the man they were meant to be guarding.

It was hot, because Tokyo Bay in July was always hot, so the boys pulled at their shirt collars and played with their ties. After a while they held an intense and private discussion that resulted in them both removing their jackets. And through all of this the two boys clutched their guns clumsily, sometimes forgetting to keep the muzzles trained on Kit at all.

He was grateful for that.

Having sunk towards the Izo headlands, the sun vanished behind Fuji-Hakone, and Kit sighed and smiled. Staring at an unseen mountain, while thinking precisely nothing, Yoshi would have been proud of him.

“You’re wanted,” said Tsusama.

Kit blinked.

“Take your time,” he suggested.

Nodding his thanks, Kit straightened himself and led the way back to the ryokan, hearing the boys whisper behind him. He entered the room first, with his head up and his expression firm. Kit had his own thoughts about what was coming. And any hope he might have was killed by the expression of regret on Mr. Oniji’s face.

“We have reached our decision.”

“Hai.”

“Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Accept that you are dead already. Kit shook his head. “Would my knowing change it?”

He wrote the words Osamu Nakamura dictated, signing away all rights he might have in the building site in Roppongi, then wrote a shorter note to No Neck, putting the bozozoku’s real name on the front and adding, By Hand. Someone would deliver it to the 47 Ronin in the morning.

“Now stand over there.”

The orange rope with which they tied his hands was nylon, meant for a use other than this, and burned as it dragged across his wrists. Tsusama tied the knots clumsily, refusing to look at Kit. His younger brother held the gun. This was their first real job, Kit could see that in their eyes.

“It’s all right,” said Kit.

Opening his mouth, Tsusama promptly shut it again. Although he nodded to show that he’d heard and understood what Kit said.

“You know what must be done?” Mr. Nakamura asked.

Tamagusuku-san nodded.

“Rip him open first.”

“Of course.” Mr. Tamagusuku sounded irritated.

“We don’t want…”

“I know,” said Mr. Tamagusuku. “We don’t want some idiot fisherman netting his bloated body.” This was not how one talked to a high oyaban, but the world was changing, this world as much as all others.

“See to it,” Nakamura-san said.

On Kit’s way out of the ryokan he was stopped by Mr. Oniji, who stepped in front of him and just stood there, scowling. Behind Kit, Mr. Tamagusuku sighed.

“You’ve been an idiot,” Mr. Oniji said.

Kit nodded. He didn’t doubt it. There were a hundred things he would do differently given his life over again. A mere handful he’d keep the same. It was the handful which let him look Mr. Oniji in the face.

“I imagine,” said Mr. Oniji, “you know what this is for.”

Sucker-punching Kit in the gut, Mr. Oniji chopped him across the neck and dropped him to the floor. And then, kneeling on his victim’s chest he slammed a final punch into Kit’s kidneys. While Kit did his best not to vomit, and fought the fingers reaching for his testicles, Mr. Oniji used his other hand to flip open Kit’s jacket and tuck something into his trouser pocket.

It felt like a knife.

CHAPTER 64 — Saturday, 14 July

He was being drowned by slow degrees. Kit had a vague memory of pissing himself about an hour earlier, the urine warm as sea water and infinitely more welcome, proof that he remained alive.

Sometimes it was getting hard to tell.

He lived in the snatches between worlds, this one and others far stranger. Occasionally he’d refocus and the wind direction would have shifted or the waves risen higher. If Tamagusuku really wanted to drown him the man should have used longer rope, because the one tied to the rail of Suijin-sama was just about short enough to keep Kit’s head clear of the waves.

Unless, of course, Tamagusuku didn’t really want to drown Kit at all. Maybe the little shit just wanted to torture him.

Yes, that would be it. Obvious really. Having killed Yoshi, bombed Pirate Mary’s, and shopped No Neck to the police as the most likely suspect, Yuko’s husband was now busy…

Oh for fuck’s sake, said a voice. Are you just going to whine?

Kit opened his eyes.

Well, are you?

Spray whipped his face as Kit glanced round, cursing the rope and the waves that stopped him from holding his head steady. Darkness was all he saw. Not even a light from the boat, which had run blind from Tokyo Bay. Certainly Kit saw no one close enough to speak. Assuming any voice could be heard above the howling wind and rain.

Tsusama and his brother, their father, and most of the others had been left behind. Though the boys had protested for form’s sake, it was not very hard, and when Yuko’s husband flatly refused to have them aboard, something very close to relief appeared in their eyes. They’d had trouble enough looking Tamagusuku in the face since bombs had been mentioned in the ryokan.

Let the grown-ups negotiate what came next.

The only surprise was the sudden appearance of Yuko, who arrived on the rickety jetty just as the boys were turning to go. Smiling at Tsusama, she patted him on his arm and indicated the path. “Hurry up,” Yuko said. “Baba’s about to serve supper.”

She waited as two silhouettes turned on the path to see if she was still there. A quick wave from both and they were gone. Yuko smiled, though the smile barely reached her eyes.

“Why are you here?” Tamagusuku asked.

Yuko stared at him. “Why do you think?” she said, stepping around both Kit and her husband.

“Wait,” he demanded.

“No,” said Yuko, turning to glare. “My sister is dead,” she said. “I’m going to see this through to its end.”

“Ask your husband how Yoshi died,” said Kit.

She slapped him.

Yuko and Tamagusuku left Kit bound on deck. Of course, since his hands were already tied with orange cord, all Tamagusuku had to do was secure Kit’s ankles to the railings, while Yuko held a gun to his head.