Sano awoke to the sound of footsteps outside his bedchamber in the yoriki barracks. Stirring beneath thick quilts, he lifted his head from his wooden neck rest. A slit of light widened as the door slid open, and the maid entered on her knees, bearing a bucket of hot coals.

“Good morning, yoriki-san ,” she said cheerfully, bending to dump some coals into a brazier near his futon.

Through the thin walls came other sounds of morning in the barracks. The veranda that ran past the doors of his and ten other adjoining apartments creaked and shuddered under hurrying feet. Sano’s colleagues called greetings to one another. It had taken him a while to get used to the noise, so different from the quiet of the house where he’d lived with only his parents and one maid-of-all-work. Grimacing at a loud crash from the other side of the wall, he rose cautiously.

To his relief, the queasiness that had continued all yesterday evening after the dissection had passed. He felt refreshed, hungry, and even confident that he could discover who had killed Noriyoshi and Yukiko. Only the lingering fear of disobeying Magistrate Ogyu and concern for his reputation clouded his thoughts.

Hurriedly Sano pulled on his heavy winter robe and went to the entryway for his shoes. Shivering in the chill gray morning, he followed the veranda to the privies attached to the building. He saw none of his colleagues, for which he was glad: the camaraderie they shared didn’t include him.

When Sano returned to his rooms, his manservant helped him wash, then dress in fresh black hakama , white under-robe, dark blue kimono printed with black squares, and a black sash. The maid had stored his bedding in the closet, removed yesterday’s clothes for washing, and swept the mats. As the manservant oiled and arranged his hair, Sano reflected that his position had its benefits. This apartment, located within the police compound, was bigger and better than he’d ever imagined having. A whole family could sleep in the bedchamber. The sitting room, equally large, had a desk alcove with built-in shelves, like one in a rich man’s house. His income was two hundred koku a year, the cash equivalent of enough rice to feed two hundred men for that long. Even after deductions for room, board, stable fees, and servants’ wages, he made many times as much as he had tutoring.

Sano sighed inwardly as he dismissed his manservant and headed for the barracks dining room. He couldn’t really enjoy these pleasures because his peers were anything but welcoming.

Although it was late, six men still knelt in the dining room, finishing their morning meal: Yamaga, Hayashi, and four others, all immaculately groomed and dressed, manicured hands holding their tea bowls. Their heads turned toward Sano as he paused in the entrance. The conversation ceased.

Then Hachiya Akira, senior yoriki , a heavy man of fifty with a soft-jowled face, spoke. “We thought you were not coming.” He took another sip of tea from his bowl. “Many thanks for giving us the honor of your company.” Murmurs from the others echoed the mild disapproval in his tone.

“My apologies,” Sano said as he took his place beside Hayashi. As little as they welcomed his presence, the other yoriki still expected him at meals and in their rooms when they gathered at night to drink and talk. Otherwise he would have eaten in his own apartment and spent his free time reading or with old friends. This endurance of slights, baiting, and loneliness was a duty he couldn’t shirk.

“Very well.” Releasing him. Hachiya turned to the others and resumed their conversation, which, as usual, dealt with politics.

“Whatever one thinks of the government,” he said, “it does maintain order throughout our nation. There has not been a significant disturbance since the Shimabara peasant uprising was quelled more than fifty years ago. Because the Tokugawa military force far exceeds that of any daimyo clan that might challenge the regime, we are free from the threat of war.”

But throughout history, ambitious men had successfully faced great challenges to win power for themselves, Sano remembered. Five hundred years ago, Minamoto Yoritomo-a Tokugawa ancestor-had defeated the imperial forces to become shogun. The Ashikaga clan had supplanted the Minamoto. More recently, great warlords had waged almost a hundred years of civil war in their quest to dominate. Despite the apparent permanence of the Tokugawa supremacy, no regime lasts forever. That the government was quick to detect and crush budding insurrections showed that it recognized this fact. Still, a majority of samurai considered the Tokugawas invincible and such precautions superfluous.

“However, I must admit that things have changed since the assassination of that superb statesman, the Great Elder Hotta Masatoshi,” Hachiya continued. “Without his guidance, Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi seems to have lost his taste for government affairs. Why, I remember when he conducted proceedings against the corruption in Takata just eight years ago. The daimyo was stripped of his fief, his second-in-command was ordered to commit seppuku , and the rest of the partisans were banished. Now Tsunayoshi occupies himself with other pursuits. Lecturing his officials on Chinese philosophy and classics. Reviving the old Shinto festivals. Acting as patron to the theater and endowing Confucian academies.”

Hachiya’s neutral tone implied no dissatisfaction. With spies everywhere, no one dared criticize the shogun openly. But Sano had gotten the message and knew the others had, too. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi had his detractors, both here in this room and at every level of society.

Yamaga’s thin nostrils flared in distaste as he said, “His Excellency’s chief chamberlain-the clever and charming Yanagisawa- wields much power now.” He set down his bowl. Then, in a lighter manner, as if to change the subject: “The incidence of certain physical practices seems to be on the rise. One can observe the consequences. His Excellency… many individuals… the treasury… ” He let the words hang.

“Ah.” Noncommittal sounds came from the others as they nodded and lowered their eyes.

Sano hid a smile as he accepted an ozen -an individual meal tray containing rice, fish, pickled radish, and tea-from the maid. Yamaga’s gift for circumspect communication nearly matched Ogyu’s. He’d just told them, although not in so many words, that the rumormongers said Chamberlain Yanagisawa preferred men to women and had had an affair with the shogun, whose protege he’d been since his youth. From that affair sprang Yanagisawa’s influence over the nation. And the shogun’s own appetite for men wasn’t satisfied by Yanagisawa. Evidently he used government funds to lavish gifts upon many lovers, including a harem of boys. This had caused resentment within the ranks of the shogun’s retainers, as well as among the great daimyo, although not because they disapproved of his sexual preference. Many samurai practiced manly love; they considered it an expression of the Way of the Warrior. Rather they objected to the shogun’s blatant favoritism. The conversation turned to general matters. Talking during meals was considered rude, but the other men had finished eating and apparently saw nothing wrong with gossiping around Sano as he ate. Excluded from the conversation, as he had been every morning, Sano mentally stepped back to look at himself and his companions. How different they were from the warriors of old!

Instead of gathering outdoors in the morning to discuss strategy before a battle, they dined in comfort while chatting about politics. Hachiya, now holding forth on his problems with a certain treasury official, was hardly General Hōjō Masamura, who had successfully defended the country against invading Mongols four hundred years before. Although Sano was grateful for the peace that had brought prosperity and stability to the country, he regretted the lost simplicity of those bygone days.

The Way of the Warrior had undergone a subtle alteration in response to the changed times. Samurai still upheld honor, bravery, and loyalty as the highest virtues. They still carried swords and were responsible for keeping their fighting skills up to standard in the event of war. But in addition to swearing allegiance to a lord, they owed sometimes conflicting loyalties to a whole network of superiors, allies, and patrons, in addition to shogun and emperor. And while most samurai practiced the martial arts at academies such as the one Sano’s father operated, many didn’t. Like Yamaga and Hayashi, they’d gone soft. True, Tokugawa Ieyasu’s Ordinances for the Military Houses called on samurai to engage in polite learning as well as military training. In peacetime, their energy must be directed into civilian channels; both their education and the dwindling value of their stipends made them ideal candidates for service in the government bureaucracy. But Sano couldn’t help thinking that the samurai soul had lost much of its steel.

And, along with it, the certainty born of knowing that your life is to be spent in preparation for battle to the death in your lord’s service. Nothing in Sano’s life had prepared him for the task of investigating a murder and finding a killer. How should he go about it?

Pondering his dilemma, Sano realized belatedly that Hayashi was asking him a question in an impatient tone that indicated he’d already repeated it once.

“I’m sorry, Hayashi-san. I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?”

Looking straight into Sano’s eyes, Hayashi said pointedly, “It is a commonly held opinion that they who teach do so because they have no other skills. Therefore, it is good that the government is so well organized that it virtually runs itself. This way it matters little how posts are filled. Nor the qualifications of the men who hold them. Would you not agree?”

The words hung ominously in the air. Silence fell as the others awaited his reaction. Sano could feel himself flushing as he saw them exchange glances, suppress smiles. He’d had all he could take of the constant baiting and veiled insults. Perhaps because he shared Hayashi’s low opinion of his qualifications, a sudden fury boiled up inside him. The frustration of the past month spilled over. A bitter retort sprang to his lips. Only the knowledge that an open quarrel with Hayashi would earn him a reprimand from Ogyu made him bite it back. Ogyu expected the police department to run smoothly and unobtrusively.

“Some might think so,” Sano forced himself to answer calmly. “Others perhaps not.”

Hayashi’s smirk made him even angrier. Out of anger came inspiration. No matter what these men thought, a tutor and history scholar had plenty of useful skills! Ones that could be applied to any task-even the investigation of a murder. When he wanted to learn about a historical event or person, he questioned people who had witnessed the event or known the person. As yet he had no witnesses to the murders. But he could talk to those who’d been close to Yukiko and Noriyoshi. Maybe that way he could discover their killer’s motive and identity. Throwing down his chopsticks, he rose and bowed his farewells to the others.