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.

Hachiya frowned. “Leaving us so soon?”

“Yes.” Sano looked down at the six upturned faces. The hostility he saw there saddened and worried him. His inability to make comrades of his peers boded ill for the future. But he tried to convince himself that their enmity didn’t matter. Finding the truth and bringing a killer to justice did. “I must go to my office and leave orders for my staff. Then I shall pay my respects to the families of the dead.”

The yashiki-great fortified estates of the daimyo-occupied large tracts of land south and east of Edo Castle. Each was surrounded by a continuous line of barracks, where as many as two thousand of the lords’ retainers lived. Decorated with black tiles set in geometric patterns, their white plaster walls were punctuated by heavily guarded gates. Smooth, straight thoroughfares, wide enough to accommodate huge military processions, divided the estates. Along them, multitudes of samurai moved on foot or on horseback.

Sano walked quickly through the avenues, checking each gate for the crest that would identify the Niu yashiki. The weather had turned colder; a cloudy sky pressed down upon the city, threatening snow. His breath frosted the air, and he bunched his gloved hands in the sleeves of his cloak for extra warmth. Under his arm he carried the obligatory funeral gift: a package of expensive cakes, wrapped in white paper and tied with black and white string. The castle loomed before him, an imposing conglomeration of stone walls and tile roofs set on a wooded hilltop.

He paused for a moment to look about. The sight of Edo Castle, the fortresses around it, and all the armed men reminded him forcibly that this city was first and foremost a military base. The thousands of townspeople, crammed into the meager remaining land between here and the river, existed only to serve it. Edo belonged to the shogun and the daimyo.

Niu Masamune, as befitting his wealth and power, would have one of the estates nearest the castle, Sano thought as he continued on his way. Ah, there it was: the Niu clan symbol, a dragonfly within a circle, painted in red on a white banner. Black mourning drapery hung in loops above the gate. Sano reflected that the dragonfly, symbol of victory, seemed an inappropriate crest for the Nius. They and their allies had, after all, suffered defeat at Sekigahara by the Tokugawa faction. After the battle, the Nius had been stripped of their ancestral fief. But Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, had realized that unless he somehow pacified his conquered foes, they wouldn’t stay conquered for long. He’d granted them other fiefs-the Nius’ in distant Satsuma, far from their traditional power base. He and his descendants had exacted a fortune in tributes from these daimyo clans, while allowing them to keep much of their wealth and to govern their provinces autonomously. Thus Niu Masamune maintained his status as one of the highest-ranking “outside lords”-those whose clans had sworn allegiance to Tokugawa Ieyasu after Sekigahara. The elaborate gate, with its red beams, twin guardhouses, massive double doors, and heavy tile roof, proclaimed its supremacy over the simpler gates of lesser daimyo.

Sano stopped a few paces from the Niu gate. Never had he imagined calling on a daimyo, for any reason. Now he wondered whether he had the audacity to elicit details of Yukiko’s life while seemingly paying an official condolence call. Only his increasingly compelling need to seek the truth and find Yukiko’s killer gave him the courage to approach the guardhouse.

He identified himself to one of the guards and explained, “I wish to pay my respects to the Niu family.” Then, not wanting to tell a total lie about his reason for coming, he added,”And to settle a few matters regarding Miss Yukiko’s death.”

The guard said, “Please wait.” Unlike the Edo Jail guards, he acted neither surprised nor servile. As retainer to a great lord, he no doubt encountered many visitors who ranked far higher than a yoriki. He left his guardhouse and crossed to the other, where he consulted his partner. Then he opened the gate, spoke to someone inside, and closed it again. “Wait,” he repeated to Sano.