Satisfied, his father changed the subject. “Does your work go well, my son?” he asked, lighting his pipe from the metal basket of embers on the tray. He took a puff, coughed, spat into a napkin, and set the pipe down.

Sano decided to say nothing about Magistrate Ogyu’s reprimand or the illicit murder investigation. Instead he described his office, his duties, and his living quarters, presenting each in as favorable a light as possible without boasting. He didn’t mention his colleagues’ coldness or his own unhappiness.

The gleam of pride in his father’s eyes was his reward. The old man sat straighter, and Sano could see the warrior who had once stood against entire classes of samurai in practice sword fights.

“Continue to serve well and faithfully in your position,” he admonished, “and you will never lack a master. You must never become rōnin.”

His father had become a rōnin-a masterless samurai-when the third Tokugawa shogun, Iemitsu, had confiscated Lord Kū’s lands forty years ago, turning the Sano family and the rest of the lord’s retainers out to fend for themselves. His pride had never recovered from the blow of losing his master, his livelihood, and the hereditary position that had come down to him through many generations. But unlike other rōnin, he hadn’t turned into an outlaw or rebel. Instead, he’d founded the academy and lived quietly, nursing his shame and sorrow. When Sano first heard as a child of the Great Conspiracy of four hundred rōnin who had tried to overthrow the government, he hadn’t believed the story. As an adult, he was aware of the undercurrent of dissatisfaction that flowed beneath the country’s peaceful surface, and of the Tokugawas’ ongoing efforts to sniff out and contain the rebellions that arose among idle, unemployed samurai. But as a boy, he’d mistakenly assumed that all rōnin were strict, law-abiding men like his father, who directed their energy and ambition toward making their sons succeed where they had failed. Now he felt a surge of guilt as he wondered what his father would think if he knew how Sano had risked disgrace and possible dismissal by disobeying his new master’s orders.

At the same time, a spark of irrational anger kindled in him. Hadn’t his father, however unintentionally, fostered the searching, inquiring nature that now placed his future at risk? Hadn’t his father sent him to the temple school to study literature, composition, math, law, history, political theory, and the Chinese classics to supplement the military skills he learned at home? The monks had educated him far beyond the usual scope of the common foot soldier, now virtually obsolete in a country without war. They’d taught him to think rather than to blindly follow orders, as he would have to do in the high-level government position his father had desired for him.

“Now that you are on the path to glory, I can leave this world willingly, with a peaceful mind,” his father added softly, as if to himself.

Sano’s anger died; guilt remained. He realized that his father had fought illness and held on to life just long enough to see him settled. Now the old man was giving up. How could Sano jeopardize the position that was supposed to secure the future his father wanted for him? How could he pursue a course that was bound to put him at odds with those who now controlled that future? The answer was simple enough: he couldn’t. His father’s spirit would never forgive him. The murder investigation wasn’t worth that; truth and justice wouldn’t bring Noriyoshi and Yukiko back to life. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he failed in the obligation that his own name set out for him.

Ichirō. First-born son.

And, since he was an only child, the burden of filial duty rested on him alone.

The eighteenth day of the twelfth month, Genroku year one,” Sano dictated. “Record of the day’s police activities.” He proceeded to summarize the reports given him by the doshin. “Total arrests: forty-seven. Seventeen for disorderly conduct, twelve for theft, eight for mistreating or killing dogs, six for assault, three for adultery, one for prostitution outside the licensed quarter.

“Two samurai-one disorderly conduct, one assault-were placed under house arrest. The commoners were remanded to Edo Jail. The heads of all three adultresses have been shaved, and their husbands granted divorces.”

When Tsunehiko handed him the finished report, he affixed his seal to it. “Take this to Magistrate Ogyu’s office. Then you may go home. That’s all for today.”

He suppressed a yawn, rubbing his eyes. They felt gritty and sore from lack of sleep. Last night he hadn’t returned to the barracks. Instead he’d stayed at his parents’ house, alternately sitting at his father’s bedside, bathing the old man’s face and administering herb tea to ease the pain, and lying awake listening to the coughs that shook the house.

Tsunehiko hovered in the doorway. “Yoriki Sano-san, we didn’t do any investigating today,” he said. “What about tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid we won’t be doing any more, Tsunehiko.” This time the yawn escaped, and Sano covered his mouth. “Not tomorrow, or ever.”

Tsunehiko’s face mirrored Sano’s own unhappiness. “Why not? It was so much fun!”

Having spent the entire night convincing himself of the rightness of dropping the investigation, Sano didn’t want to think or talk about it. So he only said, “Because duty and obligation dictate otherwise,” knowing that Tsunehiko, with his own samurai upbringing, would accept this explanation without question.

After Tsunehiko had left, Sano cleared his desk, then crossed the courtyard to the barracks. The weather had turned warmer, bringing the promise of spring. The late afternoon sun shone golden from a sky filled with puffy white clouds. In Yoshiwara, the nightlong festivities would have already begun. The yūjo-those exquisite, expensive prostitutes-would beckon customers from the windows of the pleasure houses. One, he knew, Wisteria of the Palace of the Heavenly Garden, held the key to Noriyoshi’s and Yukiko’s murders…

Sano resolutely forced the thought away. He would go right to bed, without even eating dinner. When he entered his room, however, he hesitated before the cabinet that held his bedding. Tired as he was, he knew sleep would elude him while he wondered about Wisteria. Slowly he opened the cabinet and took out the futon and quilts, but stopped short of spreading them on the floor. He reminded himself of all the reasons he should not go to Yoshiwara. His father. His future. Duty, honor. But his desire for knowledge only grew stronger, until he could no longer deny it satisfaction. With a sudden recklessness, he dropped the bedding and went to the cabinet where his clothes were stored. He donned a long gray cloak and a wide, face-concealing straw hat. He gathered up all his cash-not only because spending time in Yoshiwara could get expensive, but because he might have to bribe someone for the information he wanted. Then he walked to the stables to get his horse. He would take the faster land route this time, instead of the slow ferry.

As he mounted his horse, he realized that, despite his firm resolutions, he’d meant to do this all along. Today he’d carried out his administrative duties without deviation from procedure or custom. But the one thing he hadn’t done was complete the report that would close the investigation into Noriyoshi’s and Yukiko’s deaths.

“One last interview can’t hurt,” he rationalized aloud, surprising the grooms. “After this, I’ll stop.”

Still, he couldn’t quite shake his guilt or his premonition of impending disaster.

Nighttime Yoshiwara more than lived up to Sano’s memories. Beneath a fading crimson sunset, Naka-no-cho glittered with life and excitement. Lanterns blazed from the eaves. Restaurants, their doors thrown wide open, emitted the delicious smells of all possible foods-fried noodles, grilled fish and shrimp, and sweet cakes among them-to tempt the strolling crowds. Raucous laughter erupted from the teahouses; each window framed a tableau of joking, posturing men tossing back cups of sake. Beautiful yūjo in gaudy kimonos filled the window cages of the pleasure houses like so many exotic butterflies, with groups of hungry-eyed men loitering before them. The women flirted with the men in shrill voices. From the lighted rooms behind the women, samisen music issued: a few lucky men had already chosen their companions, and the parties had begun.