Sano experienced a tremendous sense of relief. He’d known that Hoshina tended to yield when he felt threatened enough; but Sano hadn’t been sure that he could overpower Hoshina.

“I want to make a deal,” Sano said. “I’ll give you credit for helping solve the murder case if you’ll help me capture Lightning. He’s abandoned all the usual Mori gang places in the fish market and Honjo Muko Ryogoku. Tell me where else he would go.”

“You expect me to hand over the murderer to you, in exchange for empty words of praise?” Regarding Sano with bitter resentment, Hoshina shook his head. “I can capture Lightning myself, and reap all the glory.”

“Do as I ask, and you’ll live to fight another day,” Sano said. “Refuse, and I’ll make sure the shogun understands how you tried to climb to power over the corpses of his heir and his sōsakan-sama.”

“So you expect me to be content with mere survival? Well, that’s not enough.” Brazen greed emboldened Hoshina; his fists opened and closed. “I want more, or there’s no deal, and we can both take our chances.”

“What are you asking?” Sano said, ready to make a concession.;

“A favor.”

“What favor?”

A crafty smile flashed on Hoshina’s face. “I’ll decide what I want, when I want it. And you’d better deliver.”

Hirata widened his eyes and rolled them at Sano, who realized how high a price a tip from Hoshina would cost him. He hated to obligate himself in advance to something he probably wouldn’t want to do; yet he had little choice, with his own immediate survival at stake.

“Agreed,” Sano said.

Hoshina responded with a look that promised retribution while acknowledging Sano’s triumph over him. “The Mori gang rents a warehouse by the river. I’ve had spies watching the place because I suspect that the gang uses it to store and deal stolen goods. Lightning might have gone there.”

Inside her chamber, Lady Yanagisawa knelt before Kikuko and fastened a padded silk cloak around the little girl. “There,” she said. “You’re all ready to go.”

Her spirit was a cauldron of tumultuous emotion. This was the day she would achieve all she’d ever desired. The critical hours ahead represented a bridge between her present life of suffering and a future blessed with happiness. Lady Yanagisawa experienced a dizzy, whirling sensation, as if the winds of change buffeted her body. Strange lights and shadows flickered across her vision, like the sun’s rays piercing storm clouds.

“You come, too, Mama?” Kikuko said.

“No, dearest,” Lady Yanagisawa said, because she must appear innocent of what happened at the scene where her plans would culminate.

“Why not?”

“I can’t,” Lady Yanagisawa said. “Someday I’ll explain.”

Someday soon, Kikuko would be able to understand and appreciate what her mother had done for her. Now Lady Yanagisawa said, “Rumi-sanwill take you,” and gestured toward the elderly maid who waited in the doorway. She placed her hands on Kikuko’s shoulders and gazed into her daughter’s face. “Do you remember all that I told you?”

“Remember,” Kikuko said, nodding solemnly.

“Do you know what you’re supposed to do?”

Kikuko nodded again. Lady Yanagisawa had labored hard to instruct the girl; they’d play-acted everything together until Kikuko performed perfectly. But she could only hope that Kikuko would follow her directions when the time came.

“Go, then,” Lady Yanagisawa said. She gave Kikuko a fierce hug as the winds of destiny howled louder and stronger. Through the storm clouds whirling in Lady Yanagisawa’s mind shone a vision of her husband. He smiled upon her with the tenderness she craved; he reached out his hand, beckoning her to cross the bridge she’d built to join her to him.

Lady Yanagisawa released Kikuko and rose. “Be a good girl.”

Kikuko trotted off with the maid. Lady Yanagisawa stood alone. Having placed her fate in her daughter’s hands, all she could do was wait.

Along the Sumida River rose a long line of warehouses, high buildings with whitewashed plaster walls. Signs bore the owners’ names; the Tokugawa crest marked the bakufu’s rice repositories. Alleys between the buildings led to the river, where docks extended into the choppy, turbid water. On the inland side, porters and oxcarts carried goods along a boulevard that paralleled the river, and up streets through neighborhoods that clung to the gradually ascending terrain.

Sano, Hirata, and their fifty troops rode down a street bordered by shops, toward the river. They halted their mounts some distance above the boulevard.

“There’s the warehouse that Hoshina mentioned,” Sano said.

“The one with no activity,” Hirata observed.

Its wide plank door was closed; wooden shutters covered the windows on both stories. Sano saw workers pass in and out of the other buildings, but the warehouse that Hoshina had identified as belonging to the Mori gang seemed abandoned.

“Let’s hope that Lightning is hiding inside,” Sano said.

Anticipation grew in him as he led his troops across the boulevard and they all dismounted outside the warehouse. He heard men shouting nearby, the thump of loads against the floors of adjacent buildings, and hammering at a distant construction site; but the Mori warehouse was silent. Sano divided the fifty detectives between himself and Hirata. The two groups filed down the alleys on each side of the building. At its rear they found another closed door, and more shuttered windows overlooking a yard that sloped toward a deserted dock. Sano assigned ten detectives to stand guard behind the building, then led his other men around to the front door.

Sano knocked loudly on the weathered planks, and waited. Nothing stirred inside the building; yet he sensed a human presence, like a warm, animate smell, beyond the door.

“Open up,” he called, knocking again.

Still no response. Sano tried the door, but it was fastened securely inside. He gestured to three of his strongest detectives. “Break it down.

While Sano, Hirata, and the others stood back, the three men heaved their shoulders against the door. The crash shuddered the planks. Repeated blows strained the hinges; wood splintered with small, then large cracks. Suddenly, the air hissed behind Sano. Recognizing the sound, he ducked in alarm. He heard a thunk, looked down, and saw an arrow stuck in the ground near his feet. “Watch out!” he said. “They’re shooting at us.”

Glancing up in the direction from which the arrow had come, he saw that the warehouse’s three second-floor windows had opened. Out of every one leaned a samurai, each armed with a bow. They fired volleys at Sano and his troops.

“Retreat! Fire back!” Sano shouted to his detectives.

They scattered, regrouping across the boulevard. The archers among them shot at the samurai in the warehouse windows, who returned fire. Pedestrians screamed in fright. An arrow struck the leg of a porter; dropping his load, he crawled away. Workers from nearby warehouses hurried to see the commotion.

“Go inside!” Sano yelled, waving at them.

More arrows flew; people took cover. In an instant, the area was deserted, except for Sano, his troops, and their opponents. He felt an arrow ricochet off his armor tunic, saw a detective take an arrow in the neck and fall, spurting blood. Yet even as the battle horrified him, he experienced a thrill of elation because he’d found the Mori gang.

“We’re going in after Lightning,” Sano told Hirata.

Crouching, they and a squadron of detectives zigzagged across the boulevard, swords in hand, while arrows whistled over their heads. One of the Mori gang shrieked, toppled from a window, and landed with a thud, killed by an arrow through his stomach. Men popped up through skylights and hurled rocks down on Sano and his men.