The shogun frowned and nodded. And Sano, locked into silence by Bushido’s code of unwavering, unquestioning submission to his superiors, couldn’t expose Yanagisawa’s ploy, or prevent Yanagisawa from emphasizing the faults in his report. The incredible irony of the situation! While his own adherence to Bushido seemed likely to ruin him, the chamberlain, by defying its tenets, had risen to a position of unchallenged power. Helpless outrage erupted within Sano. To maintain the required, respectful silence took all his self-discipline.

Now Senior Elder Makino took up the chamberlain’s argument. “I would like to know what motive of General Fujiwara’s could possibly survive his death and induce a descendant to commit murder a hundred years later.” Makino laughed, an obscene cackle. “The notion seems fantastic.”

“Yes, Makino-san,” the shogun said humbly, “I must agree that it does.”

“Well, then.” Yanagisawa shot Sano a triumphant glance, drawing on his pipe and exhaling smoke with an air of finality.

Everyone else turned to look at Sano, most with hostility, a few others sadly; none offered support. Fear of punishment held them in Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s thrall. Sano’s chest constricted in terror as before his eyes the hall turned into a battlefield. He could almost smell acrid gunpowder and burning castles. Yanagisawa had declared open war on him, and had among his allies the most powerful men in the bakufu.

“Furthermore,” Yanagisawa continued, “Sōsakan Sano has exhibited a most disturbing character trait.” Having swayed the shogun to his viewpoint, he didn’t bother hiding his contempt. “He has refused the police’s help, working alone in an attempt to win all the credit for solving the case. Obviously, self-aggrandizement is more important to him than saving lives.”

Sano could restrain himself no longer. “That’s a lie!” he blurted. “The police were ordered not to help me. And-”

Absolute silence. The elders toyed with tea bowls and pipes. An uncomfortable tension gripped the assembly. The shogun frowned at the floor. Chamberlain Yanagisawa alone looked directly at Sano.

And smiled. Too late Sano realized that the elders were more shocked by his contradiction of their superior than interested in learning the truth. He’d lost favor with Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, who had a ruler’s dislike of direct challenge and a refined man’s abhorrence of open argument. Yanagisawa had set him up. He’d taken the bait and fallen headlong into the trap.

As if nothing had happened, Chamberlain Yanagisawa turned to the shogun. “In view of Sōsakan Sano’s incompetence, I recommend that he be relegated to a position in which he is less likely to endanger national security.”

Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s brow furrowed. “Such as?”

Don’t condemn me yet! Sano clenched his teeth to hold back another outburst that would only worsen his predicament.

Makino cleared his throat with a repulsive, death-rattle sound. “With all the troubles on Sado Island, we could use a new administrator there.”

Yanagisawa’s dark eyes sparkled with malevolent delight. “A splendid suggestion. What do you think, Your Excellency?”

A spasm of horror clutched Sano’s heart. Sado Island was a cold, hellish prison colony far from the mainland, many days’ journey over troubled northern seas. Violent criminals were exiled there to labor in underground mines. Sano knew what would happen if he went to Sado Island: Yanagisawa would make sure he never came back. If he didn’t get killed during one of the frequent insurrections, he would surely fall victim to famine or disease. In any case, his spirit would die of disgrace long before his body did. He would lose his chance to fulfill his promise to his father, and he would never see Aoi again. Father, he prayed silently, help me save myself! He sent the shogun a wordless plea for the rescue he surely deserved.

“Well, ahh, Chamberlain Yanagisawa,” said the shogun hesitantly, “something must be done about Sado Island.”

He returned Sano’s gaze with one both stern and apologetic. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten the service Sano had rendered him, but lacked the energy and courage to oppose Yanagisawa and his cronies. Sano could already feel the motion of the ship carrying him across the sea; he sensed the other men in the room recoiling from him, as if to avoid the taint of disgrace. His stomach rolled with nausea and shame.

Then the shogun said, “Sōsakan Sano, your performance has been disappointing thus far.” He lowered his eyes, perhaps ashamed of his weakness. “But I am a generous man.”

Sano’s heart leapt at the hope of reprieve.

“I give you five more days to catch the Bundori Killer. If you fail to do so within that time, then you can try your hand at, ahh, prison administration. Dismissed.”

Five more days to catch the killer, to restore peace to the city, and to save himself from utter disgrace.

In a panic, Sano rushed from the audience hall to the castle archives to see if Noguchi had located General Fujiwara’s descendants. But the archivist’s clerks said he was still researching at the Ministry of Shrines; he’d sent back no message for Sano, and given no indication of when he might return. Sano then hurried to the police compound, taking his own horse and another from his stable, both saddled and provisioned for a journey. Aoi’s new lead was the only one that promised quick success. He would need help finding the house and capturing the killer, and didn’t know if Hirata, as a low-ranking samurai, owned a horse.

“In her vision, Aoi saw the killer crossing a high bridge over a wide river,” Sano told Hirata as they rode across the Ryōgoku Bridge. The great wooden arch spanned the Sumida River, connecting Edo with the rural districts of Honjo and Fukagawa on the eastern banks.

Hirata followed at a trot, bouncing only a little in the saddle. The awkwardness with which he’d first mounted and handled the horse attested to his lack of riding experience. Yet he seemed a natural horseman, learning by instinct as well as by observation.

When he spoke, however, his abashed tone didn’t reflect this growing equestrian confidence.

“Gomen nasai-I’m sorry for not being able to find the suspect or any more witnesses,” he said.

“Hopefully, after tonight, that won’t matter.”

As they crested the bridge’s arch, Sano darted wary glances at the other travelers streaming past them. A more immediate threat than the shogun’s punishment haunted him. Someone wanted him dead-and likely wouldn’t stop after one failed attempt. When would the next assault come? Was that hatted and cloaked samurai following them, awaiting the right moment to attack?

Sano peered between the bridge’s railings. Far below, ferries, barges, and fishing boats floated on the swiftly flowing brown water. A ferryman lifted an oar in greeting. Sano looked away. Overnight, all of Edo had turned sinister. Every stranger was possibly the agent of an unknown enemy; every encounter promised danger. Hirata, whom Sano had told about the attack, stuck close by, hand on his short sword, ready to defend his superior. His protectiveness touched Sano, but Hirata’s presence posed another dilemma. Remembering another young assistant he’d once had, who had been murdered while accompanying him on an investigation, he would rather face danger alone than risk Hirata’s safety.

They reached the river’s eastern bank, where warehouses, piers, and docks lined the water’s edge. Beyond these, a jumble of houses, shops, and open markets comprised a flourishing suburb. To the north rose the E-ko-in- Temple of Helplessness -built upon the burial site of the victims of the Great Fire thirty-three years ago. Sano led the way south along a road that ran past the warehouses and paralleled the river.