“But we believe Chamberlain Yanagisawa is the killer.” Hirata sounded puzzled. “What then?”

To delay voicing the inevitable, Sano walked out the door and stood on the windy deck, staring upriver. On the bridge, the old fisherman jerked his line out of the water. On its end, a large, glistening fish writhed.

“If it is the chamberlain,” Sano said to Hirata, who had come to stand beside him, “then you and your men will do nothing. I will kill Yanagisawa, then commit seppuku.” He forced himself to turn and face his assistant.

Eyes round and mouth agape, the young doshin’s face presented a perfect picture of shock, horror, and reluctant admiration. He started to stammer in protest. But an order was an order; finally, his bleak nod and sigh signaled his acceptance. Then he squared his shoulders and said in a thin but brave voice, “Let me have the honor of acting as your kaishaku.”

“No, Hirata. I can’t let you be my second. It will be awhile before the shogun realizes he’s better off without Chamberlain Yanagisawa. In the meantime, you would be punished for what he’ll see as your role in the murder of his companion. If Yanagisawa comes tomorrow, you and your men must leave the scene and report to the authorities news of what I’ve done. I’ll give you additional orders after we leave here.”

Hirata shook his head, politely insistent. “It’s my duty to help you. I don’t care if I’m punished. You’ll have your chance to prove your loyalty to your master. Let me have mine. Accept me as your retainer.”

Sano was trapped. He couldn’t refuse another samurai the right to serve honor, nor could he deny that he needed Hirata’s help. He wasn’t at all sure he could make the first cut to his abdomen, let alone the subsequent, fatal ones. He would need a helper to sever his head, ending his agony and his life. Against his wishes, he would have to pull an innocent young man down with him.

“All, right, Hirata-san.” Sano bowed his appreciation. “Thank you.”

The ardor in Hirata’s eyes pierced Sano’s heart. He was young, zealous; in his first joy at gaining his chosen master, he didn’t yet comprehend the enormity of what he might have to do. Sano gazed with sorrow at his new retainer, whom he felt proud to have. Were the two of them doomed soldiers, destined to die without ever realizing the potential of their partnership?

Hirata spoke first, in a voice strong with new maturity and confidence. “Now we must lure the killer into the trap.”

Sano nodded sadly. “Yes.”

Duty and honor demanded they set into motion the events that would determine their fate.

Traveling through Nihonbashi, they entered the first stationer’s shop they found, where the proprietor knelt amid his wares-rice paper, inkstones, brushes, carved seals, spools of cord, scroll cases-writing a letter dictated by an illiterate peasant. When he finished, his wife took the peasant’s money while he greeted his two new customers.

Sano chose four sheets of paper, three of plain quality and one of the finest, four scroll cases, three of bamboo and one of decorated lacquer, and the appropriate grades of silk cord. “Can your wife write?” he asked.

The proprietor nodded, and Sano dictated his first message to the woman, whose feminine calligraphy he hoped the Bundori Killer would take for Madam Shimizu’s.

If you want your sword back, bring five hundred koban to the Kanda River ’s south docks. Come at noon tomorrow, alone. Board the fourth pleasure boat from the mouth of the river. I will be waiting.

The Lady from the Temple

Sano had the woman prepare three copies on the plain paper. Then, taking the brush from her, he drew the sword’s skull-shaped guard at the bottom of each copy. He blotted the ink, rolled and tied the scrolls, and sealed them inside the bamboo cases.

“Write ‘Urgent and Personal,’ ” he instructed the woman, after telling her to put Matsui’s, Chūgo’s, and Yanagisawa’s names on the address labels. Then he took her place at the writing desk and held the brush poised over the finest, smoothest paper as he sought the proper phrasing for what could be the last, most important message of his life.

Genroku Year 2, Month 3, Day 25

To His Excellency the Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi:

To my great regret, I must inform you that my investigation has revealed that the Bundori Killer is none other than your own Chamberlain Yanagisawa.

Your Excellency, I have seen how Chamberlain Yanagisawa manipulates yourself and your government for his personal gain. Now he has revealed the true extent of his evil nature by coming to pay blackmail in exchange for the sword he left at Zōjō Temple when he murdered the priest, his most recent victim. Motivated not by loyalty to Your Excellency, but by his need to satisfy a blood score that his ancestor, General Fujiwara, swore against the Araki and Endō clans more than one hundred years ago, he has slain three descendants of those clans, and would likely have killed more if not stopped.

Rather than allow Chamberlain Yanagisawa to escape punishment by subverting the legal system he controls, I have appointed myself the agent of justice. I have executed Chamberlain Yanagisawa, and committed seppuku not only to avoid capture and disgrace, but to pledge my eternal loyalty to your person, and to honor a promise to my father that I make of myself the living embodiment of Bushido.

I hope history will remember me as the member of my clan who freed the Tokugawa regime from Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s corrupting influence and restored Your Excellency as rightful ruler of the land.

Your humble servant, Sōsakan Sano Ichirō.

Sano stamped the letter with his personal seal, then enclosed the scroll inside the fine lacquer case and paid for his purchases. Outside in the street, he gave Matsui’s bamboo scroll case to Hirata.

“Pay a messenger to deliver this immediately,” he said, handing over the necessary coins. “I’ll see that Chūgo and Yanagisawa get theirs.” Then, with a heavy spirit, he gave Hirata the lacquer case. “If all goes… as expected tomorrow, give this to the authorities.” He mounted his horse. “I’ll meet you at the boat at daybreak.”

“Yes, sōsakan-sama.” Hirata cleared his throat. “Sumimasen… after the messages are delivered, would you please be my guest at dinner?”

Sano was touched by the offer. Hirata, kind as well as loyal, didn’t want to leave his new master alone to dwell upon death, or let what might be the last night of his life pass without ritual.

“Thank you, Hirata-san,” he said with sincere regret, “but I’ve urgent personal business to attend to.”

In Hirata’s eyes he saw understanding and sympathy. The young doshin, his fellow samurai, knew exactly what that business was.

When a samurai planned to commit ritual suicide, custom required him to bid farewell to the important people in his life and express gratitude for the services they’d done him, the kindnesses they’d shown him, and the privilege of associating with them.

Sano found Dr. Ito in the Edo Jail guard compound, practicing the medical skills he’d acquired before being sentenced to lifelong service as morgue custodian. There grim, dingy barracks formed a second enclosure within the jail’s towering walls. Outside the barracks, a prison guard sat on a stool, with Dr. Ito bending over him. As Sano approached, Ito pulled down the man’s lower lip, revealing a huge, ugly blood blister surrounded by pus-engorged flesh. Upon this Ito placed a shiny brown leech. The patient winced and closed his eyes as the leech sucked the poisoned blood.

“Sano-san! What a pleasant surprise.” Dr. Ito’s stern features relaxed in a smile as he looked up. “I presumed you had received my messages about finding no clues on the murder victims’ remains, and so would have no reason to visit soon.” Then his expression altered to concern when he saw Sano’s face. “Something is wrong?”