One look at Chūgo had convinced Sano that the guard captain was the Bundori Killer. But why had Matsui come? Whatever the reason, the situation had altered drastically. Must they take four men instead of just the formidable Chūgo? If so, how would he communicate the change of plan to the outside team?

They had to act, fast. Chūgo was continuing up the gangplank. On the path, Matsui had passed the signaler and stopped just short of the dock.

Either the guard captain heard Matsui’s voice or sensed his presence, because he turned, his shock evident in the sudden rigidity of his posture.

“Chūgo-san! Cousin!” As Matsui hurried onto the dock, his voice carried across the water. “Wait!”

Sano and Hirata abandoned their posts to hurl themselves onto the bench, faces pressed to the shutters. Matsui huffed his way up the gangplank, his guards trailing him.

“What are you doing here?” Sano heard Chūgo demand.

Matsui and the guards appeared below Chūgo’s figure. Matsui was struggling to hang on to his umbrella, which the wind had inverted. “I got a letter from a woman who was at Zōjō Temple when the priest was murdered,” he panted. “She said to come here if I wanted General Fujiwara’s famed death’s-head sword.” He pulled Sano’s scroll from his cloak; the wind blew it open. “See?”

Chūgo snatched the scroll. “You got this letter, too?” Though his back was turned, Sano read dawning comprehension in his slow headshake.

“Cousin, I suspected you were the killer all along,” Matsui said. “I know how much you revere our ancestor. And I knew you owned the swords.” Dropping his useless umbrella, the merchant clutched Chūgo’s arm. “But I kept our bargain. I didn’t turn you in before, and I won’t now. I just want the sword. For my collection; for my shrine to General Fujiwara. I promise I’ll never tell anyone how I got it. Please, cousin, let me have it!”

With an angry jerk that rocked the boat, Chūgo freed himself from Matsui’s grasp, at the same time flinging away the scroll. “You fool! This is a trap!” Obviously he’d realized what Matsui, blinded by his desire for the sword, had failed to see. “The shogun’s sōsakan has set us up!”

He started down the gangplank, but Matsui’s guards blocked his way.

“Please,” Matsui persisted, seeming not to have heard Chūgo’s words. He pulled out a bulging coin pouch and waved it at the boat. “Madam! I’ve got five hundred koban here. You can have it all, if you’ll just give me the sword!” Coins spilled from the pouch and clattered onto the gangplank along with the raindrops that now fell in torrents.

“Get out of my way!” Chūgo ordered.

“Please, Madam-” Matsui grunted in surprise as Chūgo shoved him sideways. There was a loud splash when he hit the water. “Help!” he screamed. “I can’t swim!”

Sano made a decision. “We take Chūgo now.”

“But-” Hirata motioned toward the bank, where his assistants stood in a helpless huddle. They’d been told to burst into the cabin after the killer had entered. Now one suspect was in the river and the other hurrying down the gangplank to freedom. “They don’t know what to do!”

Sano was already out the door. The rain hit him like a curtain of water, drenching him to the skin. Over the wind that howled in his ears, he heard Matsui screaming and the bodyguards shouting. Clutching his sword, he lurched around the corner onto the starboard deck just in time to see one guard dive from the gangplank to save Matsui and the other face off against Chūgo.

In a blur of speed, Chūgo drew his sword. It cut the bodyguard’s throat before he could even unsheath his weapon. With a gush of blood, he fell dead. Chūgo kicked the corpse into the river and hurtled down the gangplank.

“Chūgo!” Sano shouted. “Stop!” Awed and horrified by the swift, efficient murder he’d just witnessed, he pounded after Chūgo. His feet slipped on the wet, slick gangplank.

Hirata followed on his heels. “Catch him!” he shouted to his assistants.

The three men hurried onto the dock, waving spears, clubs, and daggers. Then, as Chūgo rushed them, bloody sword raised, they scattered and fled in panic. Chūgo was on the path now, running for the firebreak. Sano leaped from the gangplank and onto the dock, glad the assistants hadn’t challenged Chūgo, who would have cut them down with one stroke. But how he dreaded chasing their quarry through the streets of Edo, where he might kill bystanders and escape into the crowds. Half blinded by the rain, Sano sprinted across the dock. His heart raced like runaway hoof-beats; determination powered his sore muscles. Chūgo passed the last dock. He reached the slope leading down to the Sumida River firebreak, but Sano was gaining on him, with Hirata panting at his elbow.

“Stop, Chūgo!” Sano shouted, brandishing his sword. A huge lightning bolt momentarily turned the dark world a blazing white; a thunderclap drowned out his words.

The guard captain started skidding sideways down the slope. With a burst of speed that nearly exploded his heart, Sano closed the distance between them to twenty paces. He must forget about taking Chūgo alive. In a moment, he would pit his fighting skills against those of perhaps the best swordsman in Edo -

Suddenly Chūgo slid to a halt. Sano stopped too, so abruptly that Hirata slammed into him. They stared in disbelief.

Rounding the corner from the firebreak and climbing up the slope toward them came a procession of at least fifty people-foot soldiers, mounted samurai, servants holding umbrellas over silkgarbed officials. At its head, six bearers carried a palanquin emblazoned with snarling dragons.

“Chamberlain Yanagisawa.” Sano breathed. An incredulous laugh burst from him as he slicked the rain from his eyes. He’d set a trap for the killer-and caught all three suspects. What schemes or passions had brought Yanagisawa here? Sano crouched, sword ready. For Chūgo was backing away from the procession, obviously deciding that his two pursuers posed a lesser obstacle.

“Sano Ichirō!” The shout snatched Sano’s attention from Chūgo, who faltered, also arrested by the familiar voice of authority. Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s head protruded from the palanquin. “Sano Ichirō, listen to me, you miserable fool!”

Heedless of the wind that whipped his brilliant silk garments and the slanting rain that drenched them, Chamberlain Yanagisawa jumped out of the palanquin. He ran up the slope, his high wooden sandals sliding in the mud.

“So you think you’re clever, do you?” he shouted at Sano. “You think that because a witness saw my palanquin near Zōjō Temple -where I went to worship on the night of the priest’s death- that you can frame me for murder. You think you can trap me with a fake letter and a nonexistent sword.” His streaming face twisted with anger and hatred. “I am the man who rules the land. I know everything; I’m all-powerful. You dare deem me a killer? You dare match wits with me?”

Yanagisawa slipped and went down on one knee. He righted himself, his fury undiminished. “Well, I’m here to ruin your transparent, pathetic little scheme. And to destroy you once and for all!” He pushed past Chūgo, whom he didn’t appear to notice, and stood tall and regal on the path before Sano. “You won’t catch the Bundori Killer. And you will never, ever take my place as the shogun’s favorite!”

The wind swirled the chamberlain’s vivid garments; the rain swept around him. With lightning dazzling his angry face and thunder punctuating his words, he seemed like an avenging god. Belatedly Sano understood that jealousy, not guilt, had motivated Yanagisawa to sabotage him.

“I will see you dead before I let you seize my wealth, power, or position,” Yanagisawa raged.

With sudden terrifying prescience, Sano knew what would happen the instant before it did. “Look out, Chamberlain Yanagisawa!” he shouted.

His warning came too late. Before the last syllable left his mouth, Chūgo was standing behind Yanagisawa, with one arm locked around the chamberlain’s chest and the blade of his sword in front of Yanagisawa’s shocked face.