Outside, he made a circuit of the courtyard, which had grown quiet as the parties wound down and the guests prepared for bed. He looked out onto the deserted street. A few lanterns still burned outside the teahouses and inns. On the way back to his own door, Sano greeted the night.w.a.tchman, a younger version of Gorobei who must be the innkeeper's son. Otherwise he saw no one. He no longer felt the watcher's presence. Was his own fatigue making him less sensitive to it?

Back inside the room, he locked the windows and doors, frowning at the flimsy wooden catches designed more to ensure privacy than security. Tsunehiko already lay asleep on the floor, his fat body hidden under the quilt with only the top of his head showing. His daytime wheezes had turned into soft, phlegmy snores. Sano shed his cloak and swords and extinguished the lamps. He lay down on his futon, drawing the quilt over himself. As drowsiness descended upon him, he heard the rhythmic beat of the night-watchman's wooden clappers signaling "All is well." But his hand reached out from under the quilt, toward the weapons that lay beside him. With his last conscious effort, he grasped the hilt of his long sword and unsheathed it.

Sano slept.

In the garden of the Ryokan Gorobei, the watcher waited behind a spreading pine tree. As midnight drew near, lamps no longer burned in the guest quarters. The inn's grounds lay in almost total darkness, illuminated only by a diffuse glow from the star-p.r.i.c.ked sky. Shrubs and buildings loomed blackly over gravel paths that gave back a dim reflection of the starlight. Only the wind's restless movement animated the night, rattling the darkened paper lanterns and the trees' bare branches.

Then footsteps crunched on the path. A yellow light rounded one wing of the guest quarters. The night.w.a.tchman appeared, lantern slung over one arm, clappers in his hands, and a st.u.r.dy wooden club hanging from his sash. He was making his rounds, as he had done without pause since sundown. He strolled past the buildings, stopping beside each door.

In the lantern's light, the watcher could see the man's round, cheerful face beneath his straw hat, see his breath clouding the cold air. He held his own breath, willing himself to become part of the tree that hid him. But he had no real fear of discovery yet. He knew from long observation that the man came into the garden every third round and only as far as its edge during the others. He exhaled when, just as he'd expected, the man turned and pa.s.sed through the gate that led to the street. A moment later, the footsteps sounded again, the light came around the building, and the whole routine repeated itself.

But now the sight of the man filled the watcher with impotent rage. How would he get inside Sano's room-and out again- without the miserable fool seeing him? He could approach the door while the night.w.a.tchman was out in the street, but what if he was unable to force it open quickly enough? The night.w.a.tchman would return and sound the alarm on his clappers. The whole village would awaken and descend upon the grounds like a swarm of demons.

The watcher tried to persuade himself to give up and wait for another chance, along the road tomorrow or at the next night's rest stop. But a consuming urge to finish his deed now, tonight, kept him in his place. This time, when the man finished inspecting the garden and turned toward the gate, the watcher moved out from behind the tree.

His hands grasped the man's neck. He squeezed, crushing the soft, warm flesh and rigid sinew.

The man let out a choked cry. He stiffened and dropped his lantern and clappers. His body thrashed; his legs flailed. He gasped and wheezed, fighting for air. His fingers clawed the watcher's, trying frantically to break their grip.

The watcher held fast, clenching his teeth with the effort. He barely felt the pain as those scratching nails tore at his knuckles. Soon the man's struggles weakened. His gasps ceased; his hands dropped. He twitched for a moment more, then went limp. The watcher eased the lifeless body to the ground and dragged it into the shrubbery. He snuffed out the fallen lantern. Darkness enveloped him in its protective cloak. A sense of absolute power swelled inside him. No one stood in his way now.

He moved across the garden toward Sano's door.

Screams and moans echoed in Sano's ears as he walked again through the foul-smelling corridors of Edo Jail. This time his guide was not Mura the eta but Magistrate Ogyu, his black ceremonial robes sweeping the filthy floor.

Ogyu stopped at the end of the corridor and threw open a door. "Come, Yoriki Sano," he called, his high, reedy voice nearly drowned out by the cries of the prisoners. "Come and experience the fate of those who disobey orders and leave their obligations unfulfilled!"

Sano didn't want to go. He didn't want to know what lay beyond that door. But an unseen force propelled him down the corridor. Almost sobbing with terror, he fell to his knees, seizing the magistrate's robes.

"Please... no... "

Ogyu laughed. "Where is your samurai courage now, Yoriki Sano?" he mocked.

With a mighty kick, he sent Sano flying through the door to land inside the room on hands and knees. Sano cried out, once in surprise, then again in shock at the sight that met his eyes.

Inside the morgue, Mura and Dr. Ito stood on either side of a dissection table. Mura held a long razor and had a white cloth tied over the lower half of his face. As Dr. Ito raised a beckoning hand, Sano noticed something that turned him sick with fear.

The table was empty. Waiting. For him.

"No!" Sano screamed.

The watcher stealthily mounted the stairs of the veranda outside Sano's door. His straw sandals made no noise, but each footfall produced a soft creak as his weight bore down on the wooden planks. He tried the door.

Locked. He unsheathed his dagger. Sliding it between door and frame, he pushed on the catch. It gave way with a crack that almost startled him into dropping the dagger. He froze, listening.

Only m.u.f.fled snores came from inside the room. The noise hadn't awakened them. Slowly, carefully, the watcher slid back the door. Dagger in hand, he squinted into the darkness of the room. There he could barely make out the two sleeping forms.

Now...

A loud gurgling sound awoke Sano. Suddenly Ogyu, Mura, Dr. Ito, and the morgue vanished. Sano gave a hoa.r.s.e yell of surprise as he sat bolt upright in the darkness. Through the clinging haze of sleep, he saw a shadowy figure moving toward him. He cried out again, this time in sheer terror, as he instinctively lashed out at it with the sword that he still gripped in his hand. The figure leaped backward, turned, disappeared. Sano's blade sliced empty air. Running footsteps shook the floor, then faded into the distance.

Sano struggled free of the tangled bedcovers and jumped to his feet, sword ready. Fully awake now, he strained to see his surroundings and remember where he was. His heart still pounded; the lurid dream images of Edo Jail and the menacing intruder were still vivid in his memory. In his confusion, it took him a moment to recognize the dim confines of his room at the inn. All was quiet and peaceful. His fear should have subsided, yet he experienced the frightening conviction that something was very wrong. Every fiber of his being vibrated in alarm.

The room felt oddly cold. An icy draft stirred the air, but didn't obliterate the strong metallic odor that made Sano's nostrils flare. Another peculiar scent-fainter, and musty, like dried herbs- p.r.i.c.kled his throat and forced a sneeze from him. And there was something else different about the room, something missing.

Tsunehiko's snores. Sano no longer heard them-or any sound at all from the inert form next to him.

"Tsunehiko?" he called.

Bending over, he touched his secretary. And gasped, jerking his hand away. Something warm, wet, and faintly sticky coated the quilt. Filled with dread, he dropped his sword and groped around on the floor for the lamp and matches. It took his shaking hands three tries to light the wick. The lamp guttered, then flared into brightness. Sano looked at Tsunehiko.

Shock stopped his heart, froze the words on his tongue. His lungs sucked in breath with a long, sharp hiss.

Tsunehiko lay face up on the futon, the quilt pulled back to expose his neck and shoulders. Blood from the cruel gash in his throat, red and l.u.s.trous in the lamplight, stained his bedding and nightclothes. His sightless eyes gazed at the ceiling. He did not move, or speak, or make a sound.

Chapter 15.

No!" Sano cried.

Moaning, he knelt beside Tsunehiko. He ripped off his robe and pressed it to the terrible wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood that had already ceased. He slapped the boy's cheeks in a desperate effort to revive him. But he knew in his heart that Tsunehiko was dead. That first horrifying look had told him.

Now he understood the significance of the intruder, the strange gurgle, and the departing footsteps. He hadn't dreamed them after all. Half asleep, oblivious to the danger, he'd heard Tsunehiko cry out as his throat was cut, and let the murderer escape afterward.

"No!"

Grief and rage exploded in Sano's chest as he thought of Tsunehiko's youthful innocence and cheerfulness. Not bothering to dress, he seized his sword. He registered the open door and splintered catch in the moment it took to hurl himself outside. The murderer-was it the mysterious watcher?-had entered and killed without difficulty. But he wouldn't get away! A monstrous craving for vengeance howled inside Sano, one for which he hadn't known he possessed the capacity. He wanted blood for blood. He wanted to call down the wrath of the G.o.ds. Barefoot, clad only in his loincloth, he stumbled into the freezing darkness of the garden. He thrashed his way blindly around the guest quarters, sword raised.

"Stop! Murderer!" he shouted.

As if in reply, rapid hoofbeats pounded away from the village and into the night.

"Stop! Murderer!"

Lights began to appear in the inn's windows as Sano charged past them. He heard the guests stirring inside their rooms, and heard excited voices asking, "What is it? Who's shouting?" But where was the night.w.a.tchman? Having failed to keep the intruder away, he should now be summoning the checkpoint guards and village police with his clappers.

Sano found no one lurking outside the guest quarters. Then, as he ran through the garden, his foot struck something. He tripped and went sprawling facedown. He gasped as his body hit not cold, hard ground, but something warmer and more yielding. Someone rushed up with a lantern and began to scream. Righting himself, Sano saw an old woman standing over him, her face stricken.

"Jihei!" she screamed. "My son!" She burst into sobs.

Sano looked at the thing he'd tripped over, and understood why the night.w.a.tchman hadn't sounded the alarm. Gorobei's son lay motionless on his back. His terror-filled but lifeless eyes bulged; his tongue, protruding from between clenched teeth, oozed blood. Dark bruises encircled his throat. He was dead; strangled-probably by the same man who had killed Tsunehiko. Sano closed his eyes as the dizzying horror washed over him again. The woman's sobs echoed his own anguish. He heard running footsteps and men's voices. He opened his eyes to see his fellow guests, the samurai and priests, gathered around him.

"Stay with her," he ordered the priests, pointing at the distraught woman. To the dazed, bleary-eyed samurai: "Come with me! We have to catch the killer!"

Without waiting for a response, he ran for the stables. The samurai, pudgy from easy living and the worse for tonight's drinking, nevertheless rose to the challenge. In various states of undress, they panted after Sano, clutching their swords, bellies jiggling.

But although Sano and his helpers searched up and down the road and all through the sleeping village, they found no one. The killer had simply vanished into the night.

The next few hours pa.s.sed in a blur. Sano endured them with every bit of the self-control and stoicism he possessed. He informed the grieving innkeeper that in addition to his son, a guest had been murdered. He reported the murders to the guards, who summoned the village police, elders, and headman. Everyone trooped over to the Ryokan Gorobei to see the bodies.

"Are you sure he's dead?" the headman kept asking anxiously as he hovered over Tsunehiko's corpse.

Sano knew that the death of an upper-cla.s.s traveler meant much trouble and expense for a post town. It meant sending reports to the central highway administration in Edo, holding an inquest, notifying the next of kin, arranging for cremation of the body or its transportation home. But the headman's idiotic question made Sano's precarious self-control snap.

"Yes, of course he's dead, you fool!" he shouted, throwing on his cloak over his shivering body. "So just forget about putting him in a kago and sending him on to the next town so he can die on someone else's hands!"

The headman gaped at him. Then he frowned. "How do we know you didn't kill him yourself?"

"This wasn't robbery-murder," one of the elders chimed in helpfully as he opened the cabinet and pawed through its contents. "Look, the money's still here." He held up Sano's and Tsunehiko's cash pouches.

It had occurred to Sano that the officials might suspect him of committing the murders. Now he said, "Look at my weapons- there's no blood on them. Even if I'd wanted to kill my companion, I wouldn't have done it in our room. But if I had, I would have sneaked away instead of raising the alarm. I wouldn't have needed to kill the night.w.a.tchman, or to force the door.

"If we're to catch the killer, we must send a search party up and down the highway and out into the countryside. Now. Before he gets away."

Fortunately no one else took up the headman's argument-due, Sano guessed, more to his status as a yoriki than to his explanation. But they hesitated so long over the decision to send the search party that Sano despaired of ever catching the killer. Three of the elders wanted to wait until daybreak; it was so dark, they said, that a search would be useless. The others thought it best to begin immediately-but they didn't want to risk disturbing important guests at the inns. The headman threw up his hands in confusion. A young man who had only recently inherited his job from his father, he'd obviously never dealt with murder before. At last he announced that they would postpone the decision itself until he'd had more time to think about it.

"Then let me organize the search," Sano pleaded."I'll take full responsibility for any disturbance."

But the headman and elders refused. As an Edo official, Sano had no authority in Totsuka. He must remain at the inn; a guard would see that he did. He must dictate a statement and sign many doc.u.ments, just like anyone else whose companion had died on the highway. In addition, he must attend the inquest in the morning, arrange for the cremation of Tsunehiko's body, and promise to convey the ashes to the boy's family on his return trip.

Finally they left Sano alone, in a spare guest room hastily prepared for him by Gorobei's weeping maid. Exhausted though he was, Sano didn't sleep. Instead he knelt on the floor and watched the windows gradually brighten with the coming dawn. The emotions he'd suppressed came flooding back. Grief, anger, and horror sickened him. Although the room was warm, a violent tremor seized him, one that had nothing to do with physical cold. He clenched his jaws and tightened his muscles against it. The floor shuddered with his uncontrollable spasms. After what seemed an eternity, they subsided, leaving his body weak and drained but his mind sharply lucid.

He knew without proof, but also beyond doubt, that the man who had been watching him had killed both Tsunehiko and the innkeeper's son. But why? The answer came to Sano from some still, quiet place deep inside him.

He, not Tsunehiko, had been the intended victim. Only his fortunate awakening and quick reflexes had saved him from a killer who, unable to tell them apart in the darkness, had meant to kill them both as a precaution and begun with the wrong one. As to why, he knew the answer to that, too. He was getting close to the truth about Noriyoshi's and Yukiko's murders, and someone wanted to stop him. Who, then? Young Lord Niu or one of the countless Niu clan retainers, who would kill at their master's bidding? Kikunojo, with his intelligence and flair for disguise? Raiden, of the great strength and violent tendencies? Sano could not dismiss them as suspects. Or perhaps the spy who had reported on his activities to Magistrate Ogyu and Lady Niu had had orders to kill him.

With a kind of desolate satisfaction, Sano pondered these questions. He'd wanted proof that Noriyoshi and Yukiko had been murdered. What better than an attempt on his life? But any pleasure he might have taken from realizing his goal fell before his guilt over Tsunehiko.

He shouldn't have exposed Tsunehiko to danger. He should have at least told him the real purpose of the journey. He should have recognized the threat posed by the watcher and warned Tsunehiko, protected him somehow. More to the point, he should never have undertaken the journey at all. Magistrate Ogyu had ordered him to abandon the investigation, and he should have obeyed. He couldn't shift the blame to Ogyu for sending Tsunehiko with him. The boy's blood was on his hands.

Sano realized that he'd never seriously considered giving up the investigation, not even when his obligations to his father and Ogyu had held him back temporarily. The part of him that yearned after the truth had always known he would continue. Now he did consider the alternative. The cost of truth was too high. He couldn't pay it with more human lives.

Then his desire to bring the killer to justice rose anew. His craving for vengeance came surging back. He couldn't let Tsunehiko's murderer go unpunished. His honor demanded satisfaction, his spirit a relief from sorrow and guilt.

Sano's hand moved to his waist. He slowly unsheathed the long sword and held it before him in both hands.

He stayed like that, unmoving, for what remained of the night.

Chapter 16.

Fujisawa, Hiratsuka, Oiso, Odawara. The names of the post stations ran together in Sano's mind, as did his memories of the journey through towns and woods, over hills and plains, along seash.o.r.e and across rivers, past houses and temples. Pushing himself beyond exhaustion, he neared Hakone in the gray early afternoon two days after leaving Totsuka.

The approach to Hakone was the most difficult and dangerous section of the Tokaido. Here the land turned mountainous; the road narrowed to a steep, rough trail that twisted upward through stands of tall cedar trees. Sano dismounted and continued on foot, leading his horse. Soon he was panting from the effort of climbing, sweating despite the moist, bone-chilling cold. The alt.i.tude made him light-headed, and he couldn't get enough of the thin air into his lungs. Every breath seemed poisoned with the resinous fragrance of the cedars.

And the landscape overwhelmed his troubled mind. In its surreal splendor, it seemed like something out of an ancient legend. Every step sent small rocks skittering dizzily over the sides of sheer cliffs. Roaring waterfalls tumbled over boulders and precipices toward the sea, which Sano occasionally glimpsed in the east. Fissures in the ground leaked steam: the breath of dragons, who lived beneath Mount Fuji, hidden in the clouds to the northwest. Far below, a swirling river appeared and disappeared. High, fragile wooden bridges crossed it, leading Sano through tiny mountain villages.

An eerie enchantment shrouded the villages like a magic spell. The peasants Sano met there greeted him with polite bows, but they seemed illusory. He pa.s.sed few other travelers. Those who flocked to Hakone in summer to enjoy the medicinal benefits of its fresh air and hot springs avoided it in winter, when the climate was considered unhealthy. Sano faced the dangers of the road alone: robber gangs; the old demons who lived in caves and played evil tricks on the unwary. And the watcher-now murderer-whose presence Sano no longer sensed but took for granted. He walked with his sword drawn, his eyes constantly searching.

Once he stopped and shouted, "Here I am! Come and get me, I dare you!"

Hearing his voice echo through the mountains, he wondered whether he was going mad. When he at last saw Hakone Village below him in the distance, he welcomed his escape from solitude and return to the normal, everyday world.

Hakone Village 's hundred-some houses cl.u.s.tered around a segment of the Tokaido that ran along the southeast sh.o.r.e of Lake Ashi. The lake, dotted with fishing boats, reflected the leaden sky. High, wooded mountains, some with almost vertical sides, surrounded it. Mount Fuji towered above the others, a faint white peak wearing a fainter hat of white clouds.

Sano felt a vast relief as he completed his descent. He'd almost reached his destination. Soon he could rest in a clean, cozy inn, with food for his stomach and a hot bath for his aching muscles. Then he reached the checkpoint, where he encountered an obstacle he should have expected. Hakone was famous for the strength and severity of its guard. The village's location, with mountains on one side and lake on the other, made it a natural trap for the shogun's men to detain suspicious-looking travelers-especially samurai who were not trusted Tokugawa allies. Twenty guards in full armor manned the fortified gates barring the way into the village, and they would not let Sano pa.s.s.

"Come with me," said one guard.

In a small bare room in the post house, Sano spent an hour answering the rapid-fire questions of three officials who wore the Tokugawa crest on their kimonos.

"Who is your family? Where are you from? What is your destination, and what is the purpose of your journey? Who is your lord? What is your occupation, and who is your immediate superior?"

Sano wanted desperately to be on his way, but he couldn't afford to antagonize the officials, who might hold him for hours- or days-longer.

"Sano Ichiro of Edo, son of Sano Shutaro, martial arts instructor, who was formerly in the service of Lord Ku of Takamatsu Province," he answered politely.

Through the open door he could see other officials turning out the contents of his saddlebags onto the floor in the next room. One searched his clothing, while another examined his travel pa.s.s.

"I am a yoriki under the supervision of Ogyu Banzan, the north magistrate of Edo. I am on a pilgrimage to Mishima."

He waited for the officials to ask if he was meeting anyone in Mishima, and whom. Their job was to sniff out secret a.s.signations related to plots against the government. Instead they seized upon his name, losing interest in the purpose of his journey.

"Yoriki Sano Ichiro of Edo," the leader said. "Were you not involved in the murders that took place in Totsuka the day before yesterday?"

Sano was amazed at how fast their spy network pa.s.sed news along the Tokaido. He responded to their questions about the murders, suspecting that they already knew most of the answers. Finally, after a thorough reprise of the Totsuka inquest, they let him go.

Since the Temple of Kannon lay high in the mountains behind Hakone Village, Sano left his horse and baggage at an inn and set out on foot. The steep path curved and twisted. Cedars pressed in closely on each side, their heavy dark green boughs blocking Sano's view at every turn as he climbed. Snow and ice whitened the ground in great slippery patches. Sano found a dead branch and used it as a staff as he struggled from one precarious foothold to the next. The Nius would have sent servants to ease Midori's way, but still the trip must have been hard for her. The higher he climbed, the more the cold, wind, and dampness intensified. Droplets of icy water struck his face. He felt as though he'd reached the clouds. His heart pounded from the exertion; his lungs heaved.

But his determination to catch the murderer and avenge Tsunehiko's death kept him going. He only hoped that what awaited him at the Temple of Kannon would make his journey worthwhile. When he finally paused to rest, he saw that he was high above Hakone, with village, lake, and mountains spread below him under a thin veil of mist. Vertigo made him sway. He leaned on his staff for support. Then he turned and once more began the perilous climb upward.

Suddenly, just when he'd almost depleted his last reserves of strength, he emerged into a level, open clearing. Here the surrounding cedars obscured the sky and created a premature twilight. When Sano's eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw a temple that perhaps dated back more than a thousand years, to when Buddhism had first come to j.a.pan.

A great free-standing gate with tiled double roofs supported on eight strong pillars marked its entrance. Sano pa.s.sed through this gate and a smaller inner one, into an earthen courtyard dotted with unlit stone lanterns. To his right stood the main hall, square and forbidding on its high stone podium. On his left he saw the paG.o.da and the wooden cage that housed the temple bell. A few stone monuments comprised the graveyard. The lecture hall, sutra repository, and storehouses occupied ledges cut into the slope that rose behind the courtyard. Above these, a steep path led to what Sano guessed was the nunnery, a long, low building cantilevered over the mountainside on a support of interlocking wooden beams.

Although the temple must have undergone periodic repair over the years, only the five-story paG.o.da had been restored to its original condition. Its freshly plastered white walls shone; new blue-gray tiles covered its roofs. Gleaming paint accented the woodwork in traditional Chinese colors: green for window mullions, red and yellow for the roofs' intricate structural members. The bells encircling the paG.o.da's tall bronze spire rang softly in the wind. But the other buildings showed signs of advanced deterioration. Moss and lichen crusted their peeling plaster; wooden beams, doors, and window lattices had warped and split. Broken tiles marred the roofs' clean lines. Sano saw no priests or nuns or pilgrims. If the watcher had followed, he did not appear. The temple seemed deserted, suspended in a timeless hush.

He climbed the stairs to the main hall. The ma.s.sive door creaked open at his touch. He paused in the entryway to slip off his shoes, then entered the hall. Against the far wall, a huge Buddha sat enthroned upon a lotus flower. Time had turned the many-armed bronze statue a deep greenish black. All around it stood smaller painted wood images of guardian kings: fierce warriors with clenched fists and raised spears. Hundreds of burning oil lamps and smoldering incense burners animated the deities with a hazy, flickering glow. Years of flame and smoke had blackened the hall's exposed rafters and suffused it with a musty, ancient fragrance. Faded murals showed ghostly sepia images of the Buddha surrounded by palaces and hills. Tucked in the far left corner, almost as an afterthought, was a woman-sized gilded wooden figure of Kannon-Kuan Yin, Chinese G.o.ddess of mercy, bodhisattva who forswore emanc.i.p.ation from the wheel of continual rebirth in order to save the souls of others. She wore a jeweled crown and a flaming halo.