Take advantage of your enemy’s vulnerabilities. Travel by unexpected routes and strike him where he has taken no precautions.

—Sun Tzu, Art of War

Paulo

I felt reasonably safe while I was at the Confucius Academy. Still, it paid to be careful. I kept a close eye on the older students and anyone else that might be a threat. I tried not to let my unease show. It might strike others as odd that I was so tense.

After my arrest, I told the staff to announce that I would give the class on Confucian thought the next evening. I stared at the now badly scuffed and partially torn scroll of notes that Gracia had helped me prepare.

Night had fallen. I sat in the classroom watching the students come in. It was difficult to restrain myself from fidgeting, but I forced myself to sit still to hide my apprehension about the lesson and the threat of the secret police. I was actually more worried about teaching the class than the chance that someone might attack me. Still, I kept my wakizashi at my side.

I am going to make a fool of myself up here. Most of the students know more about Confucius than I do. They should be the ones teaching the class.

An idea struck me. I remembered reading a translation of one of the Dutch books my father prepared for the bakufu. It had discussed various ancient philosophers. One taught by asking questions and making his students think instead of lecturing.

I can do that.

Inspired, I got to work.

Finally, all the students were seated. I began the lecture by reading the passage Gracia had recited to me to the class.

Thus it is that there are few men in the world who love and at the same time know the bad qualities of the object of their love, or who hate and yet know the excellence of the object of their hatred.

“Tell me, what do you think this passage means?”

I pointed to a young man sitting in the front row. “How about you? What do you think this passage says?”

He froze like a rabbit caught in the open by a hunter. When I kept looking at him without saying anything, he finally ventured, “Well, most of us don’t really examine things we feel strongly about.”

I nodded sagely as if he had said something profound. I gazed out over the rest of the students. “Does anyone think differently?”

Silence.

I waited.

Finally, a student in the middle of the room said slowly, “I don’t think that is what it means. I think Confucius is saying that a person should be able to distance themselves from their feelings when trying to understand something. That way, they are able to see the bad in those things they approve of, and the good in those things they dislike.”

Someone else said, “No, it is not just that, but a true Confucian sees everything…”

From that point, the discussion grew animated, and it was almost more than I could do to keep things under control. The students brought out other quotes and ideas that Estêvão had taught them. I was amazed at their knowledge. Either Estêvão was an extraordinary teacher, or chonin were far more capable than I had realized. Probably both. Once again, I was humbled by my brother. I had lived years among the chonin and never saw them clearly, but Estêvão had. He was a true Confucian.

The class broke up, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Several students stopped to tell me how much they had enjoyed the lesson.

As I rolled up my scrolls and prepared to leave, a boy ran up and bowed before me. He couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, and a scrawny ten or eleven at that. I dimly recalled seeing him around, so he must have been one of the younger students at the Academy. Perhaps one of the boys in Emiko-sensei’s class.

I looked down. “Yes?”

After glancing both ways, he said in a quiet voice, “Matsura-sensei, one of the machi-bugyō’s deputies wishes to speak with you. He needs you to come right now. He said it was about Maeda-sensei.”

Excitement raced through me. Either this was a setup for an ambush, or I was about to get some real information at last. In either case, there was no alternative. I had to go to the meeting.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

The boy smiled nervously, the dimples in his cheeks making him appear even younger. “I will take you there.”

Yes, this sounds like an ambush.

"I will need to get my katana," I said with a smile.

The boy nodded. A samurai did not go out in public without both the katana and wakizashi, and I certainly had no intention of walking into an ambush without every weapon I could get my hands on. He followed me to my office as I grabbed my katana. Checking my weapons one last time, I followed the youngster out into the street.

We walked along several main avenues, generally heading towards the Sumida River. The boy strode beside me, directing me where to go. Although it was after sundown, there were still plenty of people on the street, and the lanterns outside the shops were lit, brightly illuminating the way. I was keyed to a fever-pitch. Staying in the center of the road to prevent attacks from cover, I stared at each person we passed, peered into every dark cranny, and never took my hand from the hilt of my katana.

Nothing materialized.

“Turn right between those two buildings.”

We entered a narrow alleyway running along one of the canals that crisscrossed the city. The backlight of the lanterns from the main street provided enough illumination that I could see the alleyway dimly. It was a narrow lane behind one of the rowhouses that were so common in this part of Edo. All the windows fronting the alley were fastened shut. I stopped and peered ahead, but could detect no motion or life except for the boy and me. The only sound was the creaking of the wood from a small boat with a red sail sporting a black dragon that lay at anchor in the canal a short way down the street.

This has to be it.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly, watching the alley carefully and pushing my guide to the rear. “Stay behind me, boy. I don’t want anything to happen to you if there is trouble.”

I took two steps into the alley.

Behind me came the sound of running feet.

Aha! Here it comes!

I drew my katana and whirled to face the approaching runner.

The boy stood so close behind me that I nearly cut him with my extended weapon. He jumped back with a shocked expression.

Hitoshi came racing around the corner, shouting, “Sai, stop! Don’t do it!”

Hitoshi’s sudden appearance must have spooked the boy because he darted into a small gap between two of the houses lining the alley and disappeared.

I stood, back against a wall, weapon drawn, looking in all directions, trying to spot the assassin.

Hitoshi came running up, panting from his exertion.

“Are you all right?” he gasped out.

Why is Hitoshi here? He must know something.

I stared at him then checked the alley again. Finally, I said, “I am fine. Why wouldn’t I be? Was I in some danger? Was something supposed to have happened to me?”

Hitoshi turned pale and glanced away. “No, nothing like that. I was just worried about you.”

I had been under enormous tension for the entire trip, and something in me finally snapped. Anger filled me. I grabbed Hitoshi by the front of his kimono and lifted him until his face was on a level with mine. Placing my nose right up against his, I yelled, “Is that all you have to say?”

I shook him. “Someone is trying to kill me, and you know something about it. Who is ‘Sai’ and why did you come racing up here to tell him to stop?”

He tried to make an answer, but his mouth only opened and shut a few times without a sound.

Still angry, I shook him again. “Well? Speak up!”

Finally, he said, “I saw someone I thought looked like an assassin and I wanted to warn you!”

Infuriated by this transparent falsehood, I slammed him up against the wall. “Don’t lie to me! You just happened to be following me and just happened to see someone that looked like an assassin?”

“My sister!” he screamed.

Shocked, I loosed his kimono, and he dropped to his knees.

“Your sister?” I repeated, stupidly.

His body shook, and he stared at the ground in front of him. He continued in a tremulous voice, “My sister. I mentioned her in the saké house, remember? She is a shinobi. I saw her at the Confucius Academy after class. Well, she was in disguise, but I thought it was her. I realized she must be going after you, so I had to stop it. I followed you. I wasn’t worried out on the street, but once you went into the alley…”

I looked at him without saying anything, opening and closing my mouth as I struggled to comprehend his revelation. Eventually, I managed to ask, “The sister that was sold to a brothel? The sweet, little, innocent girl? Now, she is a shinobi assassin?”

Hitoshi muttered, “Well, she grew up.”

I shook my head. “I will remember to avoid brothels like that. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He looked up, his face panicked. “I didn’t want anyone to know my sister was a kunoichi. What would Emiko say if she found out? Her father would never want me in the family. And I didn’t know that Sai had anything to do with this. If I had thought that she was involved, I would have said something immediately.”

I glanced around the alley again. No one around. I reached down and hauled him to his feet. “Where is your sister now? I think we need to talk with her.”

He shook his head. “She ran. I don’t know where she lives or where her headquarters is. She wouldn’t tell me, and I didn’t really want to know. They think all her family is dead. She doesn’t want them to find out about me any more than I want people to know about her. I really can’t help you.”

I stared at him for a long time, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth. Eventually, I said, “Fortunately for you, I think I have another way to locate your sister. Go back to the Confucius Academy and wait there. If I have to hunt you down, you will regret it.”

I started for my family compound. While I walked, it was a struggle to keep awake once I calmed down from all the excitement. I couldn’t sleep until I had talked to my grandfather. If anyone could find a kunoichi assassin, it would be him. The secret police had contacts with the shinobi, and I was confident Grandfather still knew more about them than any man alive.

At the house, my grandfather was smoking a pipe of tobacco when I entered his room. I bowed to him and sat down. “I have a favor to ask, Grandfather.”

He took a long draw on the pipe and then blew the smoke out, watching it waft to the ceiling. “Of course you do. Why else would you be here?”

“I need to find a certain kunoichi.”

He looked at me for a few moments, a half-smile playing about his lips. “A kunoichi? Why? What did you do?”

“I think one is trying to kill me.”

He waited, and when I didn’t continue, he said, “Did she give you those bruises, too? Really, that can’t be all. What makes you think someone wants you dead?”

Eventually, he got the entire story of the secret police arrest and the assassination attempt out of me.

“…and I thought I heard something behind me. I drew my sword and whirled around, but there was no one there. The boy got spooked and ran away. I think he was paid to bring me someplace where they could ambush me,” I finished.

Grandfather smoked for a moment in silence. “So, why do you think it’s a kunoichi?”

I didn’t want to mention Hitoshi. There was no telling what my Grandfather might do if he thought the young man knew something.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“There was a … kimono going around the corner when I turned around. A woman’s kimono.”

“A woman’s kimono,” my grandfather repeated, raising his eyebrows.

He knows I’m lying.

“It had a flower pattern on it,” I snapped. “Believe me, it was a woman, and I am sure it is a kunoichi that is trying to kill me. Now, will you help me, or should I just go out and wait to be murdered?”

With a theatrical sigh, he said, “I suppose all of this came about because you were investigating your brother’s death, am I right?”

“Yes, I know you told me not to do anything, but how could I just ignore the fact that someone murdered my brother? Besides, someone has to continue his work with the Confucius Academy.”

My grandfather snorted. “Teaching Confucius to chonin. Is that what he was doing? Might as well teach Buddhism to cats.” He grinned. “I told you not to investigate because I knew it would make you work all the harder. If I had asked you to find out about your brother’s death, you would probably have refused. You always were a contrary child.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, controlling my anger at his manipulations.

“You sent me the swords because you wanted me to investigate my brother’s death? What did you expect me to do that you couldn’t?”

He studied the smoke drifting up from his pipe. “Investigate the part of your brother’s life that I couldn’t. Exactly as you did.” He struggled to his feet. “The Confucius Academy…” He paused. “I wasn’t expecting you to come back asking about kunoichi. However, the successful hunter follows the trail of his prey, wherever it leads.”

He called out to his manservant, “Draw me a bath and get my kamishimo ready. I am going out.”

I could hear the sound of my grandfather’s servant hurrying to the bath as I stood there with my mouth open. “Grandfather,” I protested, “we need to go. We have important things to do.”

“I am filthy. I haven’t bathed in three days. If you think I am going out to see the kunoichi without a bath, you are wrong.” He pointed to the sword stand in the corner of the room. “Make yourself useful and get the Twin Dragons ready. They need cleaning.”

I wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, I took several deep breaths and tried to calm down.

The Twin Dragons. They sat on a stand in a corner of the room. A matched katana and wakizashi set, they were the finest blades I had ever seen. Of all the tasks my grandfather gave me as I was growing up, caring for them was my favorite. Holding them was to know nirvana.

I picked up the katana. The grip was wrapped with thin overlapping strips of moray eel leather that exposed the golden dragon design embossed in the hilt below. The scabbard was of ebony with a dragon rampant inlaid in solid gold on the side. The hilt and the scabbard exhibited only the slightest sign of wear.

I drew the katana and examined the blade for rust. It was clean. Holding it up to the light, I searched for nicks or warping of the edge. The blade was true and the edge razor sharp. I gave it a tentative swing. It was as perfect as always. With a soft cotton cloth, I wiped the blade being careful not to touch the edge. Once the blade was polished mirror-bright, I rubbed a thin film of oil along it and returned it to its scabbard after nicking the base of my thumb with the tip of the blade. Once one of the Dragons had been drawn, it had to be blooded before it could be sheathed. I repeated the same process with the matching wakizashi. It was in exactly the same condition as the katana—nearly as good as the day they came out of the forge of Muramasa Senji almost three hundred years before. I don’t know if it was my grandfather’s intention, but working with the blades calmed me.

Grandfather finally came out wearing his kamishimo, the formal dress kimono with the silk hakama trousers and starched kataginu vest with exaggerated shoulders. Perhaps it was the stiff shoulders of the kataginu, but it seemed to me that he was standing straighter than he had been since I returned. His eyes were bright. He looked like he was going to report to his samurai superiors, not meeting with a group of female assassins.

He took the weapons from me and slid the katana a handsbreadth out its saya and nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent work. I will have you sharpen the blades soon. No one has ever done as good a job as you used to.”

He shoved the weapons into his obi and glowered at me, shaking his head in disapproval. “Is that the best kimono you have? You look like a highwayman ready to waylay travelers on the Tokaidō.”

When was I supposed to change clothes?

“Mother might be able to find me—”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Never mind. We have more important things to do. Let’s go.”

I ground my teeth in frustration.

As we walked to the gate, Mother and Gracia watched from the doorway. They whispered to each other, and I could sense their tension. Somehow, they knew something was going on.

Grandfather hailed a palanquin and told them, “Theater district, and go easy. I’m an old man and do not wish my joints to pain me any more than they already do.”

The bearers moved along slowly and carefully. I followed behind, trying to remember what I had heard about kunoichi. They were supposed to be beautiful women, experienced in all the courtly graces and trained in the arts of seduction. They could pose as dancers, singers, musicians, or courtesans.

The kunoichi trying to kill me didn’t even bother to try and seduce me. I have the worst luck.

I tried to recall the attractive women we passed on our walk. I vaguely remembered one beautiful woman coming down the street as we entered the alley. Could that have been Hitoshi’s sister, Sai?

I should have asked Hitoshi what his sister looked like. I will seem a fool if I can’t identify the woman who I claimed was trying to kill me.

We came to a stop in front of a kimono shop. Grandfather got out, paid the palanquin bearers, and began fixing his appearance. After straightening his clothing and smoothing out his hair, he checked his weapons one last time and then walked into the shop.

It was a medium-sized building, not nearly as large as the enormous stores in the Nihonbashi district, but good-sized, nonetheless. Shelves lined each wall, and a file of kimono on stands marched down the middle of the room. More kimono hung on ropes from the rafters. The kimono were made of good quality silk and featured elegant patterns with vivid colors. Since kimono fashions were driven by the costume design of the kabuki actors, I assumed that the location of the store in the middle of the theater district allowed them to stay abreast of what was being worn in the theaters. Undoubtedly it was a very stylish shop. I was certain I couldn’t afford anything they had displayed.

At the front of the shop, a young woman folded kimono. I could hear the movement of someone else in the rear. They both called out “Irrashaimase!” as we came in. The shopgirl in the rear approached us, smiling. Neither one looked like I imagined a kunoichi should look, although the one coming up the aisle was pretty.

Just before she reached us, a girl who looked to be about twelve years old raced through the entrance shouting, “Danjūrō is outside.” The young woman in the front dropped the kimonos she was folding and rushed to peer out the door. Even the shopgirl coming from the back craned her neck to see.

“Who is Danjūrō?” Grandfather asked.

“A popular kabuki actor,” I answered.

My grandfather snorted with disgust. “Kabuki? What trash. What’s wrong with Noh plays?”

I didn’t bother to respond. Still, I was surprised by the behavior of the women.

These are kunoichi? They look and act like ordinary shopgirls.

“…told you that shade of blue was going to be popular…” The girl who had announced the appearance of the kabuki actor was chattering away.

Grandfather threw an irritated glance at the woman in front of us. “I am looking for Hattori Akiyo,” he announced loudly. “You may tell her that The Tiger in the Shadows wishes to speak to her.”

Silence. The three women turned and stared at Grandfather with wide eyes. The woman in front of us bowed deeply and scurried into the back. After a moment, she reappeared and beckoned us to follow her.

Perhaps the women in the front were ordinary shopgirls, hired to disguise the true nature of this place. No doubt we will meet a real kunoichi now.

The two women at the front resumed their conversation.

“…love the way he raises that huge sword…” Their voices faded as we passed into the back of the shop.

An old woman sat in the room near a table. I looked around, but there was no one else but the shopgirl there. The old woman smiled at my grandfather “Isamu-san, it has been a long time.”

She is calling him by his first name? That is very familiar. Are they friends?

Grandfather smiled. “Far too long, Akiyo-san. It is heartening to see the years have not diminished your beauty.”

I felt dazed. My grandfather smiling and speaking nicely to someone?

Her beauty?

I examined Akiyo-san. I could see what Grandfather meant. She must have been radiantly beautiful once. The bone structure of her face was perfect. She was still very attractive despite her age.

Akiyo-san frowned as she regarded my grandfather. “And yet, despite your flattery, it is business that brings you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought that young man.”

Grandfather sat down on the floor across from her. “Yes, he claims a kunoichi tried to kill him. He is not much of a grandson, but since he is the only one I have left, I would prefer that not happen. I would like to know what is going on.”

“I would never send one of my girls after your family,” Akiyo-san said sharply. “You know that.”

I coughed. Reddening a little, I said, “I was not using my family name. I called myself Matsura-sensei.”

She sucked her breath in, startled. “We have made a terrible mistake. It is fortunate you are still alive. I can assure you that none of my girls will come after you again.”

“And what about my brother? Was that a mistake as well?” I asked. “He wasn’t using an assumed name.”

Grandfather gave me a sharp glance, but I ignored him. I didn’t care what this woman was to him. I refused to be polite to my brother’s killers.

Akiyo-san tilted her head to one side. “Your brother?”

“My other grandson, Maeda Eiji,” Grandfather answered.

She thought for a moment then shook her head. “I have never heard that name. We received no order for his assassination.”

“And yet he died from a needle inserted into his brain,” Grandfather said softly.

Akiyo-san sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “The shinobi are falling apart,” she said sadly. “When the wars ended, few people needed us. I have watched clan discipline erode. Young people are becoming thieves and taking jobs without the clan’s permission.” She shook her head in disgust. “When I was young, no one would have dared. Now, it is anything for money. It is a disease that infects the younger generation.”

“I am sure the people that wanted me dead are the same ones that killed my brother,” I growled. “You must know something.”

She looked at the shopgirl who had escorted us in. “Get Sai.”

My grandfather’s forehead wrinkled. “Sai?” he asked. “Like those strange three-pronged knives you shinobi favor? What kind of a name is that? You might as well wear a sign around your neck saying ‘I am a kunoichi.’ It hardly seems wise.”

Akiyo-san sighed. “Do any of us know what is wise, Old Tiger?” She cast a glance at a butsudan in the corner. “Many of my girls have died doing my bidding. You couldn’t prevent the deaths of your sons or grandson. Have you ever wondered if we have survived because of mere chance, rather than any wisdom of our own?”

I stiffened.

She dares to mention my uncles?

Grandfather gave a short bark of laughter. “You can’t teach fools.”

She shook her head sadly. “If we cannot save them, the least we can do is let them live as they wish.”

The young girl who announced the kabuki actor came running in. She stopped for a moment and stared at my grandfather, her eyes wide. She bowed deeply to him. Then she turned to Akiyo-san and gave a much more familiar bow, her cheeks dimpling with a smile…

Dimples? I stared at her, open-mouthed. It was the boy! The one who had offered to lead me to the meeting with the man from the machi-bugyō’s office. My guts turned to ice as I remembered telling him to get behind me and how close he had been when I heard Hitoshi yelling.

I must apologize to Hitoshi. He saved my life.

The girl sat next to Akiyo-san and then glanced at me. If I hadn’t been examining her so closely, I would have missed her reaction, but her eyes widened fractionally, and the dimples disappeared. She became very still.

She suddenly looked older.

She isn’t twelve. She is at least fifteen. No, older. Sixteen or seventeen.

“This is your assassin?” Grandfather asked in surprise.

Akiyo-san’s laugh filled the shop. “I see she had you fooled, Old Tiger. Instead of a disciplined, pretty girl from the provinces, I adopted a girl who is pure Edokko. Born in this city, as brash and irreverent as any of its people. No one ever suspects her.”

Sai was small and thin, with a slight figure. I saw how she could easily pass for a boy. Her round face with a sharp little chin was childlike. She sat there, calm and composed, waiting.

“Sai, do you know this man?” Akiyo-san asked.

“Yes, Sensei. It is Matsura-sensei.”

“He is actually Maeda-sensei, grandson of Maeda Isamu-sama. He is not to be touched. There must have been some grave error when we were given the job. It is fortunate your attempt was interrupted.”

Sai shot me a surprised glance. “Hai.”

“Now, Sai, tell us about your assignment at the Confucius Academy,” Akiyo-san said.

Sai looked around uneasily. “I was reporting to Inspector Asano. He had me watching for troublemakers. I told him that Maeda-sensei was keeping the chonin quiet.”

“It was Inspector Asano who arranged for Yujirō’s assassination?” Grandfather asked.

“Yes,” Akiyo-san answered.

Sai interrupted. “Sensei, may I say something?”

Akiyo-san nodded.

Sai said, “I don’t think Inspector Asano was involved in Maeda-sensei’s death. He was surprised to hear it was an assassination. I believe he has a suspicion of who the assassin might be, though.”

“He said that?” Grandfather asked sharply.

“No,” Sai answered. “But I am sure of it.”

“Asano,” Grandfather muttered. “If he is the young man I remember, he was too honest. I didn’t think he would last long in the secret police.”

He looked at Sai. “Tell me where you meet with him. I need to speak with him and don’t want to do it at his office.”

“In Shima’s teahouse in the Nihonbashi district. He goes there at noon for refreshments.”

Grandfather sat motionless for a few moments. “Hattori-san,” he said softly, “we have always understood that the shinobi would enforce clan discipline. Are you saying that is no longer the case?”

Akiyo-san’s face tightened. “No, Maeda-sama. I did not say that. We will deal with the problem.”

“I would hope so. If the shinobi are killing respectable samurai without permission, I’m afraid I’ll have to bring it to the attention of the secret police. I don’t think either of us would want that.”

He looked at Akiyo-san with narrowed eyes.

“No, Maeda-sama. We would not,” she whispered.

He regarded Sai for a moment. “It would ease my mind if you could lend me your talented little kunoichi here to aid me in my investigation.”

“Of course,” Akiyo-san responded.

Sai’s eyes widened, and she snuck a quick look at Akiyo-san.

He nodded his head sharply as if coming to a sudden decision. “You will meet us at Shima’s teahouse tomorrow before noon. Dress as you normally do when meeting Asano.” His face cracked into an evil grin. “He is about to receive a very unpleasant surprise.”

Sai bowed deeply. “Hai.”

Grandfather stood. “Come, Yujirō. You will sleep at the house tonight. Asano must not discover you are still alive.”

He turned back to Akiyo-san, and his face became grim. “Someone must think me a toothless old tiger if they are killing my family. It is time to correct that misapprehension.”

Akiyo-san spoke sharply. “Think, old man. Worse than a toothless tiger would be a blind one. If your opponent isn’t a fool who thinks you a harmless housecat, then he is prepared to face you, Old Tiger. The stakes must be high for him to be willing to take such a chance.”

Grandfather stared at her. Finally, he turned and walked to the door, deep in thought.