The way of bushidō is found in death.

—Hagakure

Paulo

Time crawled past. I tensed every time someone walked by. What were they going to do to me? Not knowing was driving me crazy.

I alternately paced out the confines of my small cell and sat down trying to calm myself. Neither helped.

I was sitting when more footsteps sounded outside. The lock rattled, and I rose to present a cool, dignified appearance to whatever fate they had planned.

The door slid open, and Inspector Asano was thrust into my cell. It slammed shut, and I heard the lock click closed.

What was he doing here?

He stood, dazed, staring at the closed door.

“Inspector?” I lowered my voice. “Did Sai get away?”

His gaze snapped to me. “Ahh—Yujirō. You wouldn’t happen to want to confess, would you?”

“What? Confess to what?”

“To … ahhh … being a Christian. Yes, that was it.”

His manner was diffident, almost absent-minded. He continued, “Are you a Christian?”

I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him.

“No,” I snapped. “I’m not a Christian.”

He nodded and slid down to the floor. “No, I didn’t think so.”

I folded my arms and glared down at him. “So, why did you ask?”

He chuckled and smiled uneasily. “I am supposed to get you to confess. Or, maybe report that you confessed? Or prayed to the Christian God? Something along those lines … if I don’t give them some kind of information on you, I think they are going to kill me.”

I squatted down beside him. “What are you going to do?”

“When I said I was ready to die for the shogun, I didn’t really mean it. I thought I did, but I don’t want to die now.” He turned to me. “You are sure this is for the shogun?”

“They are after the Tiger in the Shadows. That is why they want information proving I am a Christian. To take Grandfather down. Protecting him protects the shogun. But, about Sai—”

He closed his eyes. “I am a coward,” he whispered.

I felt my temper rise.

Answer the damned question!

Trying not to let my irritation creep into my voice, I said, “You are not a coward unless you tell them the lies they want to hear. It is not feeling fear that makes you a coward, it is giving into it.”

He opened his eyes but looked away.

I controlled the urge to shake him. “Did Sai get away?” I asked again.

“Sai? I never saw her after we started lining people up. I think it is safe to assume she got free of the Academy.”

The tension flowed out of me.

She got away. That means Grandfather had time to prepare. They won’t have found anything.

“What did you send her to do?” Asano asked.

“Inform my grandfather.”

Hope lit his eyes. “Then he knows? He can get us out of here, can’t he?”

I chewed on my lower lip. “I don’t know what he can do, or how soon he can accomplish it.”

Asano sat up abruptly. “It needs to be done quickly, Yujirō. They need to kill you, but they are afraid. They suspect your grandfather has powerful allies who won’t let them get away with their schemes. They will come up with some legal excuse to kill you, eventually.”

I sat down and made myself comfortable.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Asano asked.

“Many men have tried to kill me. Someday one will succeed. Perhaps today is that day. ‘The Way of the Samurai is found in death.’ I am sure you were taught that.”

I took a deep breath. “But there is more to it. I must avenge my brother. To die without achieving that aim is a dog’s death. I do not intend to die without sending the machi-bugyō to Hell ahead of me.”

“You do not fear death?” he asked softly.

I shrugged. “Not nearly as much as I fear what comes after.”

He shook his head. “Yes, I can understand how that would be a concern for you. My work for the secret police has led me far from the path of enlightenment as well. I imagine we both have many sins we must suffer for.”

I wondered why I hadn’t confessed to the padre when I had the chance. I did sincerely repent of many of the things I had done. I could have at least been absolved of those sins.

Neither Asano nor I felt like talking. The door opened and a guard stood in the entryway. He was carrying a tray with two bowls, each holding a single rice ball. He looked carefully at Asano and me, then put one bowl in front of Asano and the other in front of me. “I’ll wait to collect the bowls,” he said, then locked the door. I could see his face through the window, watching me.

I didn’t have much appetite, but I always made it a habit of eating when I had the chance. Nearly starving after starting my exile had driven that lesson home with a vengeance.

I picked up a rice ball and lifted it to my mouth. The guard watched me carefully. For some reason, I imagined a small black bead in the center of the rice ball. Sai’s voice sounded in my head as clearly as if she were standing there in the cell with us.

You need to learn to watch people around what you eat. If I can slip a black bead in your food, someone else could slip poison into it.

I put the rice ball back into the bowl and pushed it away from me.

“I guess I’m not very hungry after all.”

A flicker of a frown crossed the guard’s features, but after another moment, his face was as impassive as always.

Asano stared at his food. “We need to keep up our strength, but I seem to have lost my appetite as well.” He took a few bites, but left most of his food uneaten as well.

Once he put his plate down, the guard came in and took the food. When door to the cell slammed shut behind the guard, Asano asked, “Why didn’t you eat the food?”

“Poison.”

He seemed taken aback. “Poison? They wouldn’t do that, it’s dishonorable!”

I gave him a crooked smile. “The machi-bugyō already had my brother murdered by a rogue shinobi and tried to have the White Hilts kill me with poison. I don’t think he is very concerned about his honor.”

*****

It was mid-afternoon when the walkway resounded with the sound of footsteps. The door opened. Two samurai stepped in with swords drawn. Behind them stood four more samurai and the machi-bugyō with a sheaf of papers in his hand.

I stood.

“Maeda-san,” the machi-bugyō said, carefully remaining outside the cell. “I have considered your petition and have decided to grant it.”

“My petition?” I echoed, confused by his statement.

“Your petition for a legal vendetta.” He lifted the sheaf of papers he held in his right hand. “I was touched by the pain you evinced at your brother’s murder. If you truly believe I am responsible and wish to pursue a vendetta, I will grant it.” He pulled out one paper and indicated a spot at the bottom. “All I need is your seal here to finish the process.”

“Legal vendetta?”

He smirked. “Well, you did say, ‘I cannot live under the same sky as my brother’s murderer,’ did you not?”

“Yes.” I had not lived as many years as I did with my grandfather and mother for nothing. I didn’t believe the machi-bugyō’s tender feelings had been touched by my plight. This stunk like a ten-day old fish.

“Actually, that is a misquote. It should be ‘father’s murderer’, the next part is for the brother, but I’ve heard your knowledge of Confucius is limited. I assumed a legal vendetta was what you were asking for. Were you not?”

A legal vendetta gave me the right to kill him if I could. Of course, trying to kill him in the middle of a heavily armed compound was suicide, but it would be cowardly to turn him down. It would at least give me a chance.

“Yes, that is what I wish.” He handed the paper to one of the guards in the door who passed it to me. I pulled my seal from my obi and affixed it at the indicated spot. I gave it back to the guard.

I sensed an increase in tension among those with the machi-bugyō. It struck me that the guards could kill me right then and claim to be protecting the machi-bugyō. Their hands drifted towards their weapons.

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This is how they legally kill me, strike me down right here in the cell. How do I stop them?

“I challenge you to a duel,” I shouted at the machi-bugyō. Everyone gaped at me in astonishment, their hands ceasing their movement. “We will settle this in the full view of all your men.”

The machi-bugyō opened his mouth, then closed it. “A duel?” He gave a little laugh. “I … well … that is…”

I sneered at him. “You wear the crest of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder of the Tokugawa shogunate and the guardian of your clan, but you are an insult to his memory and legacy. You are not a samurai, you are a simpering monkey, a beast who apes the speech and mannerisms of his betters—a small, weak thing that is too craven to stand for yourself, but instead hires others to strike from the shadows. A poltroon and a coward, without honor or strength.”

His face turned bright red, and he sputtered, spittle flying from his mouth, but unable to form any words. He finally found his voice. “What? I—” He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “I hear the yapping of a masterless cur, but the words mean nothing. Nevertheless, you shall have your duel, where your insults shall be paid for in your blood.” He marched off. The guards slammed the door shut and hurried after him.

Asano said, “That was clever. No doubt he was expecting you to attack him the moment the paper was signed, as honor demanded. Then his guards would have cut you down. Instead, by insulting him in front of his men, he will have to meet you to regain face.”

I laughed. “I am a ronin. Everyone knows we have no honor. If I had attacked, he would have just killed me. I at least want to get a chance at him.”

Asano pursed his lips. “I don’t know how he is going to get out of dueling you. He certainly can’t hope to win.”

“He will come up with something.” I frowned. “I have no idea of what, though.”

I turned to Asano. “Why did they leave you here? They don’t need a confession now.”

He shrugged. “They suspect we are working together. If I had betrayed you, I would have proven otherwise, but since I did not … only three of us knew about the raid on the Academy, and since the weapons were gone when we arrived, they are sure there is a leak in the secret police. They assume it is me.”

“Weapons? What weapons?”

His eyes widened. “Sai didn’t tell you?”

“No. You mean she knew there was going to be a raid?” My mind spun. The memory of her with the naginata in her hands came back.

Where did she get that weapon anyway? Chonin were not allowed to own one. Why didn’t she tell me?

Asano shrugged. “I told her to inform you. She must have mentioned it to someone. The weapons were gone.”

I shook my head. “She must have told Hitoshi. She never said anything to me.”

“Hitoshi? Who is Hitoshi?”

“Her brother. He is a member of the Edo Workers Association and influential among its members. He’s a hothead. I suspect there’s more, but she never said anything to me.”

Asano scowled, face red. “Her brother? No wonder she didn’t tell me about the weapons. The only thing she really reported from the Academy was the doings of you and your brother. I wonder what other secrets she is keeping?”

Maybe the secret that my family is Christian? I should probably just drop this whole line of discussion.

*****

Later that afternoon, a key rattled in the lock and the door slammed open. Two guards entered. “Come on, you,” one said. Before I could rise, they grabbed me under my armpits and lofted me to my feet, hauling me out of the cell so quickly my feet dragged behind me and my toes scrabbled on the floor as I tried to catch up with them.

They hauled me out to a central courtyard in the headquarters complex. Someone had neatly laid out a dueling circle. The machi-bugyō stood to one side of the ring with six large, well-armed bodyguards behind him. There were at least two dozen spearmen arrayed around the circle. Archers on the rooftops lined two sides of the courtyard. Their elevated position gave them a clear view of the dueling ring and would allow them to shoot anyone in the middle of the courtyard with no fear of hitting the spearmen or other spectators.

I felt a certain amount of satisfaction.

The machi-bugyō appears to believe I am dangerous.

As we neared the circle, the guards stopped and released my arms. At the far side of the dueling circle, a wooden rack on the ground held my katana and wakizashi. On a small table beside them was a sheaf of papers—the paperwork I had signed.

“Go ahead and take up your weapons,” the machi-bugyō said. “But don’t do anything foolish or my men will shoot you down like the mad dog you are.”

I went over and retrieved my weapons, sliding them into my obi. I turned to face the machi-bugyō. “Are you prepared to meet me on the field of honor, then?”

“Regrettably,” he said with a large smile, “I find I am indisposed today. However, I know how much you were looking forward to the fight, so I found someone to act as my champion.”

A prickle of unease ran up my spine.

A champion? The law doesn’t allow for champions in a vendetta. Another trick.

A figure emerged from the shadows, swinging his arms to loosen up. With a huge grin, he said, “Don’t worry, Sleeping Tiger, your death will be quick, and maybe your fool grandfather will admit he made a poor choice of arms instructors.”

“Masakado!”

He strode into the dueling ring.

“Yes, the machi-bugyō hired me for twenty-five gold koban to take care of a disrespectful ronin. Imagine my delight when I found out it was you. I almost told him I’d do it for free. Almost. A man has to eat, after all.”

My jaw clenched in anger. A roaring filled my ears.

If I can’t kill the machi-bugyō today, Masakado will do nicely instead.

I took several deep breaths, trying to calm my temper. I even managed to keep my tone of voice even. “I hope you got the money up front.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Do I look stupid? Of course I did. Fifteen gold koban up front, the rest after I finish you off.”

I gritted my teeth. “You realize a vendetta does not allow for substitutions. If you win here, you will be committing murder.”

Masakado threw back his head and laughed. “And who would be the one to charge me? The machi-bugyō? I think not. All that will be known is you died while trying to carry out a legal vendetta, and you were defeated by a man fifteen years your senior, with no reputation as a duelist. It will be delicious. The great Sleeping Tiger, killed by a sedentary bureaucrat. So much for your reputation.”

He was taunting me. Just like at the matsuri, he knew if he could make me angry I would make mistakes.

I knew he was trying to get me angry, taunting me about things that would serve to enrage me. He’d done it every time we fought. Yet, even though I knew it, I could still feel my barely-under-control rage rising. I couldn’t fall prey to his tactics for a third time, but I seemed to lack the self-control to prevent it from happening.

God, give me the strength to overcome my weaknesses.

An image of Estêvão flashed through my thoughts. Estêvão as I had seen him last, a well-dressed corpse. Estêvão, killed by the very machi-bugyō standing in front of me, gloating at what he deemed my incipient death. Images of my mother, Gracia, my nephews, and niece followed in quick succession. Each passing through my head, for an instant only.

If you fail here, what will happen to them?

I couldn’t tell if the thought was my own or came from somewhere outside of me. It didn’t really matter, the only important thing was the result. It was as though someone had poured ice-water over my thoughts. The anger and rage sluiced out of me, leaving me clear-headed, calm, and calculating.

Masakado wants a fight? Let’s give him one.

With great deliberation, I drew my katana and assumed a guard stance. I lowered my head to Masakado in acknowledgement, and waited for his reaction.

His lips pressed together for a moment, then his smile reappeared. “The hot little sister-in-law has cooled your temper, I see.”

I just smiled slightly.

For a moment, a look of surprise played across his features, then his eyes narrowed as he realized his gambit had failed. He drew his katana and took a stance opposite me in the circle, all trace of amusement banished. No easy victories this time. If he beat me, he was going to have to do it the hard way.

He stepped forward, making a tentative cut. I didn’t even bother to move to avoid it, I simply angled my blade to parry his strike. With an angry grimace, he began a furious assault. No more tricks, this was in deadly earnest.

Almost faster than the eye could follow we traded blows. He struck at my neck. I stepped back out of the way and replied with a strike at his shoulder. He caught my weapon on the back of his blade, wrenched it out of place and drove the tip of his katana straight at me. I turned sideways to avoid it, but his blade still sliced open my kimono, leaving a long, bloody mark across my left arm. The stinging pain of the wound almost made me cry out. I gritted my teeth and brought my weapon up with a strike at his lower belly. His counterblow almost numbed my arms with its strength. I threw myself forward and we stood chest to chest, our weapons locked together and immovable, held in place by the pressure of our bodies.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “What woke you up, Sleeping Tiger? I’ve never seen you fight like this.”

“Nothing,” I panted back at him. “You’re just not that good without your tricks.”

With an inarticulate roar of rage, he threw me back away from him. I stumbled, going to one knee. But the position of my katana never wavered, pointing steadily at his throat, daring him to attack.

He made no move to attack as I got to my feet, then with a yell, launched himself at me.

Instead of continuing the rush, though, he stopped mid-stride and pivoted to his left, dropped to one knee, and struck at my right side. Caught off-guard by his unexpected move, I desperately leapt to the left to avoid his slash. He powered himself up from the ground, his katana stabbing straight for my chest. I half-turned to face him and brought my blade around in a circular motion to deflect his stroke. He absorbed the energy of my parry and brought his weapon up over his head for a full-body cut. I barely positioned my weapon in time, catching his blade on the back of mine with a bone-jarring impact. He jerked it free and stepped forward again, cutting low at my legs the same time as he moved. I had to step back to keep from being crippled.

The speed of his attacks astonished me. It had been years since I felt so hard-pressed in a duel. His technique was flawless and his offense unrelenting—I had no opportunity to make any attacks of my own—his skill with the katana simply afforded me no openings.

Step by step, he drove me back, seemingly tireless in his assault. I reached down deep inside me and brought forth every bit of my skill and power. My retreat stopped as I matched Masakado, strike for strike.

We were locked in an intricate dance of death, both unwilling to yield any ground. Neither could find a flaw in the other’s defense. Masakado shifted his position slightly. His left foot caught on a slight irregularity in the surface of the courtyard, his smooth sidewards motion interrupted for the barest instant. I stepped back, raised my blade over my head and stepped forward and to the side, swinging it down with all my might. He twisted and raised his own weapon to catch my blade. We stepped forward until we were chest-to-chest again, our weapons once more held between us.

We stood there, glaring at each other, both panting from our exertions. By unspoken agreement, we remained in that position for a long moment, each of us glad for the brief respite. I saw something flicker behind his eyes.

Here it comes.

Before he could renew his attack, I slid one foot behind his legs and shoved him in the chest as hard as I could. His katana flew out of his grasp as he flailed his arms wildly, attempting to retain his balance. He failed, and landed flat on his back, looking up at me.

I raised my katana above my head, prepared to deliver the death blow.

But then, I thought, what was the point? Killing Masakado would neither bring Estêvão back nor punish the real murderer. Masakado was a complete ass, as tricky as they come, but he always fought honorably and by the rules.

I decided not to kill him. However, I wanted him to remember he had lost the fight, so I stabbed my katana down as if I were driving the weapon into his face, but instead thrust the point into the ground next to his left ear.

Before I even had the chance to straighten, the machi-bugyō’s voice rang out, “Arrest Maeda for murder! He has killed Masakado in an unlicensed duel.”

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open in astonishment. Then, I understood. I began laughing and stepped back from Masakado, leaving my weapon as it was.

Masakado slowly climbed to his feet, staring at the katana buried in the earth so close to his head.

It was the machi-bugyō’s chance to goggle. He stared with his mouth gaping open at the sight of Masakado standing in the center of the dueling ring.

Still laughing, I said, “It was a good plan. Really, it was. If Masakado killed me, you would have claimed you killed me yourself when I pursued my legal vendetta. No one would have been the wiser, and that would have been the end of the matter. If I killed Masakado, I would be guilty of murder, since a legal vendetta doesn’t allow for substitutions, and you would have characterized our fight as an illegal duel. I am sure my trial would have been swift and my execution held promptly. The problem is, Masakado is still alive.”

A samurai came running up and whispered in the machi-bugyō’s ear. His face paled and he whirled to his guards, saying, “Lock the honorless cur back up again, we will deal with him later.”

Three guards rushed over and tore my wakizashi from my obi and threw it on the ground, then marched me back towards my cell.

The machi-bugyō hurried off.

As the guards dragged me away, I could hear Masakado shouting, “Wait, what about the rest of my money?”