Kill the Shogun (Samurai Mysteries) Read online

  His house was on a main street of the district, well situated for its dual role as abode and shop. Earlier, the street had been illuminated by lanterns helping customers find drinking establishments and shops that stayed open late, but except for a single drinking place on the corner, the entire street was now dark, with light coming only from his own house.

  The merchant couldn’t imagine his wife staying up late for him. Disgusted with his gambling, she had long since stopped waiting up for him like a dutiful wife, keeping the food and rice warm, to serve him upon his arrival.

  As he approached his house, he noticed that some of the light was spilling out from a newly formed hole in the wall. Concerned, he quickened his steps to see what was going on.

  “Tadaima! I’m home,” he announced as he slid back the sliding door of his house. He entered the small dirt entryway. The rest of the house was built on a wooden platform, above the ground, and the entry was a place to sit on the platform and take off his hemp sandals. Several heads spun around to look at him as he entered. The only person who didn’t react to his entry was the street entertainer he recently rented the upstairs room to. He sat serenely by a clay hibachi, sipping tea. Next to him was the merchant’s wife and his servant, apparently serving him. The merchant would have been upset by this special favor to the renter, if it wasn’t for the three others in the room.

  The three sat with their legs splayed out in front of them in the space the merchant used as his shop when the weather was too bad to display the vegetables outside. They sat in a rough triangle, with their backs together. A length of sturdy hemp rope was wrapped and tied around them, securely keeping them in place.

  He recognized them immediately. They were Boss Akinari’s men. Even with them tied securely, the merchant started to quake, and he sat at the edge of the house platform in weakness, temporarily too shaky to take off his sandals.

  “How… how… ?” he stammered.

  The renter looked up from his tea. “How what?” he asked, in a tone that made it seem like it was unusual for the merchant to be stupefied by three men tied up in his house.

  “What… what… ?”

  The renter sighed. “You really must complete a question if you expect us to answer it,” he said.

  The merchant sucked in his breath through his teeth, a characteristic gesture when some Japanese are nervous. He said, “What are these men doing here?”

  “They came to see you,” the renter said. He put down his teacup and stood up, holding his sword in one hand.

  “Where are you going?” the merchant said quickly, a touch of fear in his voice.

  “I’m going back to bed. These men came to see you. Now you are here. I suggest you talk to them, because they seem to be here on serious business.” Kaze turned and took a few steps up the stairs. He stopped. “Oh, I suggest you keep them tied until you have completed your discussions with them. You had better make sure that they’re happy with the result of your discussions, because they can play rough.”

  “Hey! Samurai!” The big wrestler was addressing Kaze. Kaze thought briefly of denying he was a samurai and decided it would be a rather foolish denial after what he had done to the three toughs.

  “What is it?” Kaze asked mildly.

  “What’s your name?”

  Kaze thought before answering that question, and decided to give the name he had used with the family.

  “I’m Matsuyama Kaze.”

  “I’m Nobu,” the wrestler said. “I work for Boss Akinari, the biggest gambling boss in this part of town. If you want a job fighting, come talk to me. We can use a man like you. A real fighter, not like these worthless ronin.” The big man gave a shake that moved the two ronin tied to him like dolls.

  Because of his size, Kaze had assumed that the wrestler was the muscle for the two ronin. Now he understood that the big man was in charge. He reminded himself of the danger of assumptions, especially ones based on the appearance of people. It could kill you. He smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

  Almost as if it were an explanation of why he had offered Kaze a job, Nobu said, “I’ve never been bested in a fight before.”

  Kaze nodded, continuing his ascent of the stairs and leaving the merchant to work out an accommodation with the three men tied up on his floor.

  In his room, Kaze allowed himself the indulgence of rubbing his ear. It was still hot from the blood rushing to it when the wrestler’s fist grazed it. Kaze had misjudged how much to move because the wrestler had such large hands.

  When Kaze was young, he went into the mountains near his home and sought out a renowned Sensei, a teacher, to learn the ways of the sword. During his first lesson on how to avoid blows from the sword, Kaze had nimbly jumped to one side as the Sensei brought the bokken, the wooden practice sword, down in an overhead cut.

  Kaze was proud of his ability to dodge the blow, but his Sensei scowled. The teacher held up the wooden sword so the edge was facing Kaze. “How wide is this sword?” he asked.

  Kaze showed the width of the bokken by moving his thumb and forefinger a short distance apart.

  “That’s right,” the Sensei said. “How far did you jump?”

  Kaze put his two hands apart to show the distance.

  The Sensei said no more, but Kaze understood the lesson. Economy of movement and judgment were as important as agility. Rubbing his ear, Kaze reflected that while swords were of a consistent width, he must remember that men’s fists were not.

  CHAPTER 6

  Plans woven like the

  silk threads in a kimono.

  Snags can rend the cloth.

  Tokugawa Ieyasu thought he had been chosen to lead by the will of the Gods, and there was little in his life to make him change that opinion. This did not mean that his life was without hardship. In fact, the exact opposite was true. But Ieyasu was fond of saying, “Persuade yourself that imperfection and inconvenience is the natural lot of mortals, and there will be no room for discontent or despair.”

  This belief in his divine selection must have come later in his life, because his early years were not auspicious. He was born the son of a country daimyo who ruled the province of Mikawa. When he was four, he was sent as a hostage to an ally to guarantee his father’s good behavior. Unfortunately, during his journey, he was captured by his father’s bitter enemy and made a hostage under conditions that were both harsh and precarious. His captor even threatened to kill him if his father didn’t do what the captor demanded. But Ieyasu’s father risked the life of his son and ignored the threat. Ironically, the daimyo who had captured him was Oda Nobuhide, the father of Oda Nobunaga, a man Ieyasu was later to become strongly allied to. Two years later, Ieyasu was sent to his original destination, where he remained a hostage of the ally for an additional eleven years.

  During his absence, the samurai of Mikawa had not fared much better than their young master, suffering many hardships that forced many of them to return to the soil, to work as farmers, just to survive. Thus, when Ieyasu finally returned to Mikawa, it was with a great deal of surprise that he learned that one of his retainers had preserved the bulk of the Mikawa treasury, because he knew the young Lord would need money to equip and outfit troops. Ieyasu was moved to tears by this gesture of loyalty. Because of the sacrifice that this hoarding of money represented, he adopted a maxim that waste was an affront to heaven.

  His frugality did not extend to things military, however. Ieyasu’s men were always well equipped, and although their commissary was not lavish, when they were on a campaign they were always supplied with adequate food.

  This willingness to spend money on military matters did not always guarantee victory. In fact, there were military defeats and at least one occasion when Ieyasu was preparing to kill himself rather than be captured. But circumstances, bold action on his part, and the hesitancy of his enemies kept Ieyasu alive. And as his long life progressed, he expanded his influence, power, and authority until he was able to seize control of all of Jap
an. To do this, he bided his time, first allying himself with Oda Nobunaga in his rise to power, then shifting his loyalties to Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Nobunaga’s successor.

  Hideyoshi was a peasant, and started his military career as an ashigaru, a common foot soldier, before advancing to the rulership of Japan. Ieyasu was amused that the people were already making up legends about Hideyoshi, even though he had been dead only a few years. He laughed out loud when someone told him of the talk of lightning flashes and divine signs when Hideyoshi was born. He knew that The Monkey, the derogatory nickname given to Hideyoshi by Nobunaga, had had a totally unremarkable birth in a peasant village.

  That was what had made him so unusual and frightening.

  In an age when birth was often destiny, Hideyoshi was a man who made his own destiny. Hideyoshi once told Ieyasu that it was important for Ieyasu to become his vassal, because Hideyoshi’s common birth meant a lack of respect from other daimyo. If Ieyasu acknowledged a commoner like Hideyoshi as his Lord, then the other daimyo would fall into line, following Ieyasu’s example. As with most things Hideyoshi planned, the results of Ieyasu acknowledging Hideyoshi were exactly as he foresaw. Ieyasu was determined to create a Japan where the elite would not be threatened by a freakish political and military prodigy like Hideyoshi.

  When Hideyoshi died, Ieyasu gathered his forces and gambled everything on one climactic battle at Sekigahara. He had prevailed, and now was in a struggle to gather the reins of power into his hands. Hideyoshi’s son and widow still lived in the formidable fortress at Osaka, and the loyalty of numerous daimyo was still in question. Ieyasu saw the danger and irony of dying at this moment, when he had achieved the pinnacle of personal power for himself with the title of Shogun but had not yet ensured that his clan and family would remain in power long after he had departed to the void.

  That’s what made a man like Nakamura so valuable, and Ieyasu would miss him. Nakamura had had a genius for bureaucracy. Although his manner had been as irritating as that of one of those pedantic scholars of Dutch or Chinese learning, his ideas for structuring the new government had been inspired. He had proposed an idea for controlling the daimyo that was both brilliant and simple.

  The standard way to ensure the loyalty of a shaky ally was to take hostages, just as Ieyasu had been a hostage for his entire youth. If the ally did something to displease you, you simply killed the hostages. If the ally was ruthless enough or under pressure in other ways, the hostages could be sacrificed and the supposed ally could turn treacherous. Nakamura had suggested a variation on this scheme that would make treachery much harder.

  Every other year, half the daimyo would have to live in Edo to “advise” and serve the Shogun. After the year’s residence in Edo, the daimyo would return to his home fief, but his family would remain in Edo as hostages. After a year’s residence in their fief, the pattern would be repeated. This made it much harder for the daimyo to consolidate power in their fiefs, and with only half the daimyo in Edo at any one time, the potential for collusion was considerably reduced. Even when the daimyo weren’t in Edo, their entire immediate families remained as hostages.

  It was a brilliant scheme, and one that Ieyasu intended to implement as soon as he was in a position to do so. It was too bad Nakamura wouldn’t be alive to handle the details.

  Still, Nakamura’s death hadn’t been a complete loss. It had allowed Ieyasu to see the worth of Yoshida in a tight situation. Yoshida also had a flair for government, but he combined it with the spirit of a bushi.

  This will be like a military campaign,” Yoshida said to the guard captains of Edo. “We have an enemy and we must track him down and destroy him.”

  Several of the captains exchanged glances, a fact not unnoticed by Yoshida. “I know it is but one man,” Yoshida said, using a tone like the one he would use talking to exceptionally stupid children, “but this one man almost killed the Shogun. In that act, he is more dangerous than an entire army. The Shogunate can withstand an army. If we are defeated on the field of battle, we can raise another army and fight another day. If Ieyasu-sama is killed, then where will we find another?” Yoshida glared at the guard captains, who hung their heads in shame.

  “Good,” Yoshida said. “We understand each other. Now, each of you is responsible for keeping order in a section of the city. All except for you”—Yoshida indicated one guard captain, who had recently been promoted—“you should be familiar with that section.” He was replacing the captain who had been in charge of the section where the assassination attempt had occurred. That man had committed ritual suicide, seppuku, to apologize for the attempt occurring while he was in command.

  “I want you to ask the heimin most likely to know if there are strangers in their neighborhoods: tea shop owners, gamblers, whorehouse owners, and merchants. We are looking for a ronin called Matsuyama Kaze. It’s a weird name, so he should be easy to find. I am told he is of normal height and a bit more handsome than average. He walks like a swordsman, and he is more muscular than a normal samurai. He has extreme skill with the katana. When you find him, you will report to me.”

  Yoshida stopped and looked at the face of each man in the room. “Do you understand that last order?”

  “Hai! Yes!” the captains said.

  “Good. If you try to capture him alone or with just a few men, I am told that you will likely fail. He is an unusually dangerous man with a sword. When you report back to me, I will devise a plan that ensures that we will kill this Matsuyama Kaze.”

  Toyama paced nervously in his villa. He wondered if he had done the right thing but realized it was too late to change things now. His chief retainer had taken the required gold and left it in the temple. The retainer reported that he was sure the temple was empty when he walked into it, and he placed the cloth with the gold in it in the middle of the floor. He walked out and gave a glance backward, to have one last look at the gold. The retainer swore the gold was gone, silently taken in just the few seconds it took him to walk out of the temple.

  The tale sent chills up Toyama’s back. He was sure there were many ways to make the gold disappear, such as using a line and hook or something as simple as a man who was fast on his feet and silent. Yet, the rumors and legends about the ninja becoming invisible intruded into his mind once more, and he felt his palms sweating from the thought of becoming involved with such people.

  He cursed himself for using the Koga ninja, the same ninja the Tokugawas used. Although they kept their identities secret, they all came from the village of Koga. They were born into ninjutsu, the art of the ninja, and only left it when they left this life. Still, Toyama initially had no idea how to contact a ninja clan, and it was one of Tokugawa’s own retainers who helped him make the contact. It was only natural it would be the Koga, instead of one of the other ninja groups.

  He rubbed his palms against his kimono. He was desperate to kill that man. It was obvious that Ieyasu-sama was not pleased with him, and something drastic had to be done to change the situation. Ieyasu-sama had already reduced, changed, or totally eliminated fiefs for other daimyo. Most of these were men who supported Hideyoshi’s heir, but some were part of the Tokugawa camp. They were men Ieyasu-sama didn’t trust or was displeased with. With the bulk of his army still intact after Sekigahara, it was unwise to defy the orders of the new Shogun.

  “Damn!” Toyama said. “I want that man dead. It is the only way!”

  CHAPTER 7

  An evil nature

  can reside in a small space.

  An atrocious child.

  One of Okubo’s earliest memories was of seeing a man boiled alive. His father had a special fondness for this type of punishment, and he prescribed it often for miscreants of all types. Okubo couldn’t remember the crime of the first man he saw boiled, but he did remember the event.

  In the center of the courtyard of the Okubo villa, a large iron pot was placed. This kind of pot was normally used for cooking vegetable stew for large numbers of troops, but it served admirably fo
r the purposes of Okubo’s father.

  On the wooden veranda that encircled three sides of the courtyard, new tatami mats were placed. Okubo’s father sat on one of these mats, with his young son at his side. Okubo’s mother pronounced the proceedings “gruesome” and refused to attend the execution.

  Okubo remembered that his father, who was a tall, normally phlegmatic man, was very animated and excited about the boiling. He was constantly leaping up to inspect or supervise some aspect of the execution. He directed his vassals as to how to arrange the logs around the pot and where to put the kindling. Then he sat on the tatami eating pickled radishes as he waited impatiently for the servants to bring bucket after bucket of water to fill up the pot.

  When the condemned man was brought into the courtyard, Okubo’s father personally supervised tying him up before placing him in the pot. The prisoner was crying, and Okubo clearly remembered his father slapping the prisoner and telling him to be a man.

  When he returned to the tatami, Okubo’s father explained to him some of the fine points of how the man was tied. Tying up prisoners was one of the skills learned by samurai, but these ties were meant to immobilize a prisoner, not keep him trussed up in a pot. Okubo especially remembered his father telling him not to loop a length of rope around the prisoner’s neck, because he might be able to use it to strangle himself and thereby cut short his misery.

  Finally, when all was ready, Okubo’s father ordered the fire lit.

  At first the man was relatively stoic, crying softly as the logs surrounding the pot gradually heated up the water within. By the end, the man was screaming for mercy and begging Okubo’s father to end his agony.