Sano allowed himself to relax tentatively, relieved that Raiden's dangerous mood had pa.s.sed. "We were talking about Noriyoshi," he said, hoping the name wouldn't provoke another outburst. "Why did you hate him?"

Raiden frowned in bewilderment. "Did I hate him? Oh, yes, I guess I did. Because he got me thrown out of Lord Toru's stable. The master-of-arms wouldn't have told Lord Toru that I broke discipline and almost killed him. He didn't want to lose face. But Noriyoshi was there that day, delivering some paintings. He saw the whole thing. Told me that if I didn't pay him a thousand zeni a week, he would tell Lord Toru. I didn't have the money. He talked; Lord Toru dismissed me. Terrible, don't you think?"

Sano felt less satisfaction at learning Raiden's motive than he'd antic.i.p.ated. Raiden seemed to have no control over his demon. He was capable of killing on a moment's impulse during one of his sudden rages, but had he the wits to arrange a double murder that looked like suicide?

Both Kikunojo and Raiden had readily admitted that they'd been Noriyoshi's blackmail victims. But if Kikunojo's link with Niu Yukiko seemed weak, Raiden's was weaker still. Upper-cla.s.s samurai women never attended public sumo tournaments, let alone the street-corner matches. Even if social events had brought Yukiko into contact with the Torus, Raiden's a.s.sociation with them had ended almost two years ago. What circ.u.mstance could have linked Noriyoshi and Yukiko and united them with Raiden the night of the murder? Intuition told Sano that a direct connection between Noriyoshi and the Niu clan must exist, that it provided the motive for the murders. So far, however, he saw nothing.

"Have you ever fought a match against Lord Niu's men?" he asked.

The proprietor had brought Raiden a third bowl of noodles without being asked, perhaps to forestall another violent episode. "Sure," Raiden said as he dug into it. "The tournament at Muen-ji." The Temple of Helplessness, built on the burial site of the Great Fire's victims, was a popular site for public spectacles. "Three years ago."

"Have you met his daughters? The eldest one, in particular- Yukiko?"

"Heh, heh, heh." Raiden ground his huge elbow into Sano's side. "Know what you're thinking. But no. The daimyo never let us near their women. They don't trust us. A pity, because some of them... " He began describing the charms of the women, whom he'd only seen from a distance.

Sano thought he was telling the truth. He had none of Kikunojo's intelligence or acting talent to help him lie easily and convincingly. That he did have a careless mouth and little instinct for self-preservation was obvious. He hadn't bothered to find out who Sano was or why he was asking questions, and his lewd remarks about Lord Toru's women would earn him a harsh punishment if they reached the wrong ears. Sano finally had to interrupt his rambling discourse.

"Are you glad Noriyoshi is dead?" he asked.

Raiden emptied the last of the sake into his cup. "I'm not sorry. But there's at least one person even less sorry than I. I wasn't the only one he blackmailed, and from what I hear, he got a lot more money out of the other fellow."

"You mean Kikunojo, the Kabuki actor?" Sano asked.

The wrestler gave him a puzzled look. "Him, too? Didn't know that. No, I was thinking of someone else."

"And who is that?"

"A member of a very powerful clan," Raiden answered. For the first time, he looked around furtively and lowered his voice. "I don't know which member, and I won't say the family name, but-"

Bending over, he drew on the dusty ground with his chopstick. He produced a picture far less skillful than any of Noriyoshi's, but Sano easily recognized its subject.

It was a dragonfly crest, insignia of the Niu clan. Here at last was the connection between Noriyoshi and the Nius.

Chapter 11.

Lady Niu hesitated outside her son's door, holding a tray that contained a lacquer box, matches, a few long wood splinters, and a bay-bark candle. Anxious to see Masahito, yet dreading their encounter, she balanced the tray on her hip and knocked. No answer came. She heard only the distant chanting from the family Buddhist chapel, where the priests were holding a vigil over Yukiko's body. But Lady Niu could sense Masahito's presence, as strongly as if she could see him through the translucent paper windows set in the wall. She slid the door open and entered.

An icy gust of wind a.s.saulted her, and she uttered an exclamation of dismay.

Masahito knelt, his back to her, facing the open window. Although the chamber was almost as cold as the garden outside, he wore only a thin white silk kimono. His feet were bare. When Lady Niu crossed the floor to stand beside him, she saw that his face wore the rapt expression of deep meditation-eyes half closed, lips parted, he seemed unaware of his shivering body, or that the cold had raised b.u.mps on his bare arms. His chamber reflected the austerity and lack of comfort he preferred in his surroundings. Plain white plaster covered the walls; a frayed tatami with its edges bound in common black cotton lay on the floor. He wouldn't allow her to supply him with furnishings more in keeping with the rest of the house. He slept on the same worn and flattened futon he'd had for years, and he used charcoal braziers only in the coldest weather. Despite his father's wealth, Masahito lived like a monk, as if he wanted to see how much suffering he could withstand. Fearful for his health, Lady Niu walked over to the window and closed it.

"Mother!"

She whirled at the sound of his voice, almost dropping the tray. "Masahito. I've come to give you your moxa treatment. We'll have to hurry; it's almost time for Yukiko's funeral." She and the other women had already put on their white mourning kimonos for the procession to the temple, hut he still needed to change into his black ceremonial robes. She added, "I wish you wouldn't leave the window open. The draft will give you a chill."

He regarded her with an unsmiling stare as frigid as the room. "I told you never to enter my chamber without my permission, Mother," he said.

His disapproval gripped Lady Niu's heart like a physical pain. Masahito-her precious only son-had been born after years of hoping and praying for a child. She loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone else, showering gifts and attention upon him throughout his life. But more often than not, he repaid her with hostility. She'd heard the servants whispering that she'd spoiled him because he'd been born with a crippled leg, and now his soul was crippled as well. Yet how else could she compensate him for being the youngest son-and child of a daimyo's second wife- excluded from the succession by birth and from his father's favor by his deformity? Even her position as a Tokugawa cousin and member of the Fujiwara family that had dominated the imperial court in ancient times couldn't give him the status he deserved. She suppressed the urge to fuss over him, to wrap him in warm clothes. To do so would provoke more harsh words.

She said cautiously, "I am sorry. Does your leg pain you?"

As soon as the words pa.s.sed her lips, she regretted them. His leg did hurt. She, who knew him so well, should have seen the signs invisible to anyone else: the tension around his mouth, the faint shadows under his eyes. Even the room's icy discomfort should have told her. She remembered how, as a child, he would hold his hand dangerously close to a candle flame. When she s.n.a.t.c.hed the hand away and demanded why he would do such a foolish thing, he said, "It makes me forget my leg." Today other worries pressed in on her, and she hadn't observed him with her customary care.

Now Masahito sighed impatiently. "I'm fine, Mother," he said. But he carefully unfolded his legs and extended them straight before him in preparation for the treatment. Although she knew the effort hurt him, his expression didn't change. He never betrayed his pain, making himself walk without a limp and without using a cane even when he thought he was alone. He drew his kimono back as far as his groin. The left leg was st.u.r.dy and muscular, its flesh smooth and unmarked. The right was brittle and weak-looking, with healed scars and raw sores marring the withered thigh.

As usual, the sight of her son's bad leg caused a surge of tender anguish to engulf Lady Niu. She wanted to caress and coddle him, to ease his pain with maternal care. But Masahito's response to affection had always been unpredictable. During his childhood, he had sometimes returned her embraces, sometimes. .h.i.t or kicked her. He'd hated to acknowledge his pain or accept comfort. Now he might tolerate her love or rebuke her with his sharp tongue. So instead she knelt, opened the lacquer box, and began to take out the eleven small gray moxa cones. Made of mugwort leaves gathered on the fifth day of the fifth month, ground in a pestle and rolled into shape, they were soft and flaky to the touch. She wet the base of each one with the tip of her tongue, then arranged them on Masahito's thigh, careful to avoid the unhealed sores left by previous treatments. Unable to resist the temptation, she let her fingertips brush his skin as if by accident. Touching him gave her the most exquisite, heart-breaking pleasure... She lit the candle and used a wood splinter to transfer flame to the cones. Soon a thin smoke began to rise from them, and the mildly bitter scent of burning leaves mingled with the candle's fragrance. The priests' chanting droned on as they prepared Yukiko's coffin for transport to the temple, lending a mystical atmosphere to the treatment. Masahito seemed a living Buddha and she a worshipper burning incense before him.

Lady Niu watched her son's face for a sign that the treatment was draining away the distemperous vapors that caused his pain. She had much to discuss with him, but she didn't want to speak until relief made him more receptive to advice. The cones smoldered. The smoke thickened. Finally his face relaxed-though whether because the moxa was healing him or because the pain caused by the burning cones distracted him, she couldn't tell.

"This is a critical time for our family, Masahito," she said. "It demands discreet behavior from all of us. Even sacrifices." She paused, hoping she wouldn't have to continue. To say exactly what she expected from him would be to voice the unspeakable. The unthinkable.

He regarded her in silence, his feverish eyes glowing in his handsome face. A faint, malicious smile played at his lips.

Faltering, she said, "Perhaps... perhaps it would be better for you to... refrain from certain activities." Her mind recoiled from the thought of those activities.

Masahito's smile widened, but not with humor or warmth. He shook his head. "Oh, Mother. For once in your life, why not say what you mean?" he said. "There's no one here but us. So come. Tell me what you want me to do." He folded his arms, waiting in exaggerated antic.i.p.ation. "Well?"

He was bullying her, Lady Niu thought miserably, just as he'd once bullied his brothers and sisters and playmates. Whether larger or smaller than he, it hadn't mattered; he could always drive them to tears or rage. The sheer force of his personality kept them from striking back and made them work harder to please him. A sudden vivid memory surfaced: Masahito, aged nine, pitting his sisters, two of his older brothers, and all the retainers' children against each other in a violent reenactment of the Battle of Dan-no-ura, which had taken place five hundred years ago, and which had ended the emperors' effective reign and ushered in the era of military rule. The game had resulted in many injuries, some serious, and the destruction of a garden pavilion. Of all the children, only Yukiko had resisted him and tried to stop the debacle.

Lady Niu could still remember the horror she'd felt when she'd found her small general gloating over the burning pavilion and his sobbing, bloodied troops.

"Why, Masahito?" she'd cried. "Why?"

He'd looked straight at her, his face radiant with triumph beneath the cuts and bruises. "I wanted to change history, Mother," he said, "and I did." His complete lack of remorse had chilled her. "Tell Father that today the Taira clan have defeated the Minamoto."

Tell Father. Those two words had given her the real reason for what he'd done. Her fierce, angry son didn't care about history. Unloved and ignored by his father since birth, he courted punishment because it was better than no attention at all.

Loath to discipline him herself, Lady Niu had swallowed her grief and sent him to live with her husband in their provincial castle. Maybe now that Masahito was older and beginning to excel in swordsmanship in spite of his deformity, they could be father and son. Maybe, with masculine guidance, he would grow into an honorable, decent man. But her husband, still repulsed and shamed by his crippled child, didn't educate or reform Masahito. A loyal servant sent word to her that Lord Niu had simply locked Masahito in a remote chamber to live like a caged animal-alone, unwashed, fed on sc.r.a.ps of garbage. Sick with guilt, Lady Niu had him returned to Edo, where she struggled valiantly to tame his wild spirit. She would never again subject him to his father's cruelty, despite his excesses, which grew worse over the years. She'd managed to hush up all of them, often at outrageous cost.

Now Lady Niu whispered, "Please, Masahito." All her love and money and scheming couldn't save him this time, if he didn't help himself.

"What you want, Mother, is that I should forsake my pleasures and my ambitions because Yukiko is dead and the police are nosing around. You think they'll learn things about me, even if they can't prove I killed anyone."

"Masahito-"

His sarcastic voice lashed her mercilessly. "You want me to stay away from the summer villa in Ueno. You want me to-"

"Stop!" Lady Niu shrieked. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle more screams. How she hated him when he tormented her like this! And how she loved him. His face seemed even more beautiful suffused with evil mischief than when he was in one of his infrequent kind moods. At times like this, she wished she loved him less. That way she could control herself as she did with everyone else, could prevail as she did in every other situation. Now she prayed for detachment and serenity. Only by putting aside her feelings for him could she bend him to her strong will, which he had inherited.

Having gotten the desired reaction from her, Masahito relented. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand and said gently, "Mother, you worry too much. There's nothing to be afraid of. The police will find plenty of other suspicious individuals in Yukiko's background. That actor she admired. The suitors whose marriage proposals were rejected. And anyway, with Noriyoshi dead, the danger is gone. In fact, our lives will soon be better than you ever thought possible. Believe me."

Lady Niu savored her son's rare affectionate gesture. She took his hand in both of hers and held it tight. She wanted to beg him to cease his dangerous activities. To do it for her, if not for himself, because her fear for him was tearing her apart. But she knew he would only grow angry at her interference and begin tormenting her again.

She contented herself with saying, "Sano Ichiro's visit disturbed me. I received him because I wanted to meet the yoriki who is officiating in the matter of Yukiko's death, but now I'm sorry I did. He is an intelligent, unconventional, and persistent man. You shouldn't have spoken to him the way you did-you only whetted his interest. Who knows what he might discover if he keeps prying into our affairs?"

"Sano? Who is Sano Ichiro, anyway? Just an insignificant creature, not worth a moment's thought."

Masahito freed his hand from her grasp and let out a hoot of maniacal laughter. He'd slipped into the grandiose, reckless mood she feared most. His already bright eyes began to blaze; his body seemed to exude power. Now he would never heed caution or recognize his own vulnerability. He would court death as he had once courted punishment. He would subject himself to agonizing pain and fear, recover, then seek more agony.

"I've already taken steps to keep him away from us," Lady Niu said, fighting to remain calm against her rising terror. What if he should die? Her own life would be empty without him. "Magistrate Ogyu has agreed to restrict his interference. But there are limits to what I can do. I don't want to arouse suspicion by asking for too many favors, not when it would be so easy for you to maintain a low profile." She tried to keep the pleading note out of her voice, knowing it would only invite mockery. "Just for a while."

Masahito sighed. "Mother, I don't need you to protect me. I know what I'm doing, and I can take care of myself. If Yoriki Sano continues to be a problem-"

He picked up a burning moxa cone. Ignoring her cry of protest, he crushed it between his fingers. He laughed again as it crumbled into ash and fell to the floor in a thin trail of smoke.

Chapter 12.

Niu Yukiko's funeral procession filed through the streets of Edo, slowly making its way east from the Zojo Temple toward the river.

First came black-clad samurai bearing white lanterns on long poles, followed by more men carrying cl.u.s.ters of sacred lotus made of gold paper. Then the high priest in his gorgeous silk mantle, borne on a litter by orange-robed priests. More priests held smoking incense burners, tinkled bells, beat drums, or scattered rose petals upon the ground. After them strode Lord Niu. He carried the funeral tablet, his gait stiff, his face somber. Then came the coffin, a little white house with a tile roof. Its bearers wore the Niu dragonfly crest on their black garments. More bearers followed with a huge bamboo cage full of twittering birds; then more priests, chanting sutras. Behind them walked the family, with their retainers and attendants, the men in black, the women in pure white.

And the other mourners: rank after rank, hundreds of them, all come to pay their last respects to the daughter of a great lord.

Sano marched with these last. After leaving Raiden, he'd gone back to the barracks to don his ceremonial robes-white silk under-robe, black silk kimono with his family crest of four interlocked flying cranes embroidered in gold at the back, breast, and hem, flowing black trousers, and black haori with padded shoulders. His swords were m.u.f.fled in black cloth as a gesture of courtesy to the deceased. Now he hoped his costume would let him blend with the mourners and avoid Lady Niu's notice.

After her warning and Magistrate Ogyu's reprimand, the thought of approaching the Nius again filled Sano with dread. But since learning of Noriyoshi's connection with them, he felt he must see Yukiko's sister Midori again. Perhaps the "proof" she'd claimed to have would lead him to the ident.i.ty of the blackmail victim and murderer. As a tutor, he'd learned that children often invented tales; caution told him to take anything she said with a healthy dose of skepticism. Still, the possibility that she held the kev to the murders was too strong to overlook.

There were more reasons Sano had to risk stealing a moment with her. Making this effort would discharge his obligation to Wisteria, proving to both her and himself that he wasn't going to deny Noriyoshi justice because of cla.s.s considerations. And he'd begun to wonder if the Nius had indeed been involved in the murders and were playing Ogyu for a fool, using the unsuspecting magistrate to cover up their crime. Much as Sano disliked Ogyu, he came from a long line of men who would give their lives to protect their masters. He couldn't let the Nius involve Ogyu in shady business that might erupt into scandal. For once his personal desires and his professional obligations coincided. Sano peered through the ranks of mourners ahead of him, searching for Midori.

He'd spotted young Lord Niu, the chief mourner, when he caught up with the procession outside the temple, and Magistrate Ogyu among the men toward the front of the line. He'd seen Lady Niu leading the women, her large st.u.r.dy frame easily recognizable. But the other women all looked alike in their white kimonos and caps. How would he ever find Midori among them? Even if he did, when and how could he speak to her alone?

The procession pa.s.sed beneath the arch of a toru gate, descended a flight of stone steps, and halted on the riverbank. There, in the middle of a huge tree-bordered square, under a thatched roof supported by pillars, waited a pit filled with wood. Beside it, tables held offerings of food and drink; braziers sent up fragrant smoke to mingle with the incense and the fresh river breeze. The mourners arranged themselves around the pit. Sano took advantage of the general shift to work his way forward, toward the Niu women grouped near the edge of the pit.

The men with the birds set down the cage and opened it. In a flurry of wings and song, the birds soared skyward, their flight symbolizing the soul's release from earthly life and ascent to the spirit realm. Sano saw a girl who looked like Midori. As he tried to catch her eye, the crowd shifted again, and he found himself almost within touching distance of Magistrate Ogyu. Hastily he moved back again.

The high priest began to chant to the accompaniment of the bells and drums. The mourners listened in silence. Hemmed in by the men around him, Sano surrept.i.tiously rose to his toes, pretending to watch the priest as he darted glances at the women. He found the girl he'd taken for Midori: she wasn't. He waited, hoping the funeral would end soon and knowing it wouldn't.

Finally, after more than an hour, the pallbearers placed Yukiko's coffin on top of the wood in the pit. Lord Niu stepped forward, holding a torch. He lit it at the brazier, then cast it onto the pyre.

The wood caught fire with a sound like a loud gasp of horror. Instantly a sheet of crackling, thundering flame engulfed the coffin. Black smoke rose from it. In no time at all, coffin and shroud burned away to reveal Yukiko's naked body-small, delicate, seated upright, head shaven. The flames blistered and darkened her flesh. Her face became a grotesque black mask as her features dissolved against her skull. Bodily fluids hissed and sputtered as the heat evaporated them. The smell of burning meat filled the air. Ashes wafted toward the river.

Sano watched with some of the same feelings he always experienced at funerals: sorrow over a life prematurely ended; instinctive revulsion at the horrible sight of a burning body; and a growing relief as the purifying fire did its work. Since he hadn't known Niu Yukiko, he felt no grief. Instead, an acute sense of duty toward the dead girl's spirit stirred in him. For as life ends with death, so do love and hate, happiness and sorrow, pain and pleasure. But Sano believed that truth and justice could transcend death as other worldly concerns do not.

I will find your killer, he promised Yukiko silently.

As he waited for the flames to consume Yukiko's body, Sano covertly studied the faces of the mourners. Maybe he would see guilt or glee or some other inappropriate emotion on one of them. Something that would identify its owner as a murderer. But he was disappointed. In accordance with funeral custom, no one displayed the slightest emotion. Lady Niu wore her usual serenity like part of her costume. Sano thought he detected restlessness in Lord Niu, but it might have been the product of his imagination, or of the way the flames cast shifting patterns of light across the young man's face.

With a sudden loud crash, the roof sheltering the pyre collapsed in a ma.s.s of flame and smoke. The mourners drew back. Sano moved with them and managed to extricate himself from the men surrounding him. He worked his way around the perimeter of the circle of mourners until he was directly behind the family group, with six or seven rows of people between him and the Niu women. He still couldn't find Midori. But standing beside him was someone familiar.

She wore a plain cotton kimono that identified her as a servant. Her face was unremarkable, with a rather flat nose and small mouth. Except for her red and swollen eyes, he would not have recognized her as O-hisa, the weeping maid he'd seen at the Nius' mansion.

"O-hisa," he whispered, touching her sleeve to get her attention. "Where is Miss Midori?"

The maid looked at him, her face blank and uncomprehending.

Ahead of him, Sano could see Lady Niu's back, uncomfortably close. "We met two days ago at the house," he explained hastily. "I'm Yoriki Sano-do you remember me? I must speak to Miss Midori. It's very important. Can you show me where she is?"

Now recognition spread across O-hisa's face. Her eyes and mouth rounded into circles of fear. "No... I'm very sorry... I... "

Stammering more barely intelligible words, she made a move as if to run toward the gate.

Sano blocked her path. "Please," he began.

O-hisa turned and plunged into the crowd of mourners. They stirred, uttering murmurs of surprise and annoyance.

Sano stared in dismay at the turmoil she'd left in her wake: women beating her dusty footprints from their hems, the old man she'd knocked to the ground. Appalled by the spectacle he'd created, he wondered if he should try to resume his place among the men, or leave before Lady Niu or Magistrate Ogyu saw him. He hesitated too long. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He turned and found himself face to face with Lady Niu's manservant. Eii-chan's homely visage remained rigidly impa.s.sive, except for the warning glint in his small eyes. Offend my masters and die by my hand, they seemed to say.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lady Niu herself was advancing on him, regal and furious. Three of her husband's retainers accompanied her, stern and hostile in their black garments. The crowd parted to let them pa.s.s. The priest's chanting trailed off; the bells and drums stopped. Only the fire's crackle continued unabated. Panic clutched Sano. What would she do to him? He flung a wild glance toward the male mourners and saw heads turning his way, Ogyu's among them. And what would his superior do upon learning that Sano had not only disobeyed orders but disrupted Yukiko's funeral as well? Eii-chan and the other samurai surrounded him. He stood his ground, hoping Lady Niu wouldn't reveal his presence to Ogyu by saying his name.

She didn't, maybe because she didn't remember it, or because she didn't want her friends to know that a police commander had crashed her stepdaughter's funeral. When she reached him, all she said was, "I warned you once, and I won't warn you again," in a low tone meant only for him. Her lovely eyes flashed in anger- and, strangely, fear. She turned to her manservant. "Eii-chan, see this man to the gate."

Before she'd finished speaking, Eii-chan had already taken the initiative, moving with that odd swiftness he had. He stepped around Sano. Fierce pain streaked up Sano's arm to his shoulder as Eii-chan seized it, bent it behind him, and wrenched it upward. Only his instinctive self-control enabled him to turn a scream into a gasp. Only his desire to keep Ogyu from seeing him-if the magistrate hadn't already-made him bow his head instead of struggling to free himself. Nearly fainting from the pain, he stumbled out of the murmuring crowd with Eii-chan propelling him forward. He was dimly aware of Lady Niu offering apologies to the mourners, and the priests resuming the service. Shame increased his distress as he sensed the hundreds of curious onlookers witnessing his humiliation.

As soon as they reached the steps-too far for anyone to recognize him-Sano began to fight. He trod hard on Eii-chan's insteps and jabbed his free elbow into the manservant's stomach. Eii-chan didn't react or make a sound. Although Sano suspected that a man of feeling and spirit lived within Eii-chan, he seemed made of stone: hard, numb, silent. Was he mute, or did he simply choose not to speak? He half-pushed, half-lifted Sano up the steps, twisting his arm. This time Sano cried out in spite of himself.

"Wait, Eii-chan." It was a man's voice, behind them.

Eii-chan paused at the gate and turned, swinging Sano around with him, but not releasing Sano's arm. Through a haze of pain, Sano saw young Lord Niu standing at the top of the steps, small but proud in his black robes.

"You can't stay away from us, can you, Yoriki Sano?" Lord Niu said. He came forward and leaned against the gatepost. "Now I think you can see that interfering in our affairs can result in very unpleasant consequences. Yes? No?"

Sano, biting back another cry of pain, couldn't reply.

Then, almost as an afterthought, Lord Niu said, "Oh, Eii-chan. You can let him go now."

Eii-chan released Sano. Sano gingerly flexed his shoulder and arm. Nothing seemed broken, but his muscles ached. Anger flared inside him-not at Eii-chan, whom he regarded more as an animated tool than as a man, but at Lord Niu, who could have ended his misery sooner, but had deliberately chosen to let him suffer. The malicious glint in his eyes confirmed this. Sano wanted to rail against the insult, to hurl accusations and threats at Lord Niu: "Someone in your household killed Noriyoshi and your sister, and I'll prove it!" But he held his peace, reminding himself of Tokugawa Ieyasu's words: "Look upon wrath as thine enemy." He couldn't let anger make him careless.

"What is it you want with us now?" Lord Niu asked.

Swallowing his rage, Sano forced himself to lie courteously. "I only wanted to pay my respects to your family," he said.

Lord Niu let out a burst of scornful laughter. "Do you mean to tell me that you have ceased your ridiculous investigation into our private tragedy?"

"Unless I find evidence indicating that it isn't so ridiculous after all." Sano couldn't resist making a verbal counterattack. "Maybe you could give it to me?"

A momentary frown creased Lord Niu's forehead-dismay, or simple irritation? "You can't be serious. There is no such evidence, and even if there were, why would I have it?"