Shōgun

“No. He’s too much of a fool, you’ll never be able to trust him—how dare he pass on my secrets to Toranaga!—and he’ll always be in your way. As to your mother . . .” He bared his teeth. “She’s ordered to shave her head and become a nun and join a monastery outside Izu and spend the rest of her life saying prayers for the future of the Kasigis. Buddhist or Shinto—I prefer Shinto. You agree, Shinto?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Good. That way,” Yabu added with malicious delight, “she’ll stop distracting you from Kasigi matters with her constant whining.”

“It will be done.”

“Good. You are ordered to avenge the lies against me by Kosami and those treacherous servants. Soon or later, I don’t care, so long as you do it before you die.”

“I will obey.”

“Is there anything I’ve forgotten?”

Carefully Omi made sure they were not overheard. “What about the Heir?” he asked cautiously. “When the Heir’s in the field against us, we lose, neh?”

“Take the Musket Regiment and blast a way through and kill him, whatever Toranaga says. Yaemon’s your prime target.”

“That was my conclusion too. Thank you.”

“Good. But better than waiting all that time, put a secret price on his head now, with ninja . . . or the Amida Tong.”

“How do I find them?” Omi asked, a tremor in his voice.

“The old hag Gyoko, the Mama-san, she’s one of those who knows how.”

“Her?”

“Yes. But beware of her, and Amidas. Don’t use them lightly, Omi-san. Never touch her, always protect her. She knows too many secrets and the pen’s a long arm from the other side of death. She was my father’s unofficial consort for a year . . . it may even be that her son is my half brother. Eh, beware of her, she knows too many secrets.”

“But where do I get the money?”

“That’s your problem. But get it. Anywhere, anyhow.”

“Yes. Thank you. I will obey.”

Yabu leaned closer. At once Omi readied suspiciously, his sword almost out of the scabbard. Yabu was gratified that even defenseless he was still a man to beware of. “Bury that secret very deep. And listen, nephew, remain very good friends with the Anjin-san. Try to get control of the navy he will bring back one day. Toranaga doesn’t understand the Anjin-san’s real value, but he’s right to stay behind the mountains. That gives him time and you time. We’ve got to get off the land and out to sea—our crews in their ships—with Kasigis in overall command. The Kasigis must go to sea, to command the sea. I order it.”

“Yes—oh, yes,” Omi said. “Trust me. That will happen.”

“Good. Lastly, never trust Toranaga.”

Omi said with his complete being, “I don’t, Sire. I never have. And never will.”

“Good. And those filthy liars, don’t forget, deal with them. And Kosami.” Yabu exhaled, at peace with himself. “Now please excuse me, I must consider my death poem.”

Omi got to his feet and backed off and when he was well away he bowed and went another twenty paces. Within the safety of his own guards he sat down once more and began to wait.

Toranaga and his party were trotting along the coast road that circled the vast bay, the sea coming almost up to the road and on his right. Here the land was low-lying and marshy with many mud flats. A few ri north this road joined with the main artery of the Tokaidō Road. Northward twenty ri more was Yedo.

He had a hundred samurai with him, ten falconers and ten birds on their gloved fists. Sudara had twenty guards and three birds, and rode as advance guard.

“Sudara!” Toranaga called out as though it was a sudden idea. “Stop at the next inn. I want some breakfast!”

Sudara waved acknowledgment and galloped ahead. By the time Toranaga rode up, maids were bowing and smiling, the innkeeper bobbing with all his people. Guards covered north and south, and his banners were planted proudly.

“Good morning, Sire, please what can I get for you to eat?” the innkeeper asked. “Thank you for honoring my poor inn.”

“Cha—and some noodles with a little soya, please.”

“Yes, Sire.”

The food was produced in a fine bowl almost instantly, cooked just the way he liked it, the innkeeper having been forewarned by Sudara. Without ceremony, Toranaga squatted on a veranda and consumed the simple peasant dish with gusto and watched the road ahead. Other guests bowed and went about their own business contentedly, proud that they were staying in the same inn as the great daimyo. Sudara toured the outposts, making sure everything was perfect. “Where’re the beaters now?” he asked the Master of the Hunt.

“Some are north, some south, and I’ve got extra men in the hills there.” The old samurai pointed back inland toward Yokohama, miserable and sweating. “Please excuse me but have you any idea where our Master’ll wish to go?”

“None at all. But don’t make any more mistakes today.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Sudara finished his rounds then reported to Toranaga. “Is everything satisfactory, Sire? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, thank you.” Toranaga finished the bowl and drank the last of the soup. Then he said in a flat voice, “You were correct to say that about the Heir.”