Hirata shouted back: “Before I give you the money, I want to see the sōsakan-sama.”
Lightning moved aside, pulling Wisteria with him. He jerked his head at Sano. “Go on.”
Stepping up to the window, Sano spied Hirata standing in the street, holding a cumbersome box, his face worried. He smiled in relief when he saw Sano alive and unharmed. “I had to go all the way to Tobacco Lane to get the money,” he called.
His emphatic tone suggested a hidden meaning, but Sano was baffled. He couldn’t understand why Hirata would mention Tobacco Lane, a street of tobacco shops and warehouses that had no moneylenders. Then Lightning’s sword poked his armor tunic, prodding him away from the window.
“Bring the money to the door and knock,” Lightning shouted to Hirata. “Then go home.”
“Very well,” Hirata called.
Suddenly Sano remembered an investigation that had taken him and Hirata to Tobacco Lane. Enlightenment struck him. As he comprehended Hirata’s intent, three loud knocks on the door echoed through the warehouse.
Lightning hesitated, clearly wondering how to get the money and control his hostages at the same time. His breath huffed and his gaze darted with accelerating rapidity. His grip on the sword and on Wisteria’s collar tightened. Sano saw the gangster’s quandary urging him toward more violence instead of rational action. Wisteria shut her eyes and bunched up her face, as if she anticipated a fatal lash of the blade.
“We’ll all go downstairs,” Sano said, thinking fast about how to help Hirata’s plan succeed. “You can hold onto Wisteria, while I bring in the money.”
After an instant of deliberation, Lightning said, “All right. You go first.”
Sano descended; Lightning and Wisteria followed several steps behind him. They all crossed the warehouse. Sano unbarred and slowly opened the door, while his companions waited in the shadows. His pulse raced; expectation thrummed along his nerves. The wooden chest sat outside the door. Sano bent to lift the chest. Then came a scrambling noise on the roof.
“What’s that?” Lightning exclaimed. Panic edged his voice.
Turning, Sano saw the gangster spin in a circle, his gaze on the ceiling, as he clutched Wisteria against him. The skylights opened, raised by Sano’s troops, who’d climbed onto the warehouse. In dropped several dark objects the size and shape of turnips. Each had a short, flaming tail. As they fell, Lightning cried out and ducked. The objects plopped to the floor around him. Sano lunged for Wisteria. He caught hold of her hand, just as the bombs exploded with multiple thudding noises.
Dense, yellowish smoke billowed, clouding the air. Lightning emitted an enraged, terrified yowl. Wisteria shrieked. Sano tugged her toward the doorway, a rectangle of brightness that was barely visible through the smoke. But a hard yank from the opposite direction tore her hand out of his. Sulfurous fumes stung Sano’s eyes, obscured his vision. Though he heard Hirata calling him and Lightning and Wisteria coughing, he could see nothing but smoke. He wished he’d managed to remove Wisteria from the building and let the smoke flush out Lightning. His lungs constricted, and coughs wracked him; yet he couldn’t go and leave Wisteria in here with the gangster.
“Help!” she screamed, retching.
Covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve, Sano groped blindly toward the sound of her. Light from the lanterns filtered through the smoke clouds. Sano’s instincts blared a sudden warning. He crouched, and Lightning’s blade flashed out of the smoke, over his head. More pleas for help came from Wisteria; Lightning alternated curses and wheezes. Blurred shapes flailed like ghosts in the smoke, while the blade whistled around Sano. He fell to the floor, rolled away. Wisteria loosed a scream of agony.
Loud, splintering crashes reverberated as Sano’s troops hacked the window shutters open with axes. While the fresh air dispersed the smoke, Sano clambered to his feet in the center of the room. He saw Lightning lurch toward the door, choking and gagging, just as his detectives charged through it, their swords drawn. Lightning staggered into their midst, wildly swinging his blade in a desperate bid to escape or die trying. Sano launched himself at the gangster. He tackled Lightning around the knees. Lightning crashed to the floor. Sano’s men fell upon him and wrested his sword away. He struggled like a captured beast, uttering incoherent protests.
“Are you all right?” Hirata asked Sano.
Nodding, Sano panted from exertion and coughed up phlegm as he stood. “Where’s Wisteria?” he said.
Then he heard a moan, and saw her. She lay on her side, torso raised on her elbows, inching toward the door. Pain wrenched her features. Her legs were soaked with blood, injured by Lightning. Now pity overrode Sano’s ill will against Wisteria. He and Hirata walked over to her. When she saw them, she strained her body and groaned with a last, futile heave toward freedom. Then she collapsed, weeping in defeat.
35
Hirata-san!” Midori ran out on the veranda of the Edo Castle women’s quarters as he hurried up the path toward her. In her red silk kimono, she was a warm spot of color in the chill, cloudy afternoon and drab garden. “What has happened?”
“Lightning has been convicted of murdering Lord Mitsuyoshi and beating the prostitute to death,” Hirata said, glad to bring her good news at last. Two days had passed since the capture of the gangster, and Hirata had just witnessed the trial at Magistrate Ueda’s court. “Wisteria has been convicted as an accomplice to murder and treason.”
He joined Midori on the veranda, and as he described the events that had led to the trial, Midori regarded him with wide-eyed awe. “What will become of Wisteria and Lightning?” she said.
“They’re on their way to the execution ground,” Hirata said. “Their severed heads will be displayed by the Nihonbashi Bridge as a warning to other would-be criminals.” Tokugawa law had meted out harsh justice for the couple’s serious crimes.
“Are you safe now?” Midori asked anxiously.
“Yes. The sōsakan-sama has been exonerated. He and I have met with the shogun. His Excellency apologized for doubting Sano-san and welcomed him back into favor.” Overwhelnled by relief, Hirata said, “The threat to everyone in his retinue has passed.”
“I’m so happy for you!” Midori smiled, her eyes shining. “And your smoke bomb was such a clever idea.”
Hirata had used a tactic once used against him and Sano in Tobacco Lane. He was proud of his quick thinking, and glad Sano had taken his cue to get Lightning downstairs for capture. Then Midori’s face fell; she sighed in desolation.
“But we’re no closer to marriage,” she mourned.
“Oh, yes we are,” Hirata said, because the revelations in the murder case had unexpectedly produced a solution to their problems. “Come on. We’re going into town. I’ll explain on the way.”
Soon, Hirata and a squadron of detectives were seated in a teahouse in Nihonbashi. Lord Niu entered with his guards and his chief retainer, Okita.
“Greetings,” Hirata said, bowing to Lord Niu. “Thank you for coming.”
“Your invitation said you were ready to discuss a surrender.” Lord Niu regarded Hirata with contempt. “Does this mean you’ve come to your senses?”
“Indeed it does,” Hirata said politely.
Lord Niu and his men sat. Hirata beckoned a maid, who poured cups of sake for everyone.
“It’s high time you realized that your campaign against me is futile,” Lord Niu said.
“Your clan is far more powerful than mine,” Hirata said, feigning meekness. “And you’re too clever for me to conquer by treachery.”
Gloating satisfaction swelled the daimyo’s countenance. “How right you are.”