As the soldiers converged on him, Hirata’s scattered thoughts focused into a white-hot sun of determination: He would not be locked in a cell while his master’s enemies went free. He lifted a charcoal brazier and spun around, flinging hot coals and ash at the soldiers.

They fell back, howling and clutching their faces. Madam Kihara shrieked. Over hot embers that burned through his cloth guest slippers, Hirata dashed to the door, then froze at the sight of more troops swarming into the garden. He ran back into the room, where the wounded soldiers blocked his path to the main exit.

“Stop!” they cried, grabbing at him.

The room’s side wall was translucent paper divided by thin wooden mullions. Hirata hurtled straight at it. With a splintering tear, he burst through the fragile partition. Then he was running through parlors and bedchambers, down passages. Frightened servants leapt out of his way. The troops stampeded after him. His body filmed with sweat, his heart thumping, he shot through a door and into a narrow courtyard inside the estate’s back wall. In the open gate stood the paunchy guard, long sword drawn, eyes red from the ash Hirata had thrown.

“I’ve got you now,” he said, glaring at Hirata in angry triumph.

The wall was too high and smooth to climb. Troops filled the mansion. Laughing, the guard lunged. Powered by desperation, Hirata grabbed the guard’s sword arm, then punched him in the eye. The guard yowled. Hirata slammed him against the wall and wrenched the sword away. The guard recovered, drew his short sword, and staggered between Hirata and the gate. Hirata heard the troops coming, their shouts echoing down the corridor behind him.

“Surrender,” the guard gasped out. “You can’t escape.”

He lunged again. Hirata lashed out with the captured sword. Its blade evaded the guard’s parry and slit his throat from jowl to Adam’s apple. He collapsed in a squealing, gurgling geyser of blood. Hirata dropped the soiled weapon, which would brand him a murderer to anyone who saw him carrying it. He leapt over the body and ran out the gate. As he raced down the alley, he heard the troops’ cries fade and saw no one pursuing him. He was free.

But an overwhelming sense of doom quickly eclipsed his relief. He’d killed a man. The search for him would intensify. He was unarmed, his disguise useless. How could he save Sano now, or atone for past mistakes?

28

二八