Sano marched the commander to the well at which he’d gotten the water buckets. “Out of the way,” he ordered the bearers gathered around it. Then, to Nirin: “Jump in.”

Struggling in Sano’s grip, Nirin gave an incredulous laugh. “I will not. You’re mad!”

Another jab with the sword, and he climbed onto the well’s stone rim, cursing. A hard push from Sano sent him over the edge. He disappeared down the shaft, a long scream trailing after him. There was a splash as he hit the water. His terrified cries echoed from the depths of the well. “Help! Help!”

Citizens flocked to see who’d fallen into the well. Police came and shouted for rope, for strong men to help rescue the victim.

In the confusion, Sano slipped away before anyone could stop him, and headed for the Daikoku Shrine.

31

三一

The Daikoku Shrine was located on a wooded slope near the edge of town, off the main highway leading beyond the hills. Between the double crossbeams of the torii gate, an engraved stone tablet bore the name of Daikoku, god of fortune.

Sano entered the gate along with a stream of peasant, merchant, and samurai families who had come to seek the god’s blessing during the anticipated war. He climbed a flight of stone steps to the shrine precinct, a clearing sheltered by cypress trees. A flagstone path led to the main shrine building. Worshippers clustered around refreshment and souvenir stands. A stone statue of Daikoku, plump and smiling, carried a sack of treasure and the magic mallet with which he granted wishes. He sat upon two rice bales gnawed by carved rats—his earthly messengers—amid flowers and other offerings. Priests dressed in white robes and oblong black caps mingled with the crowd. The fresh mountain air carried the sweet, musky perfume of incense. Over the children’s laughter, the clack of wooden soles, and chanted prayers, a bell rang, deep and clear. Above the city, the sun’s rays pierced the clouds like spokes of a gleaming silver fan. As Sano washed his hands in the stone ritual basin, the tranquil atmosphere of the shrine lifted his spirits. His problems seemed remote; he could almost forget that he must cause immense suffering to the man he’d come to find.

Scanning the precinct, he saw Chief Ohira standing at a stall that sold lucky figures and candy, colorful strings of origami flying cranes, which signified longevity, and wooden prayer stakes. Alone, in his somber clothing, the chief looked out of place among the brightly dressed families. As Sano approached, Ohira bought a stake. He inked one of the brushes set out for the customers’ use and wrote a prayer on the stake. Engrossed in the task, he didn’t notice Sano come up beside him.