A pillar halted their motion with a crash. Using all his strength, Sano heaved on the gun. Iishino’s body came up with it. Sano shoved him down again, banging his head on the stone floor. Iishino’s grip on the gun slackened. Sano jammed the barrel under his chin. Now Sano’s finger was on the curved metal trigger. He squeezed.

The world exploded. The gun recoiled against Sano’s chest with a stunning blow. His ears rang; acrid gunpowder smoke filled his lungs. Warm, wet blood covered his face, reddening his vision. He’d shot himself instead of Iishino!

Moaning, Sano scrambled off the interpreter. As his hands frantically probed his body for a wound, dizziness weakened him. He was dying … Then he felt hands on his shoulders, heard Hirata saying, “Sōsakan-sama, it’s all right. Iishino is dead; so are Nirin and the guards. You’re fine. It’s over.”

The news turned Sano’s moans into the giddy laughter of relief. He wasn’t shot; he would live. He’d won. Then he looked at Iishino. Laughter shriveled in his throat.

The interpreter lay motionless on his back, hands still clutching the gun. Below the left side of his jaw, a hole in his neck marked the bullet’s entrance. The blood had soaked his clothes, the gun, his hands, the floor—and Sano. His toothy mouth gaped in a rictus of surprise; his eyes bulged with shock. The bullet had exited through his scalp in a spray of white bone fragments, pulpy, grayish brain tissue, and still more blood.

Supreme Judge Takeda stood beside Sano. “I’ll send a report of today’s events to Edo, stating that the tribunal declares you and your retainer innocent on all counts.” The other judges murmured in grudging accord. “And you shall receive a reward for your heroic crusade against traitors who have undermined the shōgun’s authority.”

The words impinged on Sano like discordant music. Slowly he rose and surveyed the twenty-one dead. Was it justice that had been served tonight—or his self-interest? Japan and the shōgun’s regime—both of which he’d grown to hate—or his own personal code of honor? Instead of triumph, Sano felt Iishino’s blood on his skin, tasted its metallic salinity. Had he sought only justice, or revenge on his enemies? Had he selfishly sacrificed Peony, Ohira, and Old Carp to his own principles—to satisfy a craven need for adventure and moral superiority—as he had Aoi, the woman he couldn’t stop loving? How could he go on without knowing the truth about himself?

“Come on, sōsakan-sama.” Hirata took his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

34

三五