Autumn Leaves: A Novel of Old Japan

By Everitt Foster

Four stories about one story.

There has been a series of fires plaguing Edo, the city of paper and wood, and the fire chief, Kiru Jindo, has been unable to solve the crimes. Prince Juzo is becoming impatient. When a young ronin named Iga-no-Nikki arrives in the city he soon finds himself with arson. It appears Kiru has found a scapegoat. Nikki's only hope is to find the real arsonist before he is forced to reclaim his honor by committing seppuku.

At the same time, two women in Kiru's life are moving in opposite directions, and it is tearing him apart. Akashi, the beautiful geisha Kiru has known since childhood and wants to marry, has set her sights on a career in the theater. She loves him, but cannot marry him and keep her place in society as a geisha. And Kiru's wealthy father has tasked him with finding a suitable husband for his younger sister Osan. She is smart, educated, creative and lovely; a catch for any man. But she is of the merchant class and her father wants her to marry into the samurai class. Osan is a dreamer, lost in her own world, lost in the books she reads on courtly love and soon finds herself falling for Nikki.

Equal parts romance, mystery, adventure and pastoral "Autumn Leaves: A Novel of Old Japan" takes us through medieval Japan and shows the reader the lost world where honor and shame ruled as strongly as the shogunate. It is a world full of humor and horror, beauty and cruelty, science and superstition. This is a story that shows a world that has captured the imagination of millions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Everitt Foster
• Release date: Dec 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310387296

Everitt Foster

Everitt Foster is a non-practicing scientist, geological denomination, who converted to military history after undergrad, but has since entirely lapsed from academia. In 2010, after nearly a decade of almost solitary confinement in a tiny office with a pack of red pens and stacks of undergraduate essays, he lost faith and made a daring escape from graduate school. Eyewitnesses report that the breakout involved fending off a brilliant adviser, hurdling three committee members, and evading a clever dissertation. It also involved losing all but four friends. His most interesting publication involved Michael Foucault and Dexter Morgan; use your imagination, or read Dexter and Philosophy: Mind Over Spatter. He enjoys the outdoors (rocks and astronomy), the indoors (books and video games) and various mental pharmaceuticals (again, use your imagination). He lives in Texas. Mostly harmless. If found do not feed before midnight, caffinate regularly, and enjoy the ride.

Book preview

Autumn Leaves: A Novel of Old Japan

by

Everitt Foster

This book is a work of fiction. References to historical events, places and people are inevitable. However, the context is in no way intended to be defamatory. The story and the characters are a creation of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Special thanks to my mom for putting up with me far more than she should have. To my brothers Chris and Brock (we miss you) and to my grandmother, thanks for all the love and support.

Second edition edited by Brian Spreng, he can be contacted at [e-mail] and is open to edit works by other authors.

You can contact me at [e-mail] or follow me on twitter @everittfoster

Cover created by Everitt Foster using GIMP and brushes by ObsidianDawn

Autumn Leaves: A Novel of Old Japan

© Copyright 2013 first edition; 2015 second edition

Jason Everitt Foster

For my brothers;

Here as there,

Now as then

And for A.I.H.

Table of Contents

Book I – Like Lightning from Mount Shumi

Preface: In the Days of Rice and Wine

A Study in Embers

A Chemistry of Stars

The First Transit of Venus

Perigee

The Second Transit of Venus

Book II – A Tiger in Autumn

An Occultation in the Heavens

Moon Viewing from the Cloud Forest

The Princess Blossom

The Mountain at the End of Time

Shadows from a Lingering Sun

Emberstorm

Sunshowers

Appendix

The Story of how Autumn Leaves Came to Be

Author Biography

BOOK I – LIKE LIGHTNING FROM MOUNT SHUMI

PREFACE: IN THE DAYS OF RICE AND WINE

The events of Autumn Leaves occurred generations before the birth of those alive today. The first Tokugawa, Ieaysu, had ordered Nihon’s daimyos to stage elaborate processions each year from their home provinces to the new capital of Edo. They were to spend one year living with their families in the Otimachi district, which Edo Castle overshadowed, and one year in their home provinces enforcing Shōgunate law. This created a constant ebb and flow of daimyo from the country to the city. Arrivals in Edo increased in the warm months, when fireflies arrived at sunset and children paused their adventures to emulate their parents’ joyful and fading moments in the presence of the sakura.

In the land of rock, rice, and wood, a daimyo’s wealth was measured in koku. One koku of rice was enough to feed one man for one year. According to the imperial accountants, small provinces could produce two hundred thousand koku each year, while larger provinces could produce nearly one million koku. Using traditional methods of rice farming, a single man could farm about one koku of rice each season. When one rice paddy failed, the adjacent paddies were in danger from fungi and insects. Starvation followed spring freezes and neglected crops. Central control and dutiful obedience created a daimyo’s wealth, but the wealth did not stay with the daimyo. Some he spent on village maintenance and some he spent on the daimyo’s court; but most he spent in Edo.

The arrival of the daimyo was a marvelous event, and their departure was an occasion for well-wishing and gift-giving. Daimyo held feasts and commissioned large and elaborate carriages of the finest woods: willow for the seats, cypress for the wheels, teak for the moldings and the decorations, and pine from the mountains near Nara and Kyoto, which was older than memory, for the frames. There were celebrations with music and theater. Troupes of players appeared as if by divine fiat when a daimyo was preparing to leave his province, offering traditional songs and old stories for the people whose lords were departing. Only the humblest of daimyo from the Northern Islands departed without providing gifts to monks and purses to shrines. Consider These poor men, who most required protection, were forced to chance the Five Routes of Edo without the protection of the gods.

The daimyo brought a cohort of samurai with them, who often numbered more than one thousand. A procession could shake the ground, pollute a river, and clear an area of its food and game as surely as an army could when marching on its stomach. To prevent war, Sun-Tzu’s descendants were rumored to have written, the army needed to remain large and vigilant, even in times of peace.

Each samurai possessed a sword that he had inherited from his father, and which he would pass down to son. Armor was tailored to particular samurai, however, and was created by skilled armorsmiths. Bamboo and hemp connected the black-iron helmets and chest-plates. This impressive armor, which included masks shaped to resemble the faces of respected goblins and local demons, was vital to ensuring that a daimyo could be recognized on the battlefield. By this time, though, the battles of the old world were dissolving into rumors and stories.

Upon arriving in Edo, the daimyo would acquire new furniture in the style of the year. Their wives and children, mandatory and permanent guests of the Shōgun, would instruct Edo’s multitude of artists and craftsmen in the most beautiful and fitting styles. The women of Yoshiwara came and went with the arrival of winter, and they determined the meaning of beauty. Skilled men produced too many beautiful things for anyone to remember, and these men could feed their families well. Thus, a transient life was a flowering in Edo.

In the year that Nikki and Kiru played their great game, delicate was considered more beautiful than strong, though frugal eyes observed that delicate was preferred every year. People preferred the delicacy of lace to the strength of silk, and the smoothness of teak to the graininess of pine. A new screen painter was working, though only for the finest of families. The wives of the daimyo were sure to inform them of this, and should they fail, the daughters of the daimyo would remind them of the importance of this or that new artist.

The Shōgun’s father was friends with the noble family of Aki Province, who were from the Asano clan. They were relatives of the infamous Asano Nagori, leader of the 47 Ronin (a story from the old world, for later). Asano Kiba Rogan did not live in Aki, but on the southern island of Kyushu in the port city near Dejma Island, and helped to manage the nanban trade on behalf of the Imperial Household. His family and his post made him the target of many plots and schemes over the course of his long life.

The Shōgun had requested that His Majesty, Pince Juzo, plan a special celebration to welcome home Asano Kiba Rogan. He would arrive in Edo in two weeks’ time, during the Fifth Month and on the eve of an Empty Moon. At the Shōgun’s insistence, the Prince had initiated a city-wide effort to lay stone foundations in the most important districts. During the excavation, the imperial architects had suggested laying new sewage channels under the city and lining them with polished stone. The Prince had been enthusiastic and had run the idea past the Imperial Accounting Office. To pay for the stone foundations, he was drawing funds from the three million koku that the Shōgun had allocated to the Imperial Household for the year. If a small loan were taken against next year’s rice production, his accountants advised him, the sewage channels could be afforded as well. The Prince had been happy to undertake this additional endeavor for his people.

A STUDY IN EMBERS

Birds rustled the gold-tinted leaves and shook the hanging fruit of the trees lining either side of the Tokaido. The night was retreating, giving way to shadows of winter clouds and a scarlet sunrise. There was a rustle and a snap, and Iga no Nikki dropped to the ground from a pankon branch. He stuffed fist-sized honey oranges into his pack, replacing his lemons and pomegranates, then tied his pack as tightly as he could. One orange would not fit, so he took a bite and hung on with his teeth as the juice ran down his scruffy chin. He peeked his head around and listened, hearing neither horses nor carts, not even in echo. The evergreens were too dense to see more than a few paces from the road, but in the rising light, he could see a peculiar tree whose trunks twisted like two dancers embracing one another, moving to a flawless cadence set by the Heavens.

When he felt secure, he rushed back to the Tokaido, racing the sunrise. Hunters often sought game birds on behalf of their masters on beautiful mornings like this one. Though a ronin could claim fruit as a tax from farmers, he did not want to quarrel. He was weak from eating no meat or fish in a month, and he wanted to conserve the blade of his old sword. His whetstone was too small to use on anything but a dagger.

The southwestern gate into Edo was tinted black, but the striations of its pine grain could still be seen. It was three stories tall and towered over the city, except for the castle and the fire watch posts. When Nikki approached, he was stopped by guards brandishing pikes and wearing black iron armor with red and white markings. They stopped everyone entering the city: farmers going to market with their carts and young women traveling alone – even itinerant monks. All travelers were expected to show their papers, which were stamped with the official seal of each station on the Tokaido they had passed through on their way to their predetermined destinations. Anyone who could not account for part of his or her journey was taken into the Shōgun's custody by the doshin. After that, few could report on what happened to those with faulty documentation.

Now it was his turn to face the guards.

A guard removed his green and blue mask, which was molded into the shape of a fierce, hateful goblin. His face was young, but it already it showed signs of shaping itself to the mask.

Travel papers, the guard commanded.

Nikki showed them.

From Iga?

Nikki nodded.

You've not come far in a month. How does one respond to such a challenge? Most people can travel from Kyoto to Iga in a month. You've done half as much. What did you do? Where did you stop? Did you leave the road?

Nikki looked at the paper and tried to point out the word vendetta, but he couldn't see it. I've obtained permission to pursue a vendetta against a man who has slandered my name, he said. I believe he is in Edo. All signs on the road point to the Yoshiwara district.

And how do you plan to support your vendetta?

I am looking for work. I stopped at farms and houses on my way to ask for food and drink. I also stopped from time to time at temples and shrines to pray for a job, though mostly when I though the priests could offer me some food.

You're a ronin… you been using your sword? the guard asked, grabbing Nikki’s sword and shaking the blade from its scabbard.

No. I’ve only used my short sword to cut down firewood from time to time, Nikki said.

What kind of work are you doing?

Whatever I can. I can teach swordsmanship and some medicine. I can hire out my sword, and I’ve saved up a little mon. Nikki shook his small, painted inrō medicine box, which he had tied in his sash, and it made a clanging noise of metal against pine. I can pay for myself til’ I find work.

We don't have room for any more vagrants, as you can see. The guard pointed to the imposing two-and-a-half-story walls snaking through Edo. People come here to find work, and they end up living under the walls and begging. We don't need no more beggars. No more. You understand? You find work by next week or we'll kick you back out.

Thank you, Nikki said, as the young guard stamped his passport, marked an expiration date, and scribbled down some numbers, which Nikki could not see, on his official form. The guard pushed him through to the interior and moved on to the next traveler.

The stone road wound through the city. Nikki made his way at a farmer's pace, though the chōnin bumped him as they hustled past. These were craftsmen of the working-class machi of Kyobashi, and they wore dark clothes suitable for labor. The women were dressed much more brightly, and their kimonos shined as brightly as the sun. The beauty of the women stirred in him a desire for the sacred. He continued through the city's inner gates, repeating the stamp-and-mark ritual at each, until he came to the stone bridge called Nihonbashi. This was also the name of the machi that straddled the Sumida River, which the bridge spanned.

At the center of the bridge was a circle inscribed with kanji that Nikki could not make out, but which read: here begins the first step of the Tokaido. He stood on the inscription for a moment before being removed by the two men in blue and white who were directing foot traffic with hooked batons. Obliging the men, he sat on the edge of the bridge and paired a Ponken with his blade, discarding the rough orange skin into the slow blue below.

He watched the river purl around the rocks, looping braids of waves together before it disappeared on the horizon. He thought about the water and the sun cascading down on him, and about his stolen lunch. The mountain's shadow darkened the lingering fog on one side of the bridge. On the other side, the Mitsukoshi department store, which was soon to be four stories tall, blocked the morning sunlight until just before midday, when Nikki finished his lunch. As heat heralded the arrival of the sun’s rays, he tossed the pit of his orange into the river. He inhaled the city-colored scent of the new spring: lavender, lilac and fish from he knew not where. Night comes fast before summertime, and the March frost is long, but he was overflowing with warmth here.

Copper scraps in a medicine box can fool a busy guard, but the wizened palm of shopkeeper's hand would not mistake them for money. His body was tired, and he slept on cold stone bed under his first Edo moonrise.

The Mitsukoshi was nearly one hundred years old, and it was famous from the northern shores of Nihon to Dejma Island. It was even famous among the primitive Hokkaido natives in the north. It was less crowded and less beautiful than Nikki had imagined on the Tokaido, though. Its cotton and silk felt no different between his fingers than the cotton and silk in Iga had. This should not have surprised him, he thought, but he held fast to the Mitsukoshi’s promise like a man returned to his father's home in search of the weather-beaten toy drum, long forgotten in the rush of childhood. He let a kimono slip from his hand and turned around when a woman's voice shocked him from behind.

Something for your wife, sir? she asked. We get multiple shipments from Kyoto every week. Let me show you this darling print in golden silk. I assure you it is the latest fashion.

No… No thank you, Nikki stammered. I need… I want… I'm not married. But I would like to talk to your manager about a job. I have come to town to work here.

I'm sorry. You can't just walk in and say 'I'm going to work here.' That is not how you obtain a job. Haven't you ever… no you probably haven't had a job before, she said, looking at his sword.

I've worked before. I've had to work all my life, he said.

We can't hire anyone right now, she explained. When construction is complete, we can look at putting more people to work. Okay?

Nikki hesitated before answering. He thought about his pack and how little he had left. He asked her where he could find lodging for the night, and she pointed him to the Yoshiwara district, which was north of Nihonbashi. He asked how much an inn would cost.

About 20 mon per night. If you can't afford that, maybe try a whorehouse. They are all over the Yoshiwara district. She pointed across the bridge.

Thank you, I'm very grateful for your assistance. And please, forgive my impatience. It was from eagerness, not a lack of manners. You understand, I hope?

He made his way across the bridge and approached the red terracotta gates that obscureda world suspended as if by a divine rope above the mechanical workings of daily Edo.

Girls in pink and white kimonos walked by, accompanied by men who held their arms. They did not walk like women, but floated like the gods' messengers through a world created for their graceful bodies. They carried the most elegant fans and wore flawless face paint, smiling freely. He saw black painted teeth against white and red lips, and he felt his muscles squeeze the air from his lungs before they freed him to breathe again.

On both sides of the street, black lacquered posts held balconies above the verandas of buildings. These establishments were different from any he had seen in the mountains or in the post towns on the Tokaido. Women’s' bodies cast shadows on the paper windows of one building. Hands stretched outwards, touching each other, and shadows crashed into one another like a dark waves in a sea of candlelight.

Men in pants and tight jackets colored like children’s toys threw torches back and forth across the street while another man rode between them on a horse, dodging the fire. An audience applauded and the man on horseback stood up and took off his hat. Gesturing to the theater stage set up on one corner of the nearby intersection, he invited the people to see for themselves the wonders of the old world. Only ten mon per person! he promised.

Nikki’s wooden sandals tracked mud up the wooden sidewalk and onto the veranda of a brothel called The Vermilion Moon. He spoke to a woman who told him that he could get a girl for a whole night for a minimum cost of fifteen mon per hour.

But I don't have that much, and I need a room for the night, Nikki replied. Can you rent me a room until I find work?

Not a chance! You nuts? You know what we do in those rooms?

Yes, I'm very familiar with women and establishments like yours, ma'am, but that isn't my main concern. And I don't see how you can afford to lose a customer by not trading for a room when you can.

Am I supposed to let you sleep on the bed and tell a paying client to ‘get to it’ right next to you? said the old woman. Go on! Get out of here if you're not gonna spend any money! Broke ronan everywhere... no sense of honor or dignity.

Nikki walked to several other brothels and faced similarly hostile remarks from their madams. He could not rent a room for the night, not even from one house that was completely empty. As the evening drew on and the streets faded, Nikki, imitating a drunk, wandered down a dark alley where no one could see him.

He unfurled his bag and put on a pair of gloves, which were dark blue like water under the faintest rays of moonlight. He climbed one of the terracotta walls lining the alley. Below him, several doshin gathered to chat and smoke while they passed the night watching the remaining girls walk home. They made comments about the price under their breath. As soon as the doshin wandered off, Nikki leapt to a nearby wooden roof and landed on his toes, avoiding the thatch and producing barely an echo in the building below. He unrolled his mat close to a tower to protect him from the cold sea wind, then wrapped himself in a warm, midnight-colored cloak.

In the middle of the night, Nikki was awakened by the clanging of bronze bells in the distance. He heard yelling and footsteps below. He lay still until he was sure there were no doshin watching, then he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, following the crowd.

He smelled an unfamiliar fire, which gave off wood smoke tainted with a bitter scent. A lacquer shop was ablaze. The crowd gathered around to pass buckets of water from the distant river. Some men made a cushion of their kimonos beneath the upper window and yelled for a woman in the window to throw down her children. Nikki reasoned that the lacquerer lived above his shop, and that the woman and children were his family. He tried to stay as far back as possible so that he would remain unseen outside of the firelight.

The bells he had heard sounded as if they were approaching. Horses with white saddles and red bridles appeared, pulling a cart loaded with water barrels and hoses.

The firemen riding the horses jumped down and connected the hoses together, while two more firemen inserted cranks into an iron bucket. Another young fireman threw one end of the hose into the river, while two more pointed the hose at the house. Others pushed the chosin, the townspeople, away from the building.

A young man, who was tall and thin with wavy black hair, remained on his horse. He yelled orders at the other firemen, who were nearly twice his age. Though they seemed to almost work on their own, he continued to give orders.

A crew of five firemen attached ropes tied with hooks to the buildings on either side of the lacquer shop and secured the ends of the ropes to a ring at the center of a cart, which was drawn by six horses. They waited for the young man's order.

Jindo, may we do it? We've no time to lose.

Jindo turned his horse, checking to see that the ropes were secured and that the horses and their driver were ready. He nodded, and a word barely escaped his mouth.

That will have to do, said a fireman, and the driver snapped his whip over the team of horses.

The horses thrusted forward, and the ropes snapped them back. Again they thrusted, and again they were snapped back. With each thrust and snap, the building yawed closer to the ground. Men rushed to the other side to push it down.

The fire is almost out! You don't need to do it! the owner yelled.

The team did not listen.

The owner protested to Jindo Kiru, who he knew to be the fire chief. Make them stop! Give your men the order to stop and save my house!

He was too late. The house was coming down.

We had to, said the fire chief to the man. He signaled to the firemen and the driver to attach the ropes to the house on the other side.

The lacquerer rushed to Kiru's horse and protested. It's almost out! You need to stop the Metsuke, Jindo!

The pumps continued to turn on the hose wagon. Even though the lacquerer's shop was nearly in ashes, kindling jumped through the night air and landed on the street. One piece landed on Kiru's horse, which jumped. He could not catch himself.

Do you see these? Kiru demanded of the lacquerer. They will burn your house and all of the other houses around you. He threw the orange and red sliver of wood onto the muddy ground.

The man lowered his head and wept as his house came down. He put his hands around his children and pushed them to his wife. We will go to my father's house, he said, walking away.

Nikki kept his distance and kept his head close to the roof, hoping the crowd would break soon. It was almost morning and he was on the eastern side of a fortified district wall.

Nikki hurried across the rooftops, dodging the incoming rays of the morning sun and running lightly, feeling the ceiling beams with his feet. He saw a bamboo pole. He secured his bag and sword, braced the pole against the wall, and slid down into an alley just before the light caught him. The city was awake and crowds worried and whispered when they heard there had been another fire.

Nikki stopped one of the firefighters as he rushed by on his horse and asked him whether there was room for a ronin in the Edo Fire Brigade.

That is something you'll have to take up with your master, the fireman replied. We've been trained to fight fire since we were old enough to hold a bucket.

Nikki spent the rest of the morning asking for work across the Yoshiwara district. The shops were busy, but there was no work. He thought for a moment. They won't hire me when they see the sword, he thought to himself. Shopkeepers know they cannot ask, never mind order, a samurai, even a ronin, to sweep up the floor. If a ronin cannot remove his sword and hide it, perhaps he can use it to obtain work.

He took his last persimmon and held it in both hands, looking at it as people hurried by him to tea, noodles, or work. He put the fruit back in his bag.

The crowds had whispered in hushed tones all afternoon. The city was busy, but mute. It seemed that no unnecessary word had passed a single lip that day. The bells rang-out the hour from time to time, freezing the silence in the air for a heartbeat and reminding the people that the evening was coming. Nikki asked another man without work what spirit had descended last night.

We have given our offerings to the goddess Kannon and asked that we be spared her wrath, said the merchant, for the Shōgun act against her sons. But the spirits still come. Some men stay awake all night watching the skies and the streets. Some have heard the goblins outside of their doors and on their rooftops. Last night, people even saw spirits setting fires. At first we thought the recent fires were the work of an arsonist. Men were captured and hung, but the fires continued. Then we prayed and burned offerings to the goddess. The fires still continue.

As Nikki left the shop, he stopped and turned to the man. So, you believe you are being punished by the goddess for the Shōgun's isolation of the Emperor and the Prince, then.

I believe she will require blood to make up for the Shōgun’s denial of her sons’ divinity.

Nikki rushed to the lacquer street in the Ginza trade district. He knocked on the door and begged entrance from the old woman who answered. She was well-dressed and had gray in her hair. He followed her to her husband, to whom he introduced himself as Iga no Nikki. The man, also gray around the temples and with hands stained black and gray in their leathery wrinkles, introduced himself.

My name is Gohei. I am the head of the lacquerer's guild in Edo. Yes, you are correct. What is the proposition you have for us?

Nikki spoke, and Gohei agreed without question. He sent three of his sons to the other members of the guild. They convened at Gohei's studio and listened as Nikki made his proposal.

I am a ronin, and I have no money, Nikki began. No job. No one will hire me because by the old laws, they cannot so much as ask me to fetch a broom. Last night, your friends lost their home to an arsonist, and two more homes were lost to the Fire Brigade, he continued. How to prevent this? You've taken steps to secure the mercy of Kannon, but this has failed you. You've taken preventative measures, staying awake all night with bells in hand. And yet, Tomo, he said, pointing to the man who had lost his home in the fire of the previous night, will sleep at the temple with his wife and children for the remainder of the year. What, then, is to be done?"

I propose you give me an opportunity to prevent the fires, he concluded.

We've attempted to hire other men before, Iga no Nikki. And please, forgive my tone, but there is nothing you can do that they have not already tried.

The Shōgun's accountants, do they miss a tax day? Nikki asked. I think not. But have they paid Tomo for the loss of his home? He paused and watched as the guildsmen completed the thought for themselves.

Gohei shoved Nikki to the side. My apologies sir, but this is important. I propose that the association pay this ronin to investigate the nature and origin of the fires, not simply to stand around and watch out for gang members with torches. He and I have spoken, and he claims that he can discover the identity of the fire-starter. If he fails, we will owe him nothing, and we will have lost nothing but some rice and some fish.

The older men pulled the younger man towards them. If he has proposed this to you Gohei, why have you assumed that he is not a member of the arsonists responsible? one man asked. Do you so quickly forget the plots of the old gangs? Do you forget how our grandfathers were conned by the Nine Tale Foxes into paying protection money to the very gangsters who terrorized their shops, breaking pottery and overturning carts loaded for market?

I've not forgotten, and I would remind you that there is no payment due to the man if he fails, Gohei replied. That was my condition for his employment.

And what if he succeeds? He could require much more in exchange for the arsonist than the little we're paying him. What if he threatens to turn the creature back on us?

I don't know, said Gohei to the group. Perhaps we could. I don't know. But I do know that we receive no pity from the doshin or the Shōgun, and the Prince has little power outside his palace. We are forced into the debt of ronin. How much longer can we endure? I don't know.

Perhaps there is another solution, said Tomo. Who is to say the contract must be enforced? Can we not claim that he was executing his duty to us, as we daily execute our duty to the Shōgun and the Emperor?

The men thought for a moment.

Are we okay with this? Gohei asked. He is a samurai. It is their duty to protect us, isn't it?

The men reassured each other that, yes, it was the duty of their betters to protect them, just as it was the duty of the farmers to feed them and their duty to create beauty for the Emperor's city. And so, with a bow and a promise, they agreed to the arrangement.

Catch the arsonist and we will make you rich enough to never beg again, master or not.

Nikki agreed to discover the fire starter.

The night was quiet, and Nikki wandered through the machi in the open moonlight without wondering where he would sleep or what he would eat tomorrow. He could not see the river, but he could smell the water and the mud from blocks away. He could hear it over the stillness, too. Ginza was not Yoshiwara, he thought. The peacefulness disrupted his train of thought over and over. He was full, and that also interrupted his thoughts. He heard voices from time to time but was not alarmed. The innocent are not concerned who hears their voices. The righteous have nothing to fear.

He scaled a wall to find the voices. Balanced on the wall, which was one foot wide, twelve feet high, and white, he could see over the thatched roofs five blocks away. Gray shadows defined the crevices in the stone streets, and he heard a clicking echo from he knew not where. Once he had climbed a little higher, he could see almost the entire machi. He bounced across the roofs of houses, taking care to land on the willow wood and not the straw thatch. His feet landed silently as a newborn's breath.

The shadows were following him. He slipped along, each foot replacing the other in line with his stride. He was nearly dancing, and then he vanished. A whistle blew in the night.

Stop him! Stop him!

The machi lit up as the first tower guard ignited his pyre. Pyre after pyre ignited in watch towers across the machi, like a ricochet of marbles. The moonlight was not enough to hide him anymore.

Nikki dashed through the streets. He could hear the bells of the Fire Brigade's horses. Lights suddenly appeared in windows, and he could not disappear since every move cut some beam of light. He rushed through the Ginza machi, running on his toes and holding his swords tightly to prevent the scabbards from clanging. He ducked and dodged and spun as quickly as he could. His body was hot, as if he had a fever, and he was sweating. The wind made him shiver.

He ducked his head low in an alley as the bells approached. They were accompanied by the tromping of horses’ shoes on stone blocks. He waited until the firemen had passed, then dashed to a row of barrels propped against the wall. He took a chance and climbed up. His midnight colored body was dark against the sky, but a fireman saw him against the white plaster. The brigade turned nearly in unison and galloped for the gate.

Nikki was jumping through the Yoshiwara district. There were too many people here, and the Fire Brigade's bells and horses broke them from the district's spell. Men and women pointed out Nikki's path as he turned every new corner. His steps were meaningless under the eyes of Edo. Nikki caught his breath and ducked into an open window. Thud.

Who is that? said a girl's voice.

Someone is in here! shouted another girl.

Nikki slid open a paper door, but its wood frame ground against the wall and the two girls, young, beautiful, and naked but for the silk shawl they shared, pushed him into the hallway.

Help! Help! they yelled, as Nikki tried to push his way down the narrow red hallway.

No! I do no mean any harm! Just came in the wrong way, that's all! he exclaimed.

A large man, who was also naked, pushed aside one of the tiny girls and rushed down the hall, tackling Nikki. You are under arrest by order of the Shōgun, he said.

For what? asked Nikki.

I don't know yet, said the doshin.

Bells came close, and the heavy, wooden front door slid open. The firefighters took Nikki from the naked doshin.

We are thankful you've captured this man. He is accused of arson, one of the men said to the doshin.

Honest men don't use windows, it has been so often said, the doshin joked.

The madam thanked the doshin and the firemen for saving her girls. Ronin, you know what, they can't be trusted at all, she said. I don't know what we would have done without you here.

Hey, you think maybe a hero like me could get the evening free? asked the doshin without expectation.

The old madam faked a smile, and placing a gentle hand on the back of her girls’ waists, guided the two back to their room. Show is over, she said. Business must go on. Don't have all night.

The firemen bound Nikki's wrists and ankles with iron shackles. They took his swords and shoved him into a wooden wagon in front of a crowded Yoshiwara street. A firefighter threaded his chains through a loop bolted to the wooden platform, then locked them in place. The crowd applauded as they would have for a remarkable street performer.

Oh, I see you got the arsonist! yelled a man who had popped his head up from the crowd.

You are safe, people of Yoshiwara, said Kiru.

Wait, did you not catch him last month? I should have said you caught him... again! yelled the man to the cheers and laughter of the crowd.

The wagon turned towards the western gate as the driver snapped his whip and the horses heaved forward, dragging the wagon and its prisoner into the night. Those who had witnessed the arrest relaxed and forgot the moment as and the world glided through the dark. They concerned themselves only with those things that could be touched by the light of a candle or the light of the late winter moon.

The Imperial Palace of Edo sat on a hill, overlooking the Sumida River to the south and the bay to the east. There was a large wall of terracotta and wood. It was covered in white plaster and buttressed by a wide moat. The palace had two entrances. The first was a gate to the south that connected the palace grounds to the street via a permanent stone bridge that was fifteen feet wide. This path was blocked by a massive gate of crimson oak. The second entrance was a gate on the northern side. Though the northern gate was similar to the southern gate in height and color, a drawbridge had to be extended before anyone could pass through it. In accordance with the Shōgun's edict, the drawbridge was controlled by soldiers on the exterior of the fortress. Only an order from the Shōgun himself allowed the guards to lower the bridge. The palace was also surrounded by the Shōgun's samurai, though there were far more facing the southern wall.

Perched on the palace wall opposite the Shōgun's army were samurai in black iron armor carrying pikes that were fourteen feet long. White banners marked with red kanji were affixed to their back plates. For hundreds of years, armies of samurai had affixed such banners to their bodies to indicate their clan loyalties in battle. The banners of these samurai were not marked with the crests of the clans loyal to the Tokugawa Shōgunate, however, but with kanji that read Servant of the Son of Heaven.

From the time of Emperor Jimmu, the Imperial Court had gathered at the feet of the Divine Family to provide a memorial to the mortality of the people and bear witness to the judgments of the Emperor in matters of Heaven on earth.

A samurai entered holding a spear and wearing the ceremonial black and white armor of the empire. He stamped the spear and spoke.

On the first morning of the Third Month, the Only Imperial Court is convened under Prince Juzo, son of the Emperor, son of the Breathing God, master of earth, and he whose words give life to all the Sun touches.

The samurai stepped aside, and the black-lacquered doors slid open. The Prince entered, and the crowd of Edo's old royalty parted and bowed as he passed. Prince Juzo was dressed in green robes embroidered with a gold dragon on the left breast and a tiger on the right breast. He approached the dais and took his place on the Chrysanthemum Throne. The court did not return to their seats until the Prince was seated upon a large silk cushion raised above the floor by a sturdy bamboo table.

The Prince was not as young as his title implied. He was old enough to be a father and a husband, but he was neither. His dark hair was cropped like that of a samurai, but his face showed no signs of life in an army. He walked with a bounce and a wide gait like that of a boy still learning his balance in a schoolyard game. His arms swung at his sides. He sighed as he looked out over the crowd, wrinkled his brow, and nodded to the guards.

One of the men hurried in with a white sheet and spread it across the brown grass of the courtyard. He smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric, pinned each corner with a carved stone, and backed away respectfully. Two Buddhist priests approached the sheet and prayed over it, bowing their heads. The crowd bowed their heads with the priests. Even those who did not repeat the words in their hearts felt the sanctity of the moment.

A man with a shaved head walked in. He wore a white kimono with no markings on either the breast or the back. He carried two swords: a shotō, which was a short sword less than two feet long; and a daitō, called a katana by the army, which was a one-handed long sword with a slightly curved blade. The priests said a prayer to the man and placed a string of prayer beads over his head when he bowed. Prince Juzo ground his teeth and tapped his foot against the dais under his kimono as he waited for the prayers to end.

The man sat on the sheet facing the Prince and removed his kimono top, exposing his chest. Without waiting a moment, Juzo began.

You've been accused of seduction and theft by members of my very own court while serving the banner of Heaven as one of my own bodyguards. What am I to make of this? Am I... are we to endure your presence knowing that you've chosen to jeopardize the word of the Son of the Heavens? He looked around the room. How can our people long endure when the life-giving and world-creating words of the Divine Family can be challenged by anyone? If I say you've committed a grave crime against the people of Nihon, can you say you are an innocent man? Juzo paused before continuing. Can anyone?

The samurai waited and contemplated the moment. He inhaled the sweet cool air of the first spring morning, anticipating the taste of plums and cherries. A breeze jostled the evergreen trees in the courtyard, and buds from flowering trees waved before him. He looked at them with new eyes and saw them for the last day of his life. Then he answered without blinking.

My Lord Juzo, I did not mean to give offense when I stated my innocence. Lord Toro's accusation was untrue – this I will maintain until the last breath of my last day. You asked who could say that I am an innocent man, so I ask that you grant me the opportunity to let my actions speak for me. Let the court learn that my spirit is not corrupt, and that I am telling the truth when I declare that I have never taken more than was owed to me and have not seduced women belonging to the court. No man in this world may challenge your word, so I ask that you grant me, your servant, the opportunity to speak from the next world.

I would not deny you the opportunity to demonstrate your innocence through obedience to the long traditions of our court, Juzo said, flicking his hands at the guards. They hurried to the samurai. One unsheathed his shotō while the other took his daitō. The men and women of the court could not blink. They could not even breathe. The men's hearts were pounding, and the women hushed their children. A taiko drum tapped out a slow rhythm. The man placed his remaining sword on the sheet, looking for flaws in the blade. He found none. He took the hilt in his right hand, laid the edge against his abdomen, and felt the cold of the steel as he filled his body with breath. A pearl of blood trickled down his waist.

He willed his arm to move and forced the sword across his belly, inch by inch. His blood spilled out. He looked at the Heavens, at the sky, and at the throne. The world was a blur but he did not cry out. His body was overcome with pain, and in a moment his mind was black. He fought his eyes open and tried to search-out the color of blood on the white sheet, but his eyes would not obey and he could not see the color of his verdict.

A physician rushed over to the dying samurai as he exhaled blood from his mouth and nose. Juzo joined the physician, and both touched the blood. The physician examined the bowels. There was no blood, only feces, and the blood before the court was a good red. The court whispered innocence, but the Prince spoke.

It would appear that the color of his blood is pure and uncorrupted. Yet it is not a true red, but a corrupt red.

The physician nodded when Juzo spoke.

Members of the court felt rage in their hearts. They could see the color of the blood on the sheet. They could see the man's eyes searching, in his last moment of life, for some proof of his innocence. They saw him dip his hand into the blood and use the last of his strength to raise his hand before his face.

They had heard their Prince, in his ancient court, insist that red was not red.

The guards wrapped their friend's body in the white sheet and bound it with hempen rope. They lifted and removed him from the courtyard. Lesser servants wiped up the blood and dirt with rags, removing from the earth any trace of guilt. The drums began, and the court parted.

Jindo rose from the court and approached the throne, trying to hide his excitement. Two men led Nikki before the Prince. All bowed. The Prince scanned the papers beside him.

So, Kiru, I see you've captured the arsonist.

Yes, My Lord, this man is a ronin from the Iga province. He's been seen around town by the chōnin, and two nights ago, at the lacquer merchant's home, members of your fire brigade saw him hiding in the shadows near the river. Finally, he was apprehended by the doshin in the Yoshiwara district after scaling a machi wall to avoid a checkpoint, breaking into a licensed brothel, and accosting a man at his most vulnerable.

Well, you've certainly improved in your efforts. Do you have a confession?

No, we've been unable to obtain a confession, even after three days at the district headquarters. He's been interrogated, but he has not yet broken.

Then why are you here with him today?

Because we discovered that he was hired by the Lacquerer's Guild to protect their businesses at night. He pointed to Gohei and snapped his fingers.

The guards shoved Gohei out of the crowd and forced him before the throne.

Therefore, Kiru continued, I believe that he is working for the Lacquer's Guild. They may have set the fires themselves to defraud the Shōgun's tax collectors. They hired a man who is not a member of the gangs to set the fires so that when taxes were due, the guild could claim a loss of business to avoid paying. Notice that the fires have tended to occur at the end of every tax season, after business has been conducted but before the tax is due.

What do you have to say chōnin ? said the Prince to Gohei.

My Lord, never in my life did I do anything to be brought before you. I pay my taxes to the Shōgun, and I keep my family rolls updated at the shrine. Our guild has been the target of rumors and lies spread by other merchants in the Kyobashi district. It is dangerous business, but we should not be driven out by our own neighbors.

And did you hire this ronin?

Gohei stared at the ground. He saw small flakes of red in the earth and could smell the blood of the samurai. The smell was heavy like a weight in the cool air.

I did, he said. We did. We were going to pay the man rice and fruit for each night he worked.

So, you think there are not enough doshin protecting your machi? asked Juzo.

We wanted him to discover the fire starter.

Kiru's eyes widened. He pointed at the merchant, and he could not help but to point out the new discovery.

So, you are saying that you don't have faith in the powers of His Majesty's fire brigade?! he exclaimed. The investigation of fires has remained the province of the divine authority for over a thousand years. Even the state has not challenged the Imperial Family's dominion here.

Juzo interrupted him. You brought us an arsonist not three months ago, but the fires did not stop.

Yes, I realize my mistake.

You even managed to arrest a raccoon! Juzo said, scanning the audience and expecting a laugh. None came. When I read there was another arson arrest, I almost expected you to deliver a fox in chains, or a bag of kittens!

Yes, My Lord. I'm very sorry.

Now, what do you have to say for yourself, Iga no Nikki?

Nikki’s central Honshu accent came out when he spoke, marking him as an outsider in the Prince's court.

My Lord, I was hungry and had an idea to make a living for a few days, until I could find better work. I did not mean to endanger this man, he said, pointing to Gohei, or to lead the Fire Brigade through the city. I was afraid for my life.

So, then, you were making an honest attempt to survive? asked the Prince, leaning towards Nikki with an idea in his eyes.

Yes.

Do you think you can honestly capture the arsonist by yourself, against the resources of the Imperial Fire Brigade?

Nikki did not answer.

Juzo turned to Kiru.

You've not proven that this man is the arsonist. You've not extracted a confession. You've only demonstrated that he was hungry and poor, and that this merchant was desperate enough to hire a half-literate, mountain-wandering ronin to do your job.

Juzo stood up, and the crowd quickly bowed their heads.

And yet Chief Jindo is right, Juzo continued. Fire is the divine creative and destructive force in the universe. It has been entrusted to my family since the gods formed man in the stars and placed him on earth. You've stolen the authority I have given, with my words, to these firefighters.

Kiru smiled, confident that he was about to receive the fullness of his promised reward.

So, I propose a game.

Kiru stopped himself from throwing his head up and looking the Prince in the eye.

These are the prizes: Nikki, you will win your life. Kiru, you will win a spot at my court. Should you lose, Kiru, you will relinquish leadership of the brigade. Perhaps then you can go and sort shipping containers for your father.

Kiru felt his face flush and his skin burn.

These are the rules: Nikki, you have the resources of your social position, your sword, and whatever you've learned in the mountains. Kiru, you've the resources of the Fire Brigade and your family's position. The first one to bring me the guilty arsonist wins.

The guards remove Nikki's shackles and returned his swords. He stared at Gohei, who dodged Nikki's stare and kept his eyes on the ground as the crowd spilled from the quiet, sacred courtyard and into the sun-warmed streets of Edo.

Nikki drug his feet through the sand on the shores of the Sumida. The boardwalk was too crowded for a man walking at a good thinking speed. He pushed the pebbles back and forth with his feet, tracing a pattern. He wondered about the people of Edo. He remembered the thoughts he had had as a boy, and the stories he had heard about the city. It was smaller than he had imagined, and the people were shorter. Some of their bodies even appeared well-fed. He had learned that the world was bigger than he had been told, and that no matter where he went, the bodies he encountered all behaved the same way.

Men in rice paddies were as concerned about their daughters’ weddings, and so were sailors. Daughters worried about being married to good and decent men. Families picked their shrines more carefully these days, but they still chose. Few men took the path of the yamabushi, wandering from town to town, over mountains and through rivers, begging for their supper in exchange for prayers. Even the Nihonbashi had such men, with their heads shaved and their sticks in hand, rattling bowls at strangers. These men had no debts, but they had no dignity either. Not an ounce, Nikki thought.

He wondered how these men knew they were spending their lives in pursuit of something good and decent if they had nothing to show for their time in the world but a bowl filled by the charity of others.

At the end of the street adjacent to the Nihonbashi Bridge, a man had created a puppet theater. Such things did not exist in the mountains, and Nikki stopped to look. A crowd formed around the stage. The man hung puppets from his fingers and struck a bell. The crowd quieted and the man spoke.

The puppeteer told a story of the old world. A samurai had confronted a spider-witch that was hiding under a lake, deep in the mountains of Honshu's furthest provinces. The small theater was painted like a forest, and a crystal blue river severed the stage. The soundtrack to the story came from under the stage. Nikki reasoned that the sounds must have been made by the man's son, as the dais was too small for a grown man. First, he watched the story of superstition and magic. Then, he watched those around him as they learned about areas Nikki had seen with his own eyes.

The furthest reaches of Honshu were not, in fact, haunted by immortal spiders and foxes. It was a port city run by white krishtines. He wanted to tell the story of his trip south, but an idea had begun to form in his brain while he watched the crowd. He thought about the spiders and foxes. Then he thought about the fires of creation and the stories of the old world he had learned in post towns and shrines whose priests gave travelers rice and sake.

As a man in a town at the end of the world, Nikki recalled a question he had learned as a boy in Iga: How do I know what I know? Then his idea took shape.

It took most of his energy to trek through the still unfamiliar districts and to wait in line to have his passport stamped at the gates of each new machi. It was afternoon when he arrived in Yoshiwara, and the ephemeral world was placid and pallid. If you looked too close at the buildings, the facades were imperfect. New paint peeled away.

The world felt anchored to the earth by the weight of daylight, but men and women rushed by, anonymous even without moonlight and makeup. He spoke to one man and then to another, asking for directions to the theaters. No one answered. A man sat by an open-air seafood vendor, staring at a stand of trees. Nikki noticed the leaves bouncing and that there were blotches of green and pink on the bark. He did not speak to the man.

Nikki found the theater district. He found the main alley lined with stage doors. He began with the closest door, knocking and ringing the bell.

The door opened, and a man dressed as a woman popped his head out and quickly turned back to the theater. Tis just a man! A ronin! he shouted, before turning to Nikki. Go away, you bleeding pig pizzle, we can't pay our own what they're owed this month. The man slammed the door in his face.

Nikki tried the biggest stage on the street.

A man opened the door. Hello, my name is Tohiro, he said. I'm the stage manager at this venue. How may I help you, sir?

Nikki was grateful for the man’s tone. He had not expected as much from an actor.

I would like to employ some of your actors, said Nikki.

A prostitute would be cheaper than an actor from this company, said Tohiro.

No, not like that. I have something I want to do.

Of course you want something, why else would you be here? Tohiro looked around the pleasure district's alley.

I have a job; it’s not like that, Nikki tried to explain without giving away too much. I need some dwarfs for the evening. I'm playing a game.

Tohiro was curious.

But not like that. It's with a fireman. It's life or death. I've been accused of arson.

Tohiro backed away, slowly inching the paper door closed, then stopped. He moved it back and forth like a fan, careful not to insult the armed man who had the attention of the doshin.

I just need some people to impersonate others for me, Nikki said. I can save my life, but I need help. And I can pay. He shook the box containing his mon, which give a rattle that any money-handler would recognize as indicating that the box was mostly full.

Tohiro took the opportunity to distance himself from the samurai without giving offense. The rate is 100 mon per day for the men, 400 for the women, said Tohiro. Payment up front. Double for a night.

Thank you for considering my proposal, but this I cannot afford. Is there any other offer you could make?

No, I don't think so. The 'Tiger in the Teacup,' he said, pointing to the Kanji above the door, is the most exclusive kabuki in the city. We have an indoor and outdoor troupe. We perform every season. Our patrons expect our performers, renown through by all the finest scoundrels and paupers, to be on stage when the curtains open. Tohiro smiled at the samurai.

May I offer you directions to another kabuki? Perhaps one with less valuable actors and dancers? Tohiro said, when Nikki continued standing in the doorway.

The Seven Summers Long kabuki was three streets over and away from the river and its breeze, just as Tohiro had said. And the smell from the garbage near the shrimp and noodle factory next door was its unpleasant giveaway, also as he had said. Nikki gained entrance to the backstage area, where he ran across friendly and helpful actors. Tohiro was a trustworthy man, Nikki decided. The geisha preparing their songs were beautiful. He saw the stage magic being set up for that night’s play.

You've never seen anything like this, I take it? said the stage manager.

Nikki did