The Incense Game Read Free Page A

the devastation wrought by the earthquake, after toiling to pick up the pieces, Sano felt ready to explode. He opened his mouth to tell the shogun to stop acting like a baby and take responsibility for leading his country through this crisis.
    The shogun pointed a shaky finger at Sano and cried, “You always bring me bad news! I’m sick of bad news! Go and fetch me some that’s good!”
    “You’d better go.” Ienobu was watching Sano with interest, as if he could read Sano’s thoughts. “Why not take a tour of inspection around the city?”
    “Yes!” The shogun latched onto the idea with frantic zeal. “Begin at once!”
    Sano came to his senses. The heat of his anger faded into cold realization of what he’d almost done—cast aside honor, offended the shogun beyond reparation, and doomed himself, his family, and all his close associates to death. Shaken by his close call, Sano went.

 
    2
    DRESSED IN ARMOR tunics and padded coats, Sano and his troops rode on horseback out of Edo Castle’s main gate. Logs supported the guardhouse above it. A temporary bridge made of planks spanned the moat, whose embankment was riddled with cracks as wide as a man’s hand. Laborers used ropes, pulleys, and muscle to haul up stones from the crumbled walls and guard towers that had fallen into the water. Sano inhaled freedom along with the dust and smoke in the air. Even though he didn’t have time for a tour of inspection, he was glad to leave the castle for the first time in days. Maybe it would do his spirits good.
    Then again, maybe not.
    The avenue outside the castle was crowded with people who held out their hands and pleaded for alms. They weren’t only the usual beggars, monks, and nuns; they were artisans and other workers who’d lost their livelihoods when the earthquake had shut down businesses and destroyed the houses where many among the lower classes had been employed as servants. Sano’s attendants tossed coins, but the ranks of the poor had swelled so much; Sano couldn’t help everyone. He entered the district where the daimyo —feudal lords who governed the provinces—owned huge estates. Long sections of the walls decorated with black-and-white geometric tile patterns had fallen. Barracks and mansions were reduced to debris piles and cracked foundations. Some estates had burned down. Tents made of oiled paper and cloth, hung on bamboo poles or wooden beams, served as quarters for the daimyo . Not even their enormous wealth could restore their homes anytime soon. Their troops cleared away wreckage. Scraping noises and crashes deafened Sano. The amount of work it would take to restore the city, Sano’s mind could barely fathom.
    A lone samurai came riding toward Sano. It was Hirata, his chief retainer, who’d taken over Sano’s former post as top investigator for the shogun. He wore a simple cloak, kimono, and trousers. His hair was shaved at the crown and pulled back in a topknot, the customary style for samurai, the same as Sano and his other men. Hirata’s two swords, mark of the warrior class, jutted at his waist, but he never wore armor. Sano marveled at how much Hirata, in his late thirties, had changed from the boyish, awkward fellow he’d been when he’d first entered Sano’s service. Hirata was all lean, sinewy muscle and unnatural grace. That and his confident, keen-eyed aspect were a result of his years spent studying the mystic martial arts. He was the top fighter in Edo.
    “Where have you been?” Sano asked.
    “Searching for people trapped inside collapsed houses.” Hirata turned his mount and rode beside Sano.
    Sano looked askance at Hirata. Hirata had frequently been absent, without permission, during the past year, since he’d met three fellow disciples of the man who’d taught him the mystic martial arts. Instead of investigating crimes himself, Hirata often had his detectives cover for him. He spent so little time with Sano that he was Sano’s chief retainer in title only.