The Shogun's Daughter by Laura Joh Rowland Read Free Book Online

Tōkaidō—the main highway leading to points west—was situated at the edge of Edo. There, a long line of travelers on foot, horseback, and riding in ox-drawn carts or palanquins and basket chairs carried by bearers inched toward a small building. From inside a window in the building, four officials questioned the travelers one by one.
    “Name? Place of residence? Why are you coming to Edo?”
    The officials recorded the information in ledgers. Clerks searched the travelers, their baggage, and their vehicles for hidden weapons, secret messages, and other contraband.
    Hirata sat astride his horse, twentieth in line. Coarse dark stubble covered his face and his shaved crown. His wrinkled clothes were dirty. His fetid odor of sweat, urine, oily hair, and bad breath disgusted him. His skin itched from flea bites.
    During his four months’ absence from Edo, he’d been staying in cheap inns and camping in the woods. He hadn’t bathed in days. He looked like the fugitive he was, and he felt the same anxiety, suspicion, and fear as every other man on the run.
    Surveying the people ahead of him, Hirata saw four women decked out in gaudy kimonos and makeup. They flirted with the men near them—peasants driving oxcarts owned by the government and laden with wood, stone, and tiles, and the mounted army troops guarding the carts. Behind Hirata, peasants carried knapsacks; samurai bodyguards escorted merchants accompanied by porters lugging goods and cash boxes. Refugees from the villages destroyed by the tsunami numbered among the people flocking to Edo from all over Japan to make their fortune on the rebuilding boom. Edo was like an open sack, and people were stuffing it full of themselves, their muscle, their wealth, their ambitions, their diseases, and their vices. Hirata didn’t see anyone he recognized. He cast his gaze over the surrounding area.
    Beyond the post station rose the arched framework of a new bridge spanning the Nihonbashi River; the old bridge had collapsed during the earthquake. There, carpenters were busy at work. Ferrymen in small boats rowed passengers across the river. A new stable sheltered horses for rent. Porters, palanquin bearers, and basket chair carriers for hire sat in a campground, awaiting customers. New inns were under construction amid tents that served as temporary housing for travelers. When Hirata had left Edo, this area had been a complete ruin. Amazed at the progress made in a short time, he uneasily wondered what else had changed.
    He concentrated his attention on the auras of the million people in the city, the energy that all living things emitted. His mystical powers allowed him to perceive the unique aura that each human possessed, that signaled his or her personality, health, and emotions. The landscape of Hirata’s brain vibrated and sizzled with auras. Some belonged to people he knew. His mind shied away from those of his family and his master, whom he’d left on bad terms. Uncertain of his welcome, he yearned for them but dreaded seeing them again. He searched for one particular aura—the conjoined energy of the three men he’d fled Edo to escape.
    He didn’t find Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. But that didn’t mean they weren’t near. They, unlike most creatures, could turn their aura on and off at will.
    The line moved forward. The gaudy women ahead of Hirata reached the post station. They told the officials, “We’re maids looking for work.”
    It was obvious that they were prostitutes. The officials fondled them and made lewd remarks while searching them, then let them pass. Edo needed prostitutes to keep the merchants and workers happy.
    Now came Hirata’s turn. When he dismounted outside the window, he recognized the samurai official. “Arai?” It was his chief retainer. “What are you doing here?”
    “Hirata- san !” Arai was just as surprised to see Hirata. “I work here.”
    “What are you talking about?” Hirata said, dismayed as well as puzzled. He