Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

--This was his twenty-fourth exploit.

The time was early August. Of course, this being the old calendar, it corresponded to September now. Night after night, insects would gradually begin their chirping, and throughout all twelve months of the year, there was none so lonesome as this month—when the heavens and earth grew desolate, making one wish for death.

It wasn’t exactly because of this, but Denroku’s behavior had grown slightly peculiar. Normally, Denroku would rush over first thing every morning without fail—needless to say, tending to Umon’s personal needs was his duty, from sweeping and cleaning to preparing every meal as custom dictated. Yet despite waiting endlessly, he never appeared. Growing suspicious, Umon went to check the solitary hut where his assistant lived—only to find him standing beneath a loosely hung sash dangling from the beam. While this would have caused an uproar had he actually been hanging there, his posture perfectly resembled someone preparing to take their own life. Moreover, beneath the beam under the eaves of the entranceway, he had loosely hung a heko-obi sash and now stood there vacantly crossing his arms beneath it, frequently tilting his head in puzzlement.

“You idiot—” “…………” “What a clueless stunt you’re pulling.” “…………” “Hey, Boss.” “What’re you doing?”

But there was no reply. Without turning around, he kept twisting his neck to gaze at the loosely hanging heko obi sash, then twisting again as he stared—his posture so perfectly resembling someone deliberating whether to die or not that even the master detective found himself slightly startled as he called out. “If some stranger saw this, they’d get a fright. If you’re sleepwalking over something that ain’t even a reason to want to die, then wake up—”

Even after being thumped on the back, something still felt off. Lumbering around to face him, he stared intently at the master detective from head to toe, then suddenly blurted out something utterly bizarre with unsettling persistence. “I have an abrupt question for you—” “What’s this? Suddenly getting all formal—what’s going on?” “No, sir—this sash hanging loosely from the beam here. What does it look like to you, Boss?”

“There’s nothing to look at here.” “It’s just a sash.” “For two mon you could buy ten of these—it’s cheap junk!” “Right?” “That’s why I can’t make heads or tails of it.” “Boss… do you really think this sash could kill someone?”

“You’re saying some strange things. If it killed someone, what then?” “No, see—I’m asking whether it can kill someone or not, see? So what d’you think—could it kill someone? It’s just a plain cotton sash, see? Ain’t no blade or dagger here—just this plain cotton strip. You thinkin’ this thing could kill a person?” “No difference. Whether it’s a cotton strip or a rope strip—they’re perfectly capable of killing someone. If you doubt it, why don’t you try dangling yourself with that sash? You’d head off to the next world nice and easy.”

“Tch, that’s not what I’m askin’ about! If we’re talkin’ ways to strangle someone with a noose, even I know that much! Underneath a limp cotton strip hangin’ there—there’s a dead man lyin’ there, see? A full-grown fella—a proper samurai at that! Those two stab wounds pierced clean through his windpipe, leavin’ his neck all bloodied up as he lies there stone-cold! So you see, Boss—I just can’t stomach how he died! What d’you think? Does such a damn fool thing even exist?”

“How should I know? You spring some bizarre question outta nowhere—there’s no way to make sense of it. Where on earth did you see such a thing?”

“It ain’t anywhere around here, I tell ya.” “Today’s August eighth.” “Like you know full well Boss—three years runnin’, I never miss makin’ dawn visits to Kannon-sama on number-matchin’ days: January first, February second, March third an’ all.” “This mornin’ too—woke up midnight tryin’ t’head t’Kaminarimon Gate at first light—when she up an’ says—” “‘Oh mercy me sir—what a fine-lookin’ gentleman you are.’” “All husky-like an’ sweet-talkin’, she was.” “The hell?” “What’s with that creepy voice put-on—who you mimickin’?”

“It’s a female beggar.” “Yes.” “Twenty-seven or twenty-eight.” “Then she says—” “‘My… aren’t you dashing.’” “All soft-like.” “So I just—”

“You idiot.” “What’s your point about that beggar?” “No, see—the beggar herself ain’t the point.” “Stories that ain’t detailed enough don’t stir any feelin’s, see? I’m just layin’ it all out thorough-like to be safe—but that beggar, ’spite bein’ a beggar, she goes and says it in this cute little voice, I tell ya.” “Well now, quite the handsome man—dear!” “Oh my, Boss—kindness ain’t just for others’ sake.” “At seven I lost my parents, at ten my eyes went dark, and here I am strugglin’ as you see.” “Please spare me some o’ your kindness,” she goes on, all pitiful-like like that, see? “A blind person since age ten could even make out my manly qualities—now that’s impressive, I thought, so I gave her ’bout three hundred mon as alms.” “So then, Boss—while I was headin’ back from payin’ my respects at Kannon-sama with a heart full o’ good intentions—”

“So you saw it there?”

“No, you shouldn’t jump ahead like that now.” “This story’s still got a long way to go, so just hush up and listen proper, will ya?” “Then Lord Sun went and tore right through them clouds.” “The morning sun, see?” “Might sound like I’m lecturin’ you to your face, Boss—what with doin’ charity for that beggar, finishin’ my Kannon-sama visit, then meetin’ that sunrise on my way back—a sunrise that fills you right up with fine feelin’s from all them good deeds—there ain’t nothin’ else like it in this world, I tell ya.” “So there I was feelin’ all chipper-like and swung round that place.” “To that Myoken-sama shrine, see?” “You being such a know-it-all Boss must know—down Neribei Lane in Shitaya under them three enoki trees sits Enoki Myoken shrine.” “Folks gab ’bout creepy stuff—how it’s for Ushi-no-koku mairi curses and whatnot—but funny thing is, they say Myoken-sama there favors plain folks without no grand reason at all.” “Figured I’d visit while I was at it—and there it was danglin’, hangin’ right down.”

“What’s that? What’s dangling there?” “You know—what was it called again? Not a bell or a gong—those things hanging under shrine eaves everywhere? Cloth strips all blue and red mixed together, hanging limp-like—pull ’em and they make clattering booming noises.” “Crocodile-mouth charm?” “That’s it! The crocodile-mouth charm! Right under those dangling cloth strips—dead as stones he was, that proper two-sword samurai I told you about earlier. Throat ripped clean open lengthwise! Had to drop everything—came racing back in a palanquin to tell you first thing, Boss—but damn if I can swallow how he died. Even if Myoken-sama’s kin to Benzaiten-sama, no way plain cloth strips tear through throats like that! Does such madness even exist? That’s what’s been eating at me. A sash and crocodile-mouth charm got different airs about ’em, but same cotton cloth—could this kill someone? Been hanging one up limp-like here, thinking real hard on it.”

“You idiot.”

“Huh…?” “Means I’m too damn appalled to speak.” “This ain’t some novice monk’s Zen practice—what’s the use gawkin’ at a sash?” “Then spit it out proper.” “Reckon we’ve got another knotty case brewin’.” “Quit twistin’ your neck over useless shit and get your morning chores done.” “Lollygag any longer, the magistrate’s men’ll come draggin’ us in.”

As he was speaking—

“Boss! Boss!” “Boss Umon!”

From around the corner came a figure shouting loudly in this direction while desperately rushing over as if to confirm his own words—an unmistakable messenger from the magistrate’s office at first glance. Moreover, what he handed over as he rushed closer was a document bearing the following text in the magistrate’s own hand: “An urgent message has just arrived from the Tsuji guard post—a strange incident has occurred.” At Enoki Myoken Shrine on Neribei Lane: one body.

At Yanagihara Higesuri Enma Shrine precincts: one body. At the aforementioned two locations, bodies of individuals presumed to be stipend-holding retainers have met with brutal, unnatural deaths, as per unofficial reports; arrangements shall be made with all due haste. "Regarding the above matters: this urgent report is hereby submitted." “Tch—now that’s a shocker—” Stretching up to peer over Umon’s shoulder at the document from behind with a sharp glare, then suddenly raising his head was none other than our dear Denroku. “Now that’s quick work!” “Seeing how the urgent report had flown into the magistrate’s office this fast—this’s one hell of a commotion, I tell ya!” “And what’s more—look! It’s Myokendo and Oenma-sama—two whole places!” “You don’t mean that corpse I saw on Neribei Lane went prancin’ off on its own to Yanagihara?” “Huh?” “Hey, Boss.—Oh, this is unbearable!” “Hey Boss—just a sec.” “What’s gotten into you now? Hey Boss!” “What’s not sittin’ right? Huh?” “Hey Boss!” “What’s got you riled up?”

It was only natural for Denroku to be flustered. After all, he had been muttering complaints under his breath while stealing a glance—only to find that the master detective everyone expected would immediately begin preparing to depart had, upon returning to the clan compound, suddenly fallen stubbornly silent. With unhurried steps, Umon descended to the garden edge and began fussing over the row of aspidistra pots there—twisting one this way, adjusting another that way—leisurely yet diligently tending to them. But that wasn’t all. Suddenly adopting the mannerisms of someone decades older, he produced red ink and cold barley tea, then began meticulously scrubbing each aspidistra leaf front and back. In the blink of an eye, Denroku’s expression darkened—and with it, a tremendous morning thunderstorm began rumbling and roaring across the sky.

“What is it?! What is it?! What in blazes isn’t to your liking?! So I’m always the one who’s gotta fret over useless crap! It’s precisely because you told me to hurry that I rushed around preparing the meal, didn’t I? Yet here you are, getting all starry-eyed over some aspidistra plants—what’s so damn interesting about that?! Hey, hold on—what? Boss!” “…………” “Don’t you have ears? Hey, hold on— Huh? Boss! I ain’t naggin’ you just for show or some damn whim! His Honor says so—His Honor himself! His Honor—the most distinguished magistrate at the office—is ordering immediate arrangements! You ain’t some half-baked retiree left out to dry—what’s so damn interesting about glaring at aspidistra plants?! Hey, hold on— Huh? Boss! Can’t you hear me, I say?”

No matter how he called or knocked, there was no response. After meticulously washing each leaf in silence, he leisurely finished his meal, leisurely fastened the wax-colored sheath at his waist, then abruptly startled the charmer with a pointed remark.

“It’s already past the time when the big shot took off. Go check on Aba Kei’s situation for a bit.” “Huh…?”

“I’m telling you to go check on that pockmarked Lord Kei’s situation.” “Tch!” “No sooner do you start talking like a normal person than you’re already back to this.” “Honestly, how much more trouble are you going to put people through?” “The official missive came to you, Boss.” “It didn’t go to Aba Kei’s place—it came to your place, Boss.” “We ain’t no forerunners for some pox god, and with no business there either—who in their right mind would go outta their way to visit that pockmarked bastard’s place?”

“No helping it.” “That’s why I don’t feel like saying a damn thing when I see your face.” “If you don’t get it, take another damn good look at this official missive.” “No addressee.” “There’s no addressee anywhere, damn it.” “If this order was meant for me alone, there should’ve been my damn name written proper—but ain’t a trace of even the character ‘右’ for Umon anywhere you look. That’s proof His Honor the Magistrate sees this uproar as a major incident and wrote two copies of the same orders—tryin’ to have that half-decent Aba Kei and me both handle the arrangements, I tell ya.” “As living proof—ain’t that messenger just now went flying off toward Aba Kei’s clan compound?” “I’ve never once said anything useless.” “Since you’ll figure it out by looking, get going already.”

“What?! Is that how it was?” “If that’s how it was, you should’ve said so sooner! No wonder—that messenger earlier was clutching another official missive right now.” “Damn bastard! That pockmarked fool’s gotten all high and mighty outta nowhere!” “Havin’ a showdown with Boss Aba Kei—ain’t done that in ages.” “Once that’s settled, my fighting spirit’s a whole different beast—a whole different beast, I tell ya!” “You’ll remember what’s comin’—Oh!” “Oh crap!” “Oh crap!”

He suddenly perked up as if skies had cleared, appearing to clatter away in haste, but soon returned with silent footsteps. Widening his eyes dramatically to underscore the matter's gravity, he dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Look—he’s here! That general’s been loitering around our front gate.”

“Lord Kei?” “Yeah.” “He came slinking in like a damn cat, muffling his footsteps.” “He’s sneaking a look at our place from out front.” “Look, there—that’s them.” “The one by that fence over there—that’s them.”

When he stealthily peered out, sure enough, there they were—none other than his pockmarked colleague Keishirou and two of his underlings. It could only be described as a reunion long overdue. However, this ill-intentioned colleague—who showed no signs of reforming his ways even after all this time—remained pressed against the fence while persistently peering in their direction. The moment he realized this, the master rose to his feet with a dashing air and spat out his words.

“There’s nothing more shameless than this.” “That chatter of Brother Denroku’s and Master Aba Kei’s damned disposition—seems they need a swordsmith’s hammer beating them straight before they’ll mend.” “It’s exactly because I figured things might turn quarrelsome that I went to the trouble of fiddling with the aspidistra and held back to follow at my leisure—and now you’re spying? What’s your damn game?” “If someone wants to mock me, I’ll mock them right back—so keep up.”

With a smile, he went out and said very quietly, “Well now. What an orderly assembly we have here.” “How diligently you peer about—has some hot spring erupted in our meager garden?”

The ones left flustered were Aba Kei and his gang. Taking advantage of their disarray after being caught off guard, he slowly stroked his chin—as if struck by some thought—and barked an order loud enough for Denroku to hear: “Let’s start from Nerihei Alley.” “Make it quick—two blocks ahead.”

Leapt nimbly aboard and dashed off at full speed. Following close behind, Aba Kei and his gang also gave chase—three palanquins lined up as if determined not to let them escape—shouting commands and racing at breakneck speed.

Two

Thus they pressed on for ten chō—a kilometer of chasing and being chased in turn. If they kept getting tailed like this, matters seemed likely to grow troublesome—but in such situations, Denroku the Drum proved surprisingly effective, which was downright uncanny. “Damn it all! Let that pockmarked Aba Kei get ahead of us? Not a chance!” “That’s it!” “That’s it!” “Bigger steps!” “Stride out!” “You’re all just naked insects anyway.” “Screw propriety! Bust your guts out and run!” “I’ll throw in a tip!” “A fat one, I swear!” “Since it ain’t my coin purse getting lighter, run like your lives depend on it!”

The master and servant’s palanquin pressed onward—the farther they went, the faster they ran—until they had completely shaken off Keishirou and his gang’s pursuit just as they were about to emerge from Nihonbashi’s main thoroughfare. The moment Umon realized this, he unleashed a swift and precise Umon-style surprise strike without warning.

“That’s enough. “Palanquin bearers! Palanquin bearers! Change direction. “We’re headin’ to Yanagihara’s Higesuri Enma.” Upon hearing this, Denroku couldn’t possibly stay silent.

“That’s wrong!” “That’s wrong!” “Weren’t we supposed to go to Nerihei Alley first?! Right?!” “Hey!” “Unbelievable.” “What’s the point of going to Yanagihara of all places?” “If we dawdle around here, won’t they beat us to Myoken-sama’s place?” “Hey! Can’t you hear me?” “Hey, Boss! Boss!”

No matter how they chased or ran, there remained the sullen Umon. The place where they arrived—stroking their chins with composure—was the precincts of that renowned Enma Hall, famed as “Beard-Stroking Enma” precisely because its statue lacked a beard. Clumsily alighting,

“Hm-hm-hm.” “You’re sulking.”

It settled into an almost cheerful calm.

“Well? Boss—gotten any wiser yet?” “Huh…?” “Quit playing dumb again.” “This is what they call Umon-style military strategy.” “Since they’re the sort to peek over fences, if we’d been trailing Aba Kei and his lot, we’d have had nothing but interference.” “Right about now, those bastards are likely scrambling to Myoken’s shrine, making faces like foxes got their tongues.” “This won’t be the last time—when shaking off persistent leeches, this is how it’s done. Burn it into that skull of yours.”

“Huh?” “What’re you gaping at?”

“No, it’s just that there’s a sparrow perched on that tree over there.” “When you really look at ’em, sparrows are strange little creatures, aren’t they?” “Quit your nonsense.” “If you take a hit, own up to it straight.” “Enough—where’s the evidence? Sniff it out sharp.”

As they split up and emerged from the grove there, what struck their eyes with force was a boisterous crowd gathered before Enma Hall’s entrance.

“Don’t come near! Don’t come near! Stay back!” “Don’t come near!” “Don’t come near!”

From the sight of local guard post officials shouting themselves hoarse as they frantically tried to keep the crowd at bay, it was clear at a glance that the corpse in question lay within that dark throng—so the master calmly approached. At the same moment, it was the charmer who emitted a most foolish noise.

“Oh no! Oh no! Hey, just a sec. Just as I thought—he’s dead under the crocodile-mouth charm. Hey, look! It’s stretched out right under that limp-hanging one, ain’t it? The corpse we saw at Myoken Hall this morning was exactly like this one. He was lying on his back like this, all arched up, blowing bloody bubbles from his throat and stretched out long, you see. I’m telling you, this ain’t normal! No matter what you say, Boss, this limp-hanging crocodile-mouth charm here’s no ordinary thing! Yeah, that’s exactly right! Since things are all about testing, hanging the sash here again and thinking it through would be the quicker way, I tell ya. Hey, wait a sec—huh? Boss!”

While distractedly ignoring the noisy chatter, he peered inside—and there it lay, arched back at full length directly beneath the crocodile-mouth charm's hanging cloth. Moreover, the wound was extraordinary. Neither spear nor sword had made it—the vital spot at the throat, what folk call the windpipe, had been deeply gouged and torn open, the gaping injury resembling nothing so much as a split pomegranate in its gruesome savagery. "Hmm." "This one's a bit of an oddity."

Stroking his chin, his eyes gleaming intently, he carefully examined the corpse. The man appeared to be thirty-one or thirty-two. The formal haori over hakama with a wide sash for his daisho swords, the sharply shaved blue-black forelock in the shape of a koban coin—as explicitly noted in the magistrate’s official dispatch—left no doubt: this was unmistakably a stipend-bearing retainer of some domain, evident at a glance. If he was a feudal retainer, then determining which domain’s household he belonged to became the first question.

“Officers of the guard post!” While constructing a bamboo fence and desperately trying to restrain the onslaught of gawkers, the master summoned one of the town officials and calmly made his inquiry.

“Since when have you been keeping watch here?”

“As we received word precisely at six bells of dawn, we have been keeping watch since that hour.” “You’ve been keeping watch for quite some time now. If that is so, word of this disturbance must have already spread throughout the city. Therefore, should those who heard rumors have any connection, retainers from this man’s domain household ought to have come to observe the situation—yet have you seen anyone fitting that description?” “There has been no such indication whatsoever, which is precisely why we ourselves have been harboring suspicions.”

Was it because they didn't know and thus weren't coming, or because they did know and weren't coming? If it were the former, there was no issue—but if the latter, this left ample room for consideration. No matter which domain's retainers they might have been, upon hearing that one of their own household members had met an unnatural death, it was standard protocol that they should first and foremost follow procedures to retrieve the body—yet if they deliberately refrained from coming despite knowing, then there must assuredly have been some great secret at play. —As if the key to unraveling the mystery also lay there, the master crouched down with eyes gleaming sharply and deliberately began examining the body. At the same moment, what struck his gaze with piercing clarity were the bamboo sword calluses visible on both hands of the deceased feudal retainer—on his fingers and palms.

“Hmm. This gentleman appears to have been quite devoted to martial arts.” “Considering that a skilled practitioner was so easily defeated—” “Huh...?” “So you’ve figured it out just like that?”

“Shut up.”

Sharply rebuking Denroku as he puffed himself up to launch into his usual antics, the master paid no heed to the ominous atmosphere as he touched the corpse and meticulously examined its wound. Indeed, no matter how thoroughly he examined it, this was no puncture wound. It was not a stab wound either—rather, an utterly bizarre wound savagely and deeply gouged out. The master’s face gradually paled as bewilderment deepened across his features. Given that a man so devoted to martial arts—evidenced by the bamboo sword calluses on his hands—had been killed so effortlessly while still wearing both swords at his waist without even time to draw them, it was clear the perpetrator must have been a swordsman of extraordinary skill. Moreover, since this was neither thrust nor stab nor slash, the first mystery lay in determining what weapon could have gouged such a wound.

“Hey, just a sec.” “That’s one mighty fine chin you’ve got there.” “Stroke that chin of yours! Go on, give it a stroke.” “If you keep strokin’ it slow and steady, won’t those insights pop right up?” “Just stroke it! Ain’t like I mind.” “Hey, just a sec.” “Don’t hold back—go ahead and do it! Huh?” “Boss!” “You deaf or somethin’?”

While silently letting the noisy one’s clamor wash over him, the master abruptly reached into the corpse’s robes and examined its contents. If any items from the pockets had been missing, that too would have provided a point of focus——but the wallet remained. Since this didn’t appear to be the work of a common thief or cutpurse, there it lay—a wallet neatly storing five koban coins and seven or eight small silver coins, arranged as tidily as kittens in a litter.

“Hmph.” “With five ryo, a flashy fellow could live in idle comfort for a whole year.” “This fellow’s got the look of a country samurai without an ounce of style, but seeing how he’s carrying five whole ryo in his pocket without so much as a grin—might just be one with a hefty stipend after all.” “Hey, just a sec—ain’t I off the mark here?” “Huh? Boss!” “Ain’t I off the mark here?”

However, the master was fully entrenched in his sullen Umon persona. If the belongings yielded neither clues nor suspicions, he had to advance one step further from the hundred-foot pole's peak and proceed to search for second and third leads. As though handling some impure object, he wordlessly returned the wallet to the corpse’s breast in that very instant! —Something cold brushed against the master’s hand. The moment he drew it out, his eyes gleamed sharply. Strange beyond strange—the items that emerged from the deepest recesses of the questionable deceased’s robes were, of all things, a single hammer (a tool no samurai should ever need) and several three-inch nails neatly wrapped in paper, their purpose utterly baffling.

“Heh heh.” “What’s all this now?” “Another blasted lowborn thing turnin’ up again, ain’t it?” “This samurai wasn’t moonlightin’ as some master carpenter, was he? Huh? Boss.” “Hey, hold on—” “What in blazes *is* this anyway?”

Paying no heed to Denroku’s immediate resumption of noisy chatter, he gazed fixedly at the two items in his right hand with gleaming eyes—then rose with a gallant air and abruptly delivered a signature Umon-style remark.

“What do you think?” “Bro.” “I’ve never visited the Beard-Stroking Enma until today.” “Shall we take a look around?”

“Huh…?” “There’s trees, a forest, a pond—seems like quite a proper shrine precincts. I’m saying we should take a look around.” “You’re impossible.” Just when you thought he’d started talking like he remembered something, he went and spouted all these weird things again. If you died, you’d be a good soul bound for paradise. “There’s no call to check Enma-sama’s mood when we’ve got no business here—right? Just a sec.” “Unbelievable.” “Quit dawdlin’ and get over there already! What’s so damn fascinatin’ about it?”

Without so much as glancing back at the clamoring footsteps pursuing him, the master briskly made his way to the forest behind the hall—thickly overgrown and unnaturally dark even at midday. Not content with this, he stomped deeper into the forest, meticulously inspecting each of the cedars that loomed densely one by one—until, the moment he approached the largest tree at the very back, both his feet froze as if nailed to the ground, and his eyes took on an uncanny gleam, as though startled by some unseen presence. How ghastly—there, upon the belly of the thick cedar’s reddish-brown trunk, lay a fully formed straw doll, *that* cursed straw doll, its two legs, two arms, chest, neck, and head gouged by seven three-inch nails. Impaled in silence, it held within it wordless enigmas and infinite secrets. Moreover, the newness of those nails! The newness of that straw doll! ——No matter who looked at it, one could only conclude that the curse had been struck during last night’s Hour of the Ox. At the same time, Den-aniki’s lips turned deathly pale as he let out a shrill cry.

“Y-y-you bastard! You did it!” “You did it!” “That’s it—it’s that bastard, I tell ya.” “Didn’t a hammer and three-inch nails come outta his pocket?” “Hey, just a sec—it’s that country samurai arching back under the crocodile-mouth charm, I tell ya.” “Huh?!” “Boss.” “You’re impossible.” “By nature, I ain’t cut out for this sorta thing.” “If you’d just keep quiet, I could make a killin’. Right, Boss? A killin’, I tell ya. Huh?”

“Hey.” “If you don’t answer me, I’ll make a killin’.” There was no voice. There was no reply. There was none again—as was only natural. Now that matters had reached this point, the door to secrets might as well have already been opened. The master quietly approached and, taking care not to disturb its form, gently extracted the straw doll before turning it over to examine. At the same time, what pierced his eyes was “urgent”—the mysterious character written large as *急*. And then, there was the age of the curse’s target. A man born in the Year of the Snake, twenty-one years old—written in vivid ink-black on the back of the straw doll.

“Unbelievable.” “What’re you gonna do stashing that creepy thing in your robes? C’mon, say somethin’, will ya? Just a word or two!”

However, the master was silent to an astonishing degree. He tucked the straw doll into his robe as though it were a precious object—and how swiftly he moved! Just as he had briskly returned to the front of the hall, he abruptly came face to face with Aba Kei and his men—who had come rushing over from Myoken Hall in Neri Wall Alley, wiping sweat from their brows.

“You appear to be occupied.” “I shall take my leave first—”

After bowing lightly, he nimbly boarded the waiting palanquin and issued a cool command.

“Take your time now—it’s Myoken Hall in Neri Wall Alley.”

“Tch!” “This is exactly why!” “If you’re gonna go chattin’ up palanquin bearers and Aba Kei, Boss—when I’m your own loyal underling here—how’s about talkin’ to me too? What’s with this contrary streak of yours, huh?”

As they rocked the palanquin in rhythm with the bearers' chants, they soon arrived at their ordered destination—the precincts of Myoken Hall at Sambon Enoki. However, the corpse that should have been there was already gone. “Damn it! It’s Aba Kei.” “Aba Kei’s the one who hid it somewhere—ain’t no mistake!” “When I saw it this morning, it was lyin’ there plain as day under this crocodile-mouth charm, all stretched out!” “That bastard must’ve noticed us comin’ round here and spitefully made ’em clean it up already—no doubt about it!”

Of course, there was no doubt about that, but the master—calm and composed, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face—headed straight to where three enoki trees towered cloud-high beside the hall. When he glared sharply, his eyes glinting, and examined the trunk—there it was—there it was! On the unseen rear side of the central, exceptionally thick trunk, a brand-new straw doll—identical in every detail—was ominously nailed in place. Moreover, even the characters on the back were identical. The mysterious character for “urgent” was written identically—a single instance—and below it, again, “a man born in the Year of the Snake, twenty-one years old” was inscribed as if posing a riddle. As he slowly pocketed it—so sudden it defied expectation, so unexpected it defied surprise—a truly fearsome Umon-style command rang forth.

“The jitte!” “The jitte!” “Den! Get the jitte ready!”

Nimbly boarding the palanquin, he found the destination he had ordered was yet another no ordinary Umon-style affair.

“Our destination is Shinobugaoka’s Tenkai Temple.” “Hurry up and get moving.” This was present-day Kan’ei-ji Temple—though the imperial name Tōeizan Kan’ei-ji had been granted slightly later during the Keian era—so at that time, aiming for that renowned Tokugawa-affiliated temple commonly called Tenkai-ji after its founding priest Tenkai, they swiftly had the palanquin bearers raise their vehicle.

3

Of course, the one who was utterly terrified was our infinitely beloved Den Ani. He appeared utterly bewildered; gulping down saliva again and again, that loudmouth Brother had fallen completely silent and was staring with eyes as wide as saucers. No wonder. If there truly was a culprit requiring the use of a jitte within this Tenkai Temple—founded by Priest Tenkai under the shogunate’s decree—then this was indeed a matter of grave consequence.

But the master was truly, inexpressibly quiet. Discarding their vehicle at Mitsuhashi and briskly making their way to the monk quarters beside the temple complex, their manner of requesting guidance was inexpressibly antiquated—nay, grand beyond words.

“I pray thee, I pray thee.” “Pray proceed.”

The other party responded with equally antiquated formality. As Kondo Umon watched the vividly blue-green-robed temple monk place his hands deferentially before him, he found the man’s blunt words slightly peculiar. “As you see before you, I am of Hatchōbori. “If there be a quiet chamber to spare, I would humbly request its use—what say you?”

“Huh…?” “Your suspicion is understandable—as you can see from this rolled haori, I am a Hatchōbori man. Having resolved to pursue Buddhist training, I have humbly come here—but rumor has it this temple gladly guides those earnest in their quest for enlightenment. If there be a quiet room, I should like to borrow it for a brief time—I humbly request your permission.” “I see, I understand perfectly. For one as occupied with official duties as yourself to undertake Buddhist practice—how truly commendable this is of late. I cannot say I am delighted to guide you, but please come this way.”

The room they were led to turned out to be—astonishingly—a great hall spanning roughly two hundred tatami mats. Moreover, within that vast beyond vast room, there was not a single piece of furniture or furnishing. Truly, this was a quiet beyond quiet—a room of such stillness that none could surpass it. In that great hall—a vast room so expansive it seemed to fade dimly into the distance—they settled the master and his servant at its very center and left them waiting. Before long, what was brought forth were dozens of sutras steeped in arcane wisdom.

“The precious teachings you seek all reside within these sutras, so please peruse them at your leisure.” After watching the temple monk shuffle away with those parting words, what happened next was truly strange. “It’s a bit wasteful, but I’ll borrow these sutras as a pillow and let them show me a dream of paradise.” “You take a break and have yourself a midday nap.” With that, he bowed to the sutras, stacked them as a makeshift pillow, plopped down, and closed his eyes with an air of perfect contentment—so of course Den Ani, who had been tensely poised with his jitte awaiting action, immediately erupted like a hundred thunderclaps at once.

“Tch! What’s this?!” “What’s this?!” “There’s limits to how you can mock a man!” “What about the jitte?!” “The jitte you told me to prepare—how’re we s’posed to settle this?!” “Lord Denroku’s jitte work these past two days’s been driven by a different fire—the fire, I say!” “I’ve been waitin’ here since earlier, muscles twitchin’ to go!” “Where are they?!” “Hey—tell me! Is the jitte’s mark hidin’ in these sutras?” “Huh? Boss!” “Where are they?!”

“Don’t rush, don’t rush. If you’ve got time to yammer, you should sleep. Ain’t nothin’ more blessed than snoozin’ with sutras for a pillow. Rest easy—might reach paradise that way.” “I’m gettin’ mad here! There’s a limit to teasin’ folks! So you tricked me? That bit about preppin’ the jitte—was that a lie?” “Ain’t no lie. Lit a fire under a jumpy fool like you ’cause you’d lose your head when the real scrap starts. When midnight’s Ox Hour hits, we’ll need jitte till ten ain’t enough. If you won’t sleep, plant there, truncheon ready, and keep that fire stoked till the ox-bell gongs.”

“Tch! What a damn leisurely jitte this is!” “What about Aba Kei?” “What’ll you do if Aba Kei beats us to it?” “There’s no way that big shot ain’t runnin’ himself ragged too!” “Even monkeys slip from branches and Master Kukai fumbles his brush, you know.” “What’ll you do if we get done in while lazing around like this?” No matter how he rang or struck, there was no response. As if declaring that the essence of Buddha’s path, Buddha’s compassion, and Amida’s teachings lay within this single pillow, the master—with sutras of enlightenment-seeking and dharma-propagating tucked beneath his head—began to snore peacefully, guided toward dreamland by the temple bell now tolling from the mountain. Moreover, once he fell asleep, he would not wake easily. The ever-charming yet irascible Den Ani—a veritable thousand-clatter drum—stayed wide awake in sheer exasperation, floundering about the endless two-hundred-tatami hall with his jitte held at the ready in a fit of pique, now stumbling this way, now staggering that. All the while, heedless of this commotion, he continued sleeping serenely—until deep after sunset, when he abruptly leapt up, summoned the temple monk, and declared with utmost solemnity:

“Ah, I’ve had a spiritual undertaking unlike any in recent times.” “Though it may seem forward to mention this in passing, it’s now the hour for monastic repast.” “I trust we need not impose regarding supper arrangements?”

“Ah, I understand.” “When you awaken—as this could only concern your esteemed self—I surmised this matter would arise and had already made the necessary preparations.”

“When you say ‘none other than your esteemed self,’ to what does this refer?” “Your Excellency need not conceal it. From your earlier suspicious conduct to your companion’s clamorousness, Your Excellency’s demeanor has been most perplexing—yet having weighed all considerations, I conclude you must be the renowned Umon-dono.”

“Ahahahaha! Have you finally seen through me?” “Since you’ve discerned as much, I won’t conceal it.” “As there are certain matters I must investigate, I have committed such discourtesies.” “The various acts of disrespect that have defiled His Lordship’s sacred place of prayer—I humbly beseech your forgiveness.” “Not at all, not at all—such formalities leave me quite overwhelmed.” “As His Eminence the Abbot surely has grave investigative matters requiring discretion, we have been instructed to extend every courtesy—pray make yourself completely at ease.”

Truly worthy of Shinobugaoka Academy’s Blue Devotee. Having apparently discerned the Master’s suspicious behavior, what was soon brought there were splendid vegetarian dishes of temple cuisine.

“Tch!” “What I want’s a boss with some damn brains.” “Never figured naps came with magic tricks.” “Well take a gander at this.” “This temple grub’s so fine-lookin’ I can’t hardly stand it.” “In that case, why don’t you join us too, Mister Lively—no need for airs?”

There aren’t many men as good-natured as this. Until just moments ago, Denroku had been puffed up like a blowfish, but now his face broke into a grin like Ebisu as he scurried about—chopsticks and bowls darting through all six directions of space in such a dizzying whirl that it nearly blurred the eyes.

However, the Master showed no sign of moving. Though it seemed he would mobilize immediately after taking provisions and fully preparing for battle, he then rolled over once more and finally sat up while stroking his chin precisely at nine in the dead of night. When the booming tolls of the timekeeping bell echoed from within the temple’s confines, it was the Blue Devotee from earlier who clapped his hands quietly and beckoned.

“Did you need something?” “There is a matter I wish to inquire about. As this temple serves as a grand training ground presiding over exorcisms and suppression of dark arts, your monks must be thoroughly versed in such matters. Pray tell—which locations in Edo are presently being used for Ushi-no-koku mairi rituals?” “Ah, I see this concerns that matter. For we practitioners who uphold orthodox methods of demon suppression, the heresy of Ushi-no-koku mairi cannot be permitted—thus we are not ignorant of its locations. First is Myōkendō in Neribeikōji, followed by Higesuri Enma in Yanagihara, then Mitsumata Inari at Yushima Slope’s base. Skipping ahead slightly: Ikiume Gyōja in Honjo Yotsume, and finally Shirahata Kongen in Nihonbashi Honginchō—these five are the most notorious sites.”

“You’ve instructed me thoroughly.” “I am deeply grateful for your generous hospitality.” “Though meager, I humbly request you accept this as an offering for the temple lamps.” He had wrapped and presented three folds of yamabuki-colored paper. Even his brief nap demonstrated the Master’s flawless composure. The moment he descended the mountain—face fully concealed beneath the ninja hood he always carried—coincided precisely with the ninth bell’s final toll. Simultaneously looming into view were the grim black shadows of constables fortifying every street corner.

“Hmm, I wonder if Aba Kei pulled some trick here.” He had seemed to tie his sleeves in a swift knot and dash out, but apparently Denroku could sometimes move with unexpected nimbleness, for he came racing back with a triumphant look and blurted out the grave matter as if it were of utmost importance.

“Oh no! “Crap! “We can’t waste time dawdlin’! “I sweet-talked some low-rank grunt posted at the corner—seems Aba Kei’s slapped some nasty label on that killer like ‘throat-rippin’ apprentice’ or ‘crossroads slasher’ or whatnot. He’s scraped up every constable from station flunkies to crossroads officials and strung dragnets across every key spot in Edo!” “Hey now—we can’t handle this.” “Has your Muttsuri-Mushi woken up again?” “Huh?” “Boss.” “You alright?” “Hey, Boss.” “Hey—I said hey, Boss!—”

“Shut up.” “My Muttsuri-Mushi isn’t some cheap bug you can buy by the piece.” “I’ll show you a place that’ll curdle your guts, so drown that two-bit chatterbug of yours in oil and follow me in silence.” “If you utter even one word from here on out, I won’t show mercy tonight.” “Kusaka-ryu’s about to take flight.” The place they swiftly entered was the grounds of Mitsumata Inari at the foot of Yushima Slope—one of the hidden prayer sites for Ushi-no-koku mairi they had just learned about from the mountain’s Blue Devotee. Naturally, the surroundings sank into true darkness. An oppressive silence thick with malice pressed against their chests, a chill creeping up to the napes of their necks—yet undaunted by the sinister shrine grounds, the Master slipped behind the small shrine, pressed himself flush against the shadow of the shrine building, held his breath motionless, and began waiting for something—or someone. ——Denroku too was silent. It didn’t seem to be because he’d been scolded into silence; rather, his chatterbug appeared to have shriveled up from the eerie, overwhelming atmosphere around them, leaving him gulping audibly again and again without a word.

Half a koku…

A quarter koku…

At last arrived that midnight hour of Ushimitsu—so heavy it could bend roof beams three inches—the Hour of the Ox. Gong—it tolled once. Following that, Gong—it tolled a second time. Three, four, five, six—once the final eighth toll sounded, the hour of the curse would come, when those performing Ushi-no-koku mairi were said to pour their very souls into malevolent prayers—Denroku’s legs began quivering violently.

However, the Master remained utterly still, his gaze fixed unwaveringly into the darkness thick with malevolent energy. Koku! One koku! Another koku! Two koku! And then a quarter koku—. But there was no sound. There were no footsteps whatsoever, and no sound of nails or hammers could be heard at all. No sooner had he realized this than the Master suddenly barked a laugh and spoke as if flinging the words aside. “Ha ha ha ha! So we’ve ended up waiting in vain tonight after all?”

“Huh? “What did you say?! Hey—wait—wait a second!” “Wh-wh-what’re you talkin’ ’bout?” At the same moment, it was only natural that Denroku exploded with a sound.

“There’s limits to scarin’ a person, don’tcha think?” “Ain’t right to pull such creepy tricks!” “I’ve lost three years off my life!” “This ain’t funny! What’s this ‘waited all night for nothin’ ’bout?” “What kinda madness made you try this stunt?”

“Getting angry ain’t gonna change a damn thing.” “It’s their damn fault we got stood up, so bitchin’ at me ain’t gonna do squat.” “There’s another ‘tomorrow’ night, ain’t there.” “Get moving.” “What did you say?!” “What do you mean ‘tomorrow’?!” “Ain’t we got a huge job dealin’ with Aba Kei that needs rushin’ preparations?” “There’s another ‘tomorrow’ night? What on earth does that even mean?” “You ain’t got no sense.” “I ain’t got no sense, I tell ya.” “There’s a limit to how much you can mock a person!” “I ain’t budgin’ from this spot come hell or high water till we get that bastard’s ugly mug right here in front of us!”

“Quiet down, brat. This ambush was set by yours truly—the one they call Muttsuri Umon—after sussin’ out their scheme. If you’re gonna throw that much of a tantrum, I’ll spell it out. You remember the characters on the back of that straw doll you grabbed this mornin’?” “Ain’t no mistake. There was the ‘emergency’ character, with ‘man born in the Year of the Snake, 21 years old’ written below it. What’s that s’posed to mean?” “Neither here nor there—the key’s in that ‘emergency’ character. ’Course a numbskull like you wouldn’t know. That’s the lead character in the curse phrase ‘Kyū Kyū Nyoritsu Ryō.’ Here’s how it goes: one doll marked ‘emergency,’ another ‘emergency’ too—first night, they nail both at two spots. Second night, one with ‘as.’ Third night, ‘law.’ Fourth night, they drive in the final ‘order’ doll to wrap up the prayers. That’s how Ushi-no-koku mairi’s been done since old times.” “Those two dolls we saw at Enma and Myokendo shrines this mornin’? Last night’s first curse offerings. Figured tonight they’d do the ‘as’ prayer—no mystery why we set this net at Mitsumata Inari’s hole like that mountain ascetic told us. Joke’s on us—we picked wrong.” “Most likely tonight, same crew’s doin’ the curse at either Shirahata Kongen in Hongin-cho or Ikiume Gyoja in Honjo Yotsume—switchin’ up their men and methods.” “If you were half-competent, we could’ve split teams to cover both.” “Even Muttsuri Umon’s flank moves can’t work short-handed—wastin’ a night or two’s just how it goes.” “How’s that sit with you?”

“Tch, no need to start cataloging my faults now like I’m some incompetent underling.” “If I shone too bright, Boss’s halo’d dim right quick.” “Even sashimi needs proper garnish—got to have style.” “A garnish like me—clean Edo-style trimming—is just what the locals crave.” “Heh heh... Bastard—suddenly all cheerful now.” “No call for me to puff myself up if you’ve already seen through it.” “So what—you figure if we clamp down on this Ushi-no-koku mairi curse with your usual flanking tactics, followin’ every thread, you’ll spot whoever’s ambushing these ritual scum come dawn? That the plan?”

“That’s a given.” “This ain’t about layin’ dragnets—Aba Kei’s way of just roundin’ up laborers ain’t the only trick worth knowin’.” “Tomorrow at dawn, slip out and check both Ikiume Gyoja and Shirahata Kongen quiet-like.”

As if outpacing speech itself in its urgency, a mist-like autumn drizzle fell in a steady shh-shh patter.

Four

By morning, the rain had imperceptibly shifted to a steady downpour—the world lay utterly desolate, willow leaves scattering down at the wind’s whim in such profound melancholy it verged on beauty; even a sodden dog passing through let out an ephemeral whimper, till one’s very spirit could not help but sink.

However, Denroku—utterly undaunted by the rain—appeared to have gone early that morning to investigate the two locations he’d been ordered to check. Returning with vigorous energy, he shouted from the garden entrance.

“Eyes! Eyes! Shirahata Kongen was deserted—but sure enough last night they hit Ikiume Gyoja at Honjo Yotsume!” “Got ’em?” “No sign of ’em! But right by that shrine—some damn samurai in hakama with swords lay sprawled out same as before! Throat ripped clean through!”

“Did you find the straw doll too?” “Do you think I’d let that slip through my fingers? The bag of tricks a top underling gets taught by their boss—this is roughly what it looks like. Look, this! This right here! It was driven into the large maple tree behind the shrine. Everything’s exactly as it looks—the ‘as’ character you mentioned is written right here, just like you said.” “Well now, the characters for ‘a man born in the Year of the Snake, 21 years old’ are clearly written here too. From the looks of it...”

“Huh...?” “From the looks of things, I’m saying this’ll turn into a major manhunt.” “I don’t know which domain’s retainers are cursing what sort of man, but seeing how they’ve been switching hands and people night after night to keep up the curse, the Ushi-no-koku mairi gang ain’t no small crew—and the bastard goin’ after their throats ain’t no ordinary troublemaker either.” “You haven’t checked what Aba Kei’s been up to?”

“That’s it! That’s exactly it. “That’s what makes this a grave matter.” “Just like we ran into him last night at the mountain’s base—he went and rounded up even the petty officials from corner guardhouses, cast a huge net across all of Edo—fine and dandy—but all they caught was three pickpockets and a pair of swindlers. Not a single decent catch in the lot.” “He was starting to panic when the news of this morning’s Ikiume Gyoja incident reached his ears.” “So you see, flaws and all—that’s Keishirou for you.” “Since the throat-slashing incidents are consistently occurring at shrines and halls, that bastard has finally taken notice—it seems he’s changing tactics tonight to set ambush nets at every last shrine and hall across Edo without exception.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient.” “It’s not like I’m goin’ around bein’ spiteful tryin’ to hog all the glory for myself.” “If they’re usin’ their manpower to help out, it’s exactly what I wished for.” “But first off, eight or nine outta ten of those nets’ll be useless.” “Last night they spread nets all over creation and still let the killer slip through when he blundered into Ikiume Gyoja. With that settled, I’m stickin’ to Yushima’s Mitsumata Inari again tonight.” “We’ll have to keep watch all night, so get some proper sleep now.”

“Huh...?”

“Don’t you get it? If they performed last night’s ‘As’-character prayer at Honjo Yotsume, that leaves just two nights—‘Law’ and ‘Command’—remaining. If we set a stakeout net at Mitsumata Inari and wait patiently, even if nothing happens tonight, by tomorrow’s Hour of the Ox they’ll inevitably get snared in Mitsumata’s net. When setting an ambush, you should stake out one location through and through—isn’t ‘the prey will surely appear someday’ the first lesson of stakeout tactics? Instead of racking your brain over trivial things, get some solid sleep instead.”

“No, well, that’s all fine.” “It’s all well and good setting up stakeout nets at Mitsumata Inari without hesitation, but...” “I’m just... a bit sore about this.” “When you see how heartless folks can be... it’s... it’s... galling.” “Haven’t even told the Boss about this yet, but I can’t stand it.” “It’s... it’s... unbearable.” “Fool.” “What’s this? Sniveling out of nowhere—what’s there to grieve about?”

“Well, you see—on my way here just now, I heard things in a couple places—Edoites can be surprisingly heartless.” “When you pull off some great feat, Boss, they all carry on like you’re the great Muttsuri Umon himself, cheering like mad—but then!” “Once it takes a bit of time, they start spouting all sorts of nonsense.” “Seems word ’bout this mornin’ Yotsume Gyoja incident’s already spread all over town. They’re spoutin’ how Aba Kei and Boss Muttsuri Umon’ve been on the case since yesterday—two of ’em workin’ together—but still ain’t caught the killer. Pathetic, ain’t it?” “If those creepy deaths keep up for three or four more days, you won’t even be able to visit temples without gettin’ jumped—and yet here they are yappin’ away like this!” “On top of that—they’re even spoutin’ nonsense!” “They were just spoutin’ things they’d heard.” “Even Boss Muttsuri Umon’s finally losin’ his edge, huh?” “They don’t know a damn thing about people’s struggles, yet they kept spoutin’ off like this.” “That’s why I... that’s why I’m... f-frustrated, is what I ain’t.” “I just can’t stand how frustrated I am!”

“Hahaha—you’re bawling over that?” “Waste of tears.” “More time spent means louder cheers when they come—that’s the way of it.” “Might’ve thinned out from summer fatigue, but my eyes haven’t rusted shut.”

The rain had eased to a drizzle again. Autumn—ah autumn—to love’s plucking that seeps into flesh and bone, this misting rain made even the tightening of strings sound hateful indeed. “Since I’ll dry your tears and nap to the rain’s rhythm, fetch me a pillow from that closet.”

As soon as he lay down—his demeanor so self-assured one might think he had something to prove—he was already emitting soft, carefree snores. The _chichichichi_ calls came from ground crickets or perhaps bell crickets, their lonesome voices crying out for love.

Before long, the sun set.

And thus night arrived. The autumn night—quick to darken yet slow to deepen—spread through the hours of Five and Four, and before long, the Hour of Nine was struck. At the same moment, the master stood up with a flourish and pulled his hood deep over his eyes over his black habutai silk kimono. A swift and crisp command was issued.

“A stealth palanquin.” “Hurry up and prepare two palanquins!” As if he’d been waiting for this very moment, Denroku moved with lightning speed—swiftly, oh so swiftly. But before long, he came flying back like an arrow and shouted clamorously.

“Oh no! “Oh no!” “It’s happened! It’s happened!” “It’s already happened tonight!” “The Ushi-no-koku mairi curse—it’s already been performed! They’re sayin’ there’s someone sprawled out in Shirahata Kongen Shrine’s precincts!” “Heh.” “What’s this now?” “Probably, since they’ve been hit every night, they thought they’d get an early start tonight—but seems they got ambushed again. What with it being a surprise attack, the guys on stakeout are in an uproar.”

“How did you manage to find that out?” “I pried it out of Aba Kei’s underlings. When I went there just now, those street official-bastards were loitering around. I set a clever trap to investigate, and turns out they’re searching for Aba Kei’s whereabouts with all this ‘this and that’ business!”

“What’s this about searching? Wasn’t Aba Kei part of the stakeout too?” “He went to patrol Yamanote and is out, they say. And those worthless bastards—get this—they had three men stationed across three directions around Shirahata Kongen’s town corner, but they’re sayin’ they didn’t even know when the curse ritual came through or when they got ambushed! So it’s even more disgraceful for Aba Kei—they’ve split up and are desperately combing through that bastard’s haunts right now, or so they claim. Either way, we ain’t got time to dawdle around. Why don’t you head out already, how ’bout it?”

“Very well. “What’s the rain like?”

“It stopped raining early in the evening.” “Then it ain’t far.” “To stay sharp, let’s go scout things out.” “Prepare the kantou lantern and come with me.” The one slipping through the shadows with a kantou lantern in hand was none other than the Shirahata Kongen Shrine precincts in Hongin-cho—a stone’s throw from Hatchōbori and the site of the incident. The ones who appeared thoroughly ashamed at having fallen for an ambush—milling about the shrine precincts with their tails between their legs—were five or six street officials who, under Aba Kei’s orders, had laid an ambush net across the entire area. Of course, when approaching the still-untouched corpse for closer inspection, the feudal retainer’s attire—hakama trousers with long and short swords, white tabi socks, and geta sandals—remained unchanged. Yet the position in which he lay differed slightly. Unlike the usual spot before the shrine hall, it was precisely at the precinct entrance along a muddy path. Suspiciously reaching into his pocket—there it was, there it was—what emerged was a straw doll of a twenty-one-year-old man born in the Year of the Snake with “Law” written on its back, along with a hammer and three-inch nails.

“Well, well. It appears he was attacked just as he tried to enter during the curse. Denroku, hold up the kantou lantern.” As he took it, with a flicker of light, he illuminated the fallen samurai’s chest and studied it in the same instant. “Whoa!” A voice of heightened surprise burst from the master’s lips.

“There it is! There it is! Strange muddy footprints are trailing from his waist up to his chest!”

At first glance, small plum-blossom-shaped mud marks—apparently animal footprints—were dotted across the corpse’s kimono. But no—it wasn’t just on the kimono. When he illuminated the area with the kantou lantern and examined it, clear four-legged footprints—still undiminished on the rain-soaked muddy path—remained here and there. With eyes gleaming sharply, he compared and scrutinized them: from waist to chest, chest to nape—those muddy tracks and that mysterious gouged wound, neither spear thrust nor stab nor sword slash. As he contemplated intently, this discernment—this conclusion—was indeed the brilliant acuity of vision permitted solely to our master detective, the taciturn Umon.

“It’s a dog! This culprit is a dog—it’s decided!”

“Huh?! This is bad! Wh-wh-where’s it written about any dog?!” “Look close at those plum-blossom mud marks on his chest.” “Then there’s the throat wound.” “Gouged clean through like a split pomegranate—proof positive Wan-kō bit him.” “The chest mud came when he lunged for the throat.” “Lucky break with the rain stopping.” “Road stayed muddy—that’s how I spotted it.” “Autumn rains deserve thanks.” “Still—this ain’t no ordinary mutt.” “Took down a proper swordsman without a peep.” “So Brother Den—even Taciturn Umon’s hitting his stride now, eh?”

“Cheh, this is too much!” “Finally noticed on the third day, did ya?” “Alright, let’s get moving.” “Well now, things’ve gone and gotten a tad complicated.” “A dog’s the culprit? That’s a shocker!” “After all, it’s a nimble four-legged thing.” “Hey, why’re you tightening the noose already?” “Even Kusaka-ryu mightn’t cut it against Wan-kō, y’know.” “Quiet down, quiet down.” “If you’ve noticed this much, know that the Taciturn Umon’s treasure box holds no shortage of wisdom pills.” “Let’s head back home and maybe stroke our chins in peace. Gentlemen of the watch—Aba Kei will be arriving here soon from Yamano-te with his report.” “Pass along that the culprit’s been decided as a dog.” “Have your ambush net set up accordingly.” “Well then, Brother Den, let’s head back.”

5

But when they returned, something seemed slightly off. It appeared Keishirou—who should have been patrolling Yamano-te—had somehow returned to Hatchōbori unnoticed. Around the samurai residences, low-ranking servants bustled about in commotion, forming an odd crowd. “Hmm… What could this be?” “What’s this about?” “Surely Yakko-sensei ain’t gone and given up already?”

Denroku—ever busy with everything—reported something unexpected with a puzzled look.

“Damn it! They got us—they beat us to it!” “What rotten luck we’ve got, huh?” “They stole our thunder!”

“What?!” “So they’ve already caught the culprit?!”

“They ain’t even at the stage where they’ve arrived yet.” “They’ve nabbed a single ronin they had their eye on—and on top of that, they’re hauling in a samurai corpse on a plank, spittin’ image of the Ushi-no-koku mairi ritual we just saw at Shirahata Kongen!” Suspicious, they strode boldly closer and peered into the garden. There stood a single ronin bound with his arms behind his back, while beside him lay the corpse of a feudal retainer in haori and hakama—its throat gouged like a split pomegranate—atop a wooden plank. This was truly nothing short of bizarre. They had just returned from tracking the dog, so finding the culprit to be a ronin was suspicious—and the appearance of another identical corpse from somewhere other than Shirahata Kongen was utterly perplexing.—The master lumbered closer, stroking his chin, then fixed a sharp gaze on the corpse as he scrutinized it. At that very moment when it seemed—he smiled coolly, having seen through something, and addressed Keishirou with calm words.

“This appears to be counterfeit work, but what exactly happened here?” “What?! You dare call this counterfeit?!” “Unwanted meddling!” “Don’t go nitpicking out of petty frustration that someone outmaneuvered you.” “Now now—no need to growl and sharpen your words like that.” “The hakama’s proportions on this retainer, the throat wound’s state, even the timing—they closely match [the others], but this here’s undeniably counterfeit.” “First off—this neck injury. All previous victims had throats savagely torn by a dog’s bite, but this is clearly a sword’s stab wound, no?” “It’s puzzling enough that your ronin here’s the culprit—but where exactly did you apprehend him?”

Perhaps unable to bear watching Keishirou—bluntly accused of being the culprit and left speechless—one of the street officials nearby answered instead. “Ah, right. If you say so, things do seem odd, but this ronin definitely did it. To tell the truth, we were staking out Ichigaya Hachiman Shrine on Mr. Kei’s orders when we spotted this poor samurai approaching. Then that ronin over there suddenly stabbed him through the throat and started rifling through his belongings. Given how the timing matched and the way he targeted the neck, we figured he must be connected to the culprit—so we hauled him in whether he liked it or not.”

“No excuse—you rushed things in your panic over the public’s insults about the culprit still being free. But we’re colleagues entrusted with official duties. If you don’t do work with better foresight, you’ll get laughed at, you know. That they targeted belongings marks this as a grand fabrication. Proof over theory—haven’t every single one of the corpses up to now still had their wallets and coin pouches? Indeed, this bastard is nothing but a cut-and-run robber who took advantage of yesterday and today’s commotion. The culprit’s method was a bit too elaborate, so they seized on that to make your rough work look identical—scheming to smear their guilt through these cut-and-run robberies. You’ve brought in merit after merit—all splendid achievements—but you’ve nabbed the wrong suspect, haven’t you?”

While they were speaking, two underlings came clattering in—men who had apparently been staking out some shrine under Keishirou’s orders. Moreover, upon rushing over, they clamorously reported: “Another one! Another one!” “Mr. Kei!” “Another one’s happened!” “Another two! On Yotsuya Street—samurai-attired men had their throats torn out, and all their belongings were stolen!” The moment he heard this report, Keishirou’s eyes glinted with a master’s sharpness as he uttered words brimming with decisive confidence.

“Those too are counterfeiters exploiting this commotion! Ronin! Show your face!” As he approached, Keishirou scrutinized the defiant figure—but what caught his eye was the three-character tattoo on the inner left wrist: “Hachijō-jima.” At that instant—! The brilliant insight of the Umon school rang out with bold irreverence. “You’ve been mocking us.” “You’re a Hachijō-jima exile—what?!” “What?!” “Even if you’re startled now—too late.” “In Hatchōbori stands me—the Silent Umon they speak of.” “Mock me again and your head flies.” “They likely saw this drawn-out throat business from yesterday and today as their chance for dirty work.” “My eyes’ve never once erred.” “With two more corpses found in Yotsuya using similar methods—they must have four or five accomplices scheming profits, joining dirty hands in rough work.—Mr. Kei.”

Having bluntly pinned the culprit, he calmly turned to face Keishirou—this was where the Umon school’s approach truly began to relish the situation.

“Let me lay it all out plain. I ain’t here to nitpick your suspect—though it pains me to say, this bastard’s got the wrong motive behind him. I reckon that won’t sit sweet with you, but even off-mark, bagging this one might net you a bigger haul than expected.” “That other case—we’ve finally pinned it as a dog’s work—but seems I’ll need to scheme fresh from here on out. Let me speak straight.” “While we’ve been scrambling over credit like starved crows, look what’s hatched—these flashy copycats springing up, swelling the chaos till it bursts.” “What’s more, they say two more fell in Yotsuya just now.” “This tattoo tells true—Hachijō-jima exiles, felons with blood on their hands, conspiring to ride this storm for their dirty work.” “So here’s the play—we split forces. Crack this wretch here, you’ll sniff out his Yotsuya pack’s den. You take your glory your own way.” “Mark me clear—chase two hares, catch neither.” “Bungle both cases and let both culprits slip? That’ll stain the shogunate’s honor itself.” “Make clean exit—withdraw neat-like—and run your hunt on this cur and his mongrel crew.” “But mind your step.” “This one’s got brass balls beyond measure.” “His cutthroat gang’s likely tougher than boiled leather—plot sharp and leave no crack unsealed. When you net them whole, grip your guts tight and strike true.” “Give the word, and while breath’s in me, I’ll back your play.” “Now—I make haste.”

Before reason, there was no choice but to yield. Faced with our master’s frank counsel—laid bare with clarifying precision—even Keishirou could no longer force his obstinate will. With apparent resolve he withdrew amiably to crack down on ronin employing counterfeit methods for rough gains. Meanwhile, Kondo Umon returned briskly to the clan compound without lingering concerns and delivered a straight jab to Denroku blinking bewilderedly in his corner.

“Listen.” “Now’s the crucial time when I’ve got to let this jaw do the talking.” “Clatter that broken drum beside me, and I’ll sever our bond.” Shrinking back with a defeated *Haa…*, Denroku retreated meekly to the room’s corner—a movement the master ignored entirely. Without turning, Umon laid out those eerie straw dolls upside-down before his knees. Fixing his gaze on the cryptic characters inscribed identically on each doll’s back—*Man born in the Year of the Snake, twenty-one years old*—he absently stroked and rubbed, rubbed and stroked his divinely inspired jaw, plunging into single-minded contemplation.

Moreover, this was no mere hour or two. Without sleeping or eating—even when a new morning arrived, even when a sunny autumn day came, and even as dusk began to fall once more—he remained seated motionless in one place, never shifting his posture, continuing to ponder silently and steadily. Denroku too had been rebuked. Desperately stifling his unbearable urge to chatter, clatter, and tap, he shrank into a corner of the room and sat there like a small figurine, utterly still.

But as darkness fell completely—at that very moment when the bell marking the fifth hour of evening faded into the distance!

“It spoke! It spoke!” “Denroku! My jaw’s finally spoken!” “Wh—” “Thank the gods!” “Thank the gods!” “D-damn you...!” “M-my stomach had to go and growl like a damn beast!” “M-my mouth ain’t workin’ right...” “What’d you say?” “What’d the jaw say?” “It said to check the Bukan.” “Huh…?” “It said, ‘Kindly examine the Bukan,’ ever so gently.” “Don’t you get it?”

“Haa… Well.” “Even if I spent all day an’ night thinkin’ without sleepin’ a wink, this thing we gotta investigate’s a bit of a queer item—but what’s this about exactly?” “Can’t be helped.” “Look close at them characters on the back o’ this straw doll.” “A man born in the Year o’ the Snake, twenty-one years old—it’s wrote on every last one.” “Since it’s wrote here, this twenty-one-year Snake-man’s the target o’ them curse prayers.” “But here’s the rub—the folks goin’ out changin’ people an’ days for them curse rituals? They’re all provincial samurai-style retainers, ain’t they?” “The key to crackin’ this riddle lies right there.” “Feudal retainers—nay, samurai servin’ their lords.” “What’s queer is how all them slaughtered samurai ain’t had nobody come claim their corpses once—so I gave my jaw a stroke over that.” “Now listen here—these half-assed curse-prayer antics ain’t what folks do regular-like since olden days.” “Yet ain’t it strange them country samurai retainers kept troopin’ out night after night in such numbers?” “Anyhow, they’re proper two-sword men through an’ through.” “Skilled warriors like that—if they bore grudges or hated someone or wanted ’em dead—why bother with some weak-kneed curse ritual?” “Just cut ’em clean.” “If keepin’ ’em alive chafes, no need for straw dolls—slice ’em proper with one stroke.” “But goin’ through that roundabout Ushi-no-koku mairi nonsense? Means they couldn’t cut down their mark—no doubt.” “The one they couldn’t cut down—listen.” “Them curse-ritual doers were stipend-holders. So who’d those stipend-men want dead but couldn’t touch?—Don’t it click for you?”

“It’s a big one—ain’t that the lord they’re gettin’ their rice from?”

“Exactly. “It’s the ‘eye’ character.” “Precisely because their target is a lord of such high status—one they couldn’t lay a hand on—they scripted this whole staged play: ‘The only means left is to make them into those who have no choice but to curse him to death from the shadows.’” “In other words, the one being cursed is a twenty-one-year-old man born in the Year of the Snake—this very year.” “If that’s the case, if we comb through the Bukan and locate a twenty-one-year-old lord, we’ll uncover which domain and what name he bears—the secret’ll crack open. What do you think?” “No, not only that—once we know the domain’s name, we should also unravel why that damn dog has been slaughtering the curse ritual faction night after night, solving both mystery and secret.” “No, not only that—” “Truly, that dog is one of the rarest loyal dogs in this world.” “It’s the usual kind.” “A tale of a loyal dog and a clan conflict—that’s what this is.” “There’s a villain.” “The villains formed a conspiracy to usurp the clan, scheming to curse His Lordship—a twenty-one-year-old young master—to death. The loyal dog who caught wind of this has been going around tearing their throats out—that’s the scheme.” “Therefore, there’s gotta be a puppet master pulling strings behind that dog.” “The clan’s survival. The domain’s survival. It’s the kind of loyalist faction they are.” “That’s precisely why—hurry up and whip up about three rice balls.”

“Huh? Is this bait to lure out the dog?” “I’ll be eating them—flipping through the *Bukan* while munching. Once we spot the mark here, His Lordship will come riding the wind to make an appearance. Hurry up and make them.” “Damn you—you’ll pay for this! Heh heh… Maybe this one’s a bit too big? Ah well—just got a bit too carried away, y’know? Don’t take it the wrong way.” While accepting what was offered, he meticulously paged through the *Bukan*—a registry detailing stipends, official posts, and fiefdoms—and there it was. There was indeed one feudal lord—twenty-one years old, corresponding to the Year of the Snake.

“Well, well.” “He’s a thirty-thousand-koku lord.” “Tch! Thirty thousand koku? What’s that s’posed to mean? Damn shabby lord if ya ask me.” “Don’t talk nonsense.” “His stipend is thirty thousand koku, but he is Lord Iwatsuki Toudou of the branch family under Lord Toudou Oumi-no-kami.” “Alright—we’re moving.” “A palanquin!” “Hurry up and get ready!” The hour struck exactly four bells as they departed. The destination they rushed headlong toward was the Iwatsuki Toudou family’s upper residence in Ushigome Tanukizaka. “Now it’s your turn to act.” “If you go around that nagaya gate over there, there should be a hut.” “It doesn’t matter which household—just cleverly win over one of the stewards and thoroughly investigate the mansion’s situation.”

“You got it, Boss!” “When it comes to situations like this, my chatterbox chops ain’t half bad, y’know.” “The scheme’s slicker’n eel grease—just you wait!” The man—swift on his mission—seemed to vanish like smoke down a pipe, yet scarce moments later came prancing from the mansion gates, chest puffed like a bullfrog as he made his report.

“The ‘eye’ character! The ‘eye’ character!” “I knew it!” “There’s something strange going on, I tell you.” “What is it?” “Is His Lordship confined to a tatami prison or something?” “No, the chief retainer—he hasn’t done anything wrong—but they say he’s already been under house confinement for over three months.” “I got that gatekeeper old man talking—he started dripping tears like pomegranate seeds and told me this.” “The one under house confinement is apparently Lord Murai Shinano—the Edo chief retainer, so they say.” “Yet despite there being no other chief retainer as single-mindedly loyal as him, they say he was suddenly met with house confinement as punishment!” “So, you see—”

“Did you investigate the dog?”

“That’s it! That’s it! Since I figured investigating the dog was most crucial, when I asked how many they’ve got in this mansion, they said there’re six. And of those six, they say the Akita dog that’s got the best reputation for smarts is with that chief retainer right now.” “That’s our culprit! Didn’t you ask about the dog’s condition?” “Heard it? Heard it! That’s the crux—since yours truly here figured it’d be his big chance to shine, I went along too, putting on a show of tears while we sniffed around— Well, y’see—it’s like—how do I put it—”

“Hiding in the shadows—what’s all this about?” “No, see—the beautiful young lady from that honorable chief retainer’s household, well, she and that Akita dog have been sneaking out near midnight every night to make shrine rounds in secret—praying for her father’s house confinement to be lifted sooner rather than later, so they say!”

“That’s it! The mystery’s solved. Tonight’s the final night of the ‘Rei’-marked doll’s curse. The ambush net closes at the last Mitsumata Inari Shrine. Palanquin bearers! Make straight for Yushima—fly like the wind!”

Star, star, star. The road at deep midnight past the Hour of the Dog was a starry sky that seemed to rain down stars.

“Don’t you dare make a sound.” The place they stomped into with Denroku was behind that small shrine deep within the Mitsumata Inari precincts—the same shrine where they had set an ambush net on the first night only to end up waiting in vain—a place profoundly silent and ominously charged with a sinister aura. First quarter! Second quarter! And then a quarter-hour—

“Footsteps!” “I hear ’em!” “Boss!” Alongside Denroku’s whispered voice, three black figures—samurai retainers in hakama bearing swords and wearing shinobi zori—emerged one after another into the faintly lit shrine grounds beneath the starry night sky.

“Whoa!” “There’s a whole bunch tonight!”

“Shut up.”

Scolding Denroku while holding his breath to observe the situation, the master watched as the three men padded softly toward a spot just two ken ahead—then one among them pulled from his breast pocket what was unmistakably a cursed prayer straw doll.—Now! From the pitch-black grove came a faint rustling sound—and then, without so much as a bark or growl, there burst forth a supremely fierce jet-black dog, swift as a gale. The instant it came into view—aiming for the throat of one man who had taken out a straw doll and begun his curse ritual—it leapt into the air in a flash and sank its fangs into him. But it was over in an instant.

“There it is again!” As the remaining two shouted and drew their swords simultaneously, their blades were already in motion. Evidently skilled kendo practitioners with confidence in their swordsmanship, no sooner had they felled one attacker than they swiftly slashed down the fierce dog as it twisted mid-leap to strike again, then finished it off with a decisive downward cut. At that very moment.

“Ah! You’ve finished off Kuro! This ends here, villains who betray our clan! I, Tazu—daughter of Murai Shinano—shall face you. Prepare yourselves!” With a clear, cool battle cry ringing out, a gallant and beautiful woman of around twenty years old—discernible even in the dim night—leapt forth brandishing a dagger in one hand.

“There she is! Boss! Boss! The incompetent dog handlers have shown themselves! What are you dawdling for? It’s the Kusaka-ryu! It’s the Kusaka-ryu!” “Don’t lose your head! After all this, you still can’t tell good from evil? To punish the villains who betray our house—the young lady has just proclaimed it! —Lady Tazu! A woman’s valor is a sight to behold! Kondo Umon of Hatchobori shall lend his aid!”

Shouting, he leapt out in a flash—and remained perfectly composed. Crack-crack—slowly working his knuckles as he calmly advanced beneath the gleaming blades of the two cursed samurai—came that audacious declaration that stole one’s breath. “They say even a dog won’t forget a kindness if you feed it three days.” “Curse the lord who grants your stipends? Let the whole world forgive that treachery—this ‘Muttsuri Umon’ here won’t stomach it by my code.” “If you’re gonna walk in your lord’s shadow, better learn to tread smarter.” “There!” “Snap—here I go!” “This is Edo’s famed Kusaka-ryu!” “Cool off now—!”

A swift strike to the vital chest point. With a *thud*, having knocked one down, he delivered a declaration so impeccably fitting it defied improvement. “The rest of you gentlemen! In Edo’s Hatchobori district, we’ve got Ote, Karamete, Shitozane-ryu, Kusaka-ryu practitioners—and clever folks like us—aplenty as fallen leaves! Why don’t you take a nice long rest—while you’re at it?” In a flash, he lunged in and struck another vital point. “That was over quick!” “Seems things’ve been settled.” “Young Lady—now that was an exploit!”

“Oh! There is no need for thanks.” “There are no words—no words at all.” “These people…” She had begun to say when— “Do not speak of it! “Do not speak of it!” “If someone overhears, it will affect your family’s honor.” “Most likely, this lot here started some nefarious plot to usurp your house, incited your lord, and first sought to remove those who stood in their way—which is how they subjected your incomparably loyal father to wrongful confinement.”

“Ah.” “That is precisely so.” “Not only that, but every single night like this—”

“No, I understand. They’ve been switching out people every single night like this—even daring to try shortening your lord’s precious life—how impious! Yet despite being a woman, you disregarded your own safety and sought to eradicate these villains alone by employing the dog in that manner. Still—this poor creature was remarkably well-trained.” “It is most shameful. Facing grown men alone—I alone could never hope to defeat so many villains. Thus I spent over twenty days secretly training this Akita dog my father cherished—and though I managed to deal with them successfully until last night… Tonight—in this perilous moment—your assistance has filled Tazu with joy as if ascending to heaven… Yet even so… having killed Kuro… having killed Kuro… nothing pains me more.”

“Your grief is most understandable.” “In exchange, present these poor remains to his lordship—and then this straw doll.” “If you present these together, your innocent father’s confinement will surely be lifted, and his lordship himself will deal with the remaining villains—so your family’s honor will thus be restored.” “As for these two feudal retainers cooling their heels here, I’ll have the local guard post officers take them later and discreetly deliver them to the mansion.” “You must hurry without a moment’s delay.” “Quickly—take the dog and doll back, report such-and-such details, and uphold Kuro’s loyalty—Den-aniki! Make the arrangements swiftly.” “Hire a palanquin for the Young Lady.” “Well then—I’ll take my leave.” “Umon of Hatchobori isn’t one to blabber family secrets.” “Rest assured.”

With a whoosh, the wind tousled his disheveled sidelocks as the master departed, listening to autumn insects—such was the elegance of his figure! ——.

They’d gladly endure any hardship.

It was only natural that the women of Edo would willingly endure any hardship—even burning with love for such a nobly masculine master.

And so it was a bright, serene daybreak when they returned to Hatchobori. At that very moment, waiting there with a grin to greet the Master was none other than that fellow Aba Kei. “Thanks to you—” “Was this your exploit?” “It seems we’ve apprehended roughly five members of the gang.” “As expected, it turned out just as you perceived.” “Those who escaped from Hachijojima—driven by their lust for gold coins—took advantage of the chaos with those ronin scum’s schemes and pulled off reckless crimes using counterfeit tricks.” “By the way—how did your target fare?”

“That too is thanks to you—but it’s an exploit I cannot speak of.” “Though it would be rude to say so outright, please report your arrests as your own exploit alone.” “The magistrate will surely be pleased.” “Though my exploit is one that cannot be disclosed—with you and I settling two cases at once—Den-aniki, why don’t you get a good two days’ sleep?”

“Nah.” “Mr. Kei—my apologies!” “If there’s praise from the magistrate, I’ll have to treat you to some *kusaya* dried fish or something!” “Tee-hee-hee.” “There it comes!” “Look, see? The morning sun has made its grand appearance.” “What a bright and cheerful sight this is, ain’t it?”

Even this rascal, for once today, gave Aba Kei-danna simple, honest compliments without any exaggeration—and just then, welcome news arrived out of nowhere.

“Lord Kondo Umon has arrived. Tazu—” it read. It was signed “Tazu—”.

“Well, it ain’t like that Young Lady from earlier is burnin’ with passion or nothin’.” “Shut up.”

When he opened it, there was the following letter.

"Earlier at Mitsumata Inari, your gracious intervention brought me boundless joy; I offer my deepest gratitude. Having promptly returned to the mansion and reported to his lordship exactly as instructed—with all matters progressing most auspiciously—I pray you too may rejoice in this outcome. This debt of gratitude I, Tazu, shall carry through my lifetime. Should days yet come when I might behold your noble person anew, I shall hold this hope close as one treasures a fleeting dream. Written in haste, with profound respect—"

“Tee-hee-hee. “You’re happy, aren’t you?” “Huh!” “To think she’s humbly cherishing the thought of meeting you as in a dream—even hidden feelings become visible. Isn’t that delightful?” “No, no—even if there’s no official praise from the magistrate, if she’s glowin’ warmly every night and day, thinkin’ of you like this… eh, Boss? Ain’t that downright grateful enough?” “Huh?” “Ain’t that all right?” But the Master did not so much as smile, continuing to toy with his chin as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. ——Lovely insect sounds. At that moment, the lovely morning song of autumn insects chirred from the thicket in the garden.