Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

——That Twenty-Fourth Exploit.

It was early August. Of course, this being the lunar calendar, it corresponded to September today. Night after night, insects would gradually begin their chirping, and throughout all twelve months of the year, there was no month as disheartening to human existence as this one—when heaven and earth turned bleak, making one wish for death.

It wasn’t exactly because of that, but Denroku’s behavior seemed slightly off. By morning, Denroku would ordinarily rush over first thing without fail—attending to the master’s needs went without saying, from sweeping and cleaning to every meal detail, all handled as custom dictated—yet no matter how long he waited, Denroku never showed up. Puzzled, he went to check his solitary lodgings and found him dangling limply—had he hung himself, it would’ve caused an uproar—but his appearance so perfectly resembled someone about to do just that. Moreover, Denroku had hung a Heko obi limply from the beam under the eaves before the entrance and was standing vacantly beneath it with his arms crossed, tilting his head repeatedly.

“What an idiot...”

“…………” “What kind of thoughtless act are you pulling?” “…………”

“Hey, boss. What’re you doing?”

But there was no response. Without turning around, he kept twisting his head while gazing at the Heko obi hanging limply before him—his demeanor so perfectly resembling someone deliberating whether to live or die that even the master found himself startled as he called out. “If some stranger saw this, wouldn’t they be shocked? Even if you’re in a state where you’d want to die, if you’re sleepwalking through life like this, wake up already――”

Even though Umon had thumped him hard on the back, Denroku's demeanor remained oddly unchanged. Lumberingly turning around, he scrutinized the Master's figure from head to toe, but then abruptly—and with unsettling persistence—began uttering something bizarre. "I have an odd question to ask—" "What is it?" "Why the sudden formality? What's gotten into you?" "No, well... About this Heko obi hanging limply from the beam here—how does it appear to you, Master?"

“What do you mean ‘how does it look’? It’s just a sash.” “It’s just a sash.” “You could buy ten of these cheap things for two bu!” “Right?” “That’s why this humble one can’t make sense of it.” “Master, do you truly believe this sash could kill someone?” “What nonsense are you spouting?” “What would you have me say—‘if it killed someone’?” “No, I mean...” “I’m asking if it can kill at all.” “What’s your verdict—could it kill?” “This is mere cotton cloth.” “No blade nor dagger—just plain fabric. Could such a thing take a life?”

“No way.” “Whether it’s a cotton rag or a rope strip—either one can kill someone just fine.” “If you doubt it, why don’t you try dangling yourself with that sash?” “You’d head to the afterlife quite easily.” “Tch, I ain’t askin’ about that!” “If you’re talkin’ about how to strangle someone, this humble one knows that much already.” “Beneath this limp cotton rag hangin’ down, there’s a dead bastard of a man lyin’ there, I tell ya.” “A full-grown man, I tell ya—and not just any man, but a proper samurai.” “The two-sworded man had his windpipe pierced and was lyin’ there cold with his neck all drenched in blood, I tell ya!” “So, I just can’t stand the way he died.” “What do you think? Does such a stupid thing even exist?”

“Is there such a thing? How the hell should I know when you ambush me with some weird question outta nowhere? Where’d you even see somethin’ like that?”

“It’s not here or there, I tell ya. Today’s August eighth, I tell ya. On the first day of January, the second of February, the third of March—as you well know, Master—for three years now, this humble one hasn’t missed a single one of those dates where the day matches the month’s number to make my morning pilgrimage to Kannon-sama, I tell ya. This morning too, after getting up in the dead of night and heading out to Kaminarimon at the crack of dawn, someone suddenly says—‘If I may say so, sir—you’re quite the handsome man...’ She says in this hushed, sweet voice like this.” “What the hell? What’s with that weird voice you just put on? What are you even imitating?”

“It’s a female beggar, you see.” “Yes, that’s right.” “She looked about twenty-seven or twenty-eight.” “She says—get this—” “‘My, what a fine gentleman...’” “In this sweet voice like so.” “So I just went along with—” “You idiot.” “What does that beggar matter?”

“No, well—the beggar ain’t the issue here.” “Stories without enough details won’t move you—that’s why I’m tellin’ you all this just to be safe—but get this: a beggar like her comes out with this cute voice.” “Well now, aren’t you a handsome one, big brother?” “If I may say so, sir—kindness isn’t done for others’ sake.” “At seven years old, this one was parted from her parents; at ten, her eyes were destroyed; as you see—she endures such hardships.” “If I may receive your kindness,” she says in this pitiful way. “Thinking how impressive it was that someone who’d gone blind at ten could even recognize this humble one’s manly charms—I ended up giving her about three hundred mon, I tell ya.” “So then Master—while headin’ back from visitin’ Kannon-sama in such a fine mood—”

“So that’s where you saw it?” “No, you mustn’t jump ahead like that.” “The story’s still got a long way to go from here, so just keep quiet and listen, if you would.” “Then, see—all at once, His Majesty the Sun broke through the clouds.” “The morning sun, you see.” “Truly, it feels like I’m lecturin’ you to your face, Master—but givin’ alms to a beggar, completin’ my visit to Kannon-sama, and then encounterin’ that sunrise view on the way back—a sunrise that fills you with such a fine mood from all the good deeds done—well, there ain’t nothin’ else like it, I tell ya!” “So I was in such a cheerful mood that I headed over there, you see.” “To that Myoken-sama shrine there, you see.” “Master, you’re a learned man, so you must know this—there’s a place called Enoki Myoken beneath the three enoki trees on Neribei Koji in Shitaya, you see.” “Folks out there keep sayin’ all sorts of eerie things about that place—like how it’s for *Ushi-no-koku mairi* curses and whatnot—but oddly enough, Myoken-sama’s got this reputation for favorin’ single folks without makin’ a fuss about it, you see.” “So I was thinkin’, while I’m at it, might as well pay my respects—and there it was danglin’ down, you see.”

“What the hell? What’s danglin’ down there?” “Look—what was it called again? “It ain’t bells or gongs—you know those things hangin’ from shrine eaves and halls all over the place, you see? “Cloth scraps of blue, red, and all sorts jumbled together danglin’ loose-like—and when you tug on ’em, there’s this thing that makes these weird clatterin’ and boom-boom sounds, you see.” “*Wani-guchi*?”

“Yes, yes—it’s the *wani-guchi*, you see.” “Right under that danglin’ *wani-guchi* cloth, he was dead—dead! That splendid two-sworded samurai I mentioned earlier—his windpipe had been ripped out with a gruesome tear left all stretched out.” “So this is serious—thought I hadda inform you first thing Master—rushed back by palanquin quick as could be! But even so—can’t stomach how he died.” “Even if Myoken-sama’s kin to Benzaiten-sama—no way some rag could tear through a man’s throat! Makes no sense!” “Tell ya true—does such fool nonsense exist? Could it? That’s just what I was wonderin’, see.” “The obi and *wani-guchi* got different airs about ’em—but both cotton cloth! So I hung ’em here all limp-like—tryin’ ta figure if you could even die from such stuff!”

“You idiot.”

“Huh…?”

“I’m speechless at your idiocy.” “This ain’t some novice monk’s Zen training—what good’s starin’ at a sash do?” “Then quit yappin’ and spit it out proper.” “Seems we’ve got another troublesome hole (case) on our hands, ain’t we?” “If you’ve got time to sit twistin’ your neck over useless crap, get your ass movin’ on morning prep.” “Keep dawdlin’, and the magistrate’s office’ll come fetch you.”

While he was speaking—

“Master! Master!” “Master Umon!”

The figure who came running frantically from around the corner while shouting loudly—as if to physically validate those very words—was instantly recognizable as a messenger from the Tsuji Magistrate’s Office. What they thrust forward upon reaching them was none other than a document personally penned by the magistrate himself, reading as follows.

“An urgent dispatch has just arrived from the Tsuji Magistrate’s Office: a bizarre incident has occurred.” At Enoki Myoken Shrine precincts in Neribei Koji: one individual.

At Yanagihara Higesuri Enma precincts: one person. At both aforementioned locations: individuals presumed to be stipend-holding samurai have met brutal violent deaths per petitions received; immediate arrangements must be made. "The above is hereby urgently communicated."

“Tch, well ain’t that a shock—” The one who stretched up to peer sharply at the official document from behind and suddenly raised his head was none other than our dear Denroku. “How efficient!” “Seein’ how quick the urgent report flew to the magistrate’s office—this’s one helluva commotion, I tell ya!” “And look—ain’t they Myoken Hall and Enma-sama? Two places!” “Surely the corpse I saw at Neribei Koji couldn’t’ve floated off to Yanagihara on its own?” “Huh?” “Hey, Master.—Oh! This’s too much.” “Listen, Master.” “What’s gotten into ya all sudden-like? Hey, Master!” “What’s not sittin’ right? Huh?” “Hey, Master!” “What’s got ya so riled up?”

It was no wonder he was flustered. For just as he—still muttering complaints despite his good mood—glanced up, expecting the master detective to begin preparing for departure at any moment, the man had instead, upon returning to the clan estate, abruptly fallen silent and begun leisurely fiddling with the pots of omoto plants lined up by the garden edge, twisting them this way and that with an air of utter nonchalance. But that wasn’t all. Suddenly adopting the demeanor of someone decades older, he brought out red ink and cold barley tea broth, then began meticulously washing each leaf of the omoto plant—front and back—one by one. In an instant, Denroku’s sky seemed to darken with storm clouds, and a tremendous morning thunder rumbled and clashed with a deafening roar.

“What’s the matter?!” “What’s the matter?!” “What in the world isn’t to your liking?!” “So I’m the one who’s always gotta be pointlessly worried for nothin’!” “It’s precisely because you told me to hurry that I ended up rushing through meal prep, don’t you see?” “And yet here you are, doting on lilyturf or whatever—what’s so damn interesting about that?!” “Hey, wait—huh?” “Master!”

“…………” “Can’t you hear?!” “Hey, wait—” “Huh? Master!” “I ain’t nagging you outta vanity or some damn whim!” “The magistrate says so—the magistrate himself!” “The magistrate himself—the most distinguished one at the office—says arrangements must be made immediately! This ain’t some sudden retiree gettin’ sun-dried punishment—what’s so damn interesting ’bout starin’ at lilyturf?!” “Hey, wait—” “Huh? Master!” “Can’t you hear?!”

No matter how much he called or pounded, there was no response. Silently and meticulously washing each leaf one by one, he then leisurely finished his meal, leisurely fastened the wax-colored scabbard at his waist, and suddenly startled the panicky fellow with a blunt remark. “The boss has already rushed out by now.” “Go check on Pockmarked Kei’s situation.” “Huh…?” “I’m telling you to go check on Pockmarked Kei’s situation.”

“Tch.” “Just when I thought you’d finally started talkin’ like a normal person, there you go again.” “Really, how far you plannin’ to push folks’ patience?” “The official order came to you.” “It didn’t go to Pockmarked Kei’s place—it came to yours.” “We ain’t some advance party for the pox god, got no business there—what fool’d traipse all the way to Pockmarked’s spot, eh?”

“No helping it.” “That’s why I don’t feel like talking whenever I see your face either.” “If you don’t get it, take another good look at this official document.” “There’s no recipient’s name.” “There’s no recipient’s name anywhere, is there?” “If this were an order for me alone, my name ought to be clearly specified—yet nowhere can you find even the ‘U’ character of ‘Umon.’ This proves the magistrate deemed this uproar a major incident, writing two identical copies to have that half-competent Pockmarked Kei and me both handle the arrangements.” “As living proof, didn’t that errand runner just now rush off toward Pockmarked Kei’s clan estate?” “I’ve never wasted a single word in my life.” “Once you see for yourself, you’ll understand—so go check quick.”

“Huh? So that’s how it was?!” “Well, if that’s how it was, you should’ve said so sooner! No wonder that messenger was clutching one more official document just now.” “Damn that bastard! Now he’s suddenly getting all cocky!” “Going head-to-head with Pockmarked Kei’s boss—it’s been ages, hasn’t it?” “Now that it’s settled, my fighting spirit’s fired up—fired up, I tell you!” “I’ll really make you remember what’s coming—Oh!” “Oh no!” “Oh no!”

He had suddenly perked up like a cloudless sky and dashed off in a flurry, but soon returned with silent, creeping steps, his eyes round with gravity as he lowered his voice to whisper.

“Hey, he’s here. The boss is loitering around our front gate, I tell ya!” “Pockmarked Kei?”

“Yeah.” “He came sneaking in like a damn cat, I tell ya.” “He’s sneaking around the front, spying on our place, I tell ya!” “Hey, look—that’s them right there.” “The ones by that fence are them, I tell ya!”

Stealthily peering in, he saw that indeed, those were none other than his pockmarked colleague Keishirou and two subordinates. It could only be called a long-overdue encounter. Yet this ill-intentioned colleague appeared unchanged in his ways even now, still pressing flush against the fence while incessantly watching their side. The moment he realized this, the master rose briskly to his feet and spat out his words.

“What utterly shameless behavior. There’s no excusing this.” “Denroku Ani’s chatter and Pockmarked Kei-danna’s rotten disposition—looks like they both need a swordsmith to hammer ’em straight before they’ll ever get fixed.” “It’s precisely because I wanted to avoid a fight that I went out of my way to fiddle with the lilyturf and held back to go later at a leisurely pace—and what the hell are they doing spying on us?!” “Since they’re mocking us, I’ll mock them back—so follow me.”

He went out smiling and said very quietly.

“Well, well. What a coordinated gathering we have here.” “How very ardently you appear to be peering about—might a hot spring have erupted in my garden?”

The ones left flustered were Pockmarked Kei and his gang. Taking advantage of their disarray from the sudden strike, he slowly stroked his chin—then, as if struck by inspiration, barked an order loud enough for Denroku to hear.

“Let’s take Neribei Alley ahead. Hurry up—it’s two blocks!” “Hurry up—it’s two blocks!” Lightly boarding the palanquin, they dashed off. —Not to be outdone, Pockmarked Kei and his gang followed close behind, lining up three palanquins as if determined not to let them escape, giving chase with a rallying cry and breakneck speed.

2

Thus chasing and being chased in turn, they proceeded ten blocks. If this persistent tailing continued, matters might grow slightly troublesome—yet in such situations, strangely enough, Denroku’s drumming managed to produce quite a resounding beat. “Damn it! We ain’t lettin’ ourselves get overtaken by the likes of Pockmarked Kei!” “Right!” “Right!” “Lengthen those strides!” “Lengthen ’em!” “You’re all just naked grubs anyway!” “Who gives a damn—run till your bellies show!” “I’ll toss in a tip too!” “A fat one!” “Since it ain’t my purse gettin’ light, run like your worthless lives depend on it!”

The farther they went, the faster they ran—and thus, master and servant’s palanquin successfully slipped away from Keishirou and his gang’s pursuit near Nihonbashi’s main thoroughfare.

Upon realizing this, he suddenly unleashed a preemptive strike in the Umon-ryū style with decisive precision.

“That’s enough. Palanquin bearers! Palanquin bearers! Change direction! Our destination’s Yanagihara’s Beard-Smoothing Enma Hall, I tell ya!” Upon hearing this, Denroku couldn’t possibly stay silent.

“That’s wrong! That’s wrong!” “Weren’t we supposed to go to Neribei Alley first? Right!” “Hey!” “You’re impossible.” “What’s the point of going to Yanagihara now?” “If we keep dawdlin’ like this, those bastards’ll beat us to Myoken Shrine, I tell ya!” “Hey, listen—can’t you hear me?” “Hey, Master! Master!”

Chase as they might, run as they might—it was Silent Umon. The place they arrived at—where he had been calmly stroking his chin—was the precincts of that Enma Hall, renowned as “Beard-Smoothing Enma” precisely because it lacked a beard. He lumbered down, “Ufufufufu.” “You’re sulking.”

He was composed to an almost cheerful degree. “How about it, Master? Gotten a bit cleverer, have ya?”

“Huh…?” “Still playing dumb, are we? This is what they call Umon-ryū military strategy. A scoundrel who’d peek over fences like that—walking alongside Pockmarked Kei would’ve meant certain interference, no? Bet those fools have already dashed to Myoken Shrine by now, standing there looking like foxes tricked ’em. This’ll keep happening—to shake off tenacious pests, you do it like this. Remember that well.”

“Haa... I s’pose.” “What’re you marvelin’ at?” “Oh, no—there’s a sparrow perched on that tree over there, y’know.” “When you really look at ’em, sparrows are such peculiar birds, ain’t they?” “Quit your yappin’.” “If you’ve been bested once, own up to it proper-like.” “Enough dawdlin’. Track down where the evidence lies—and make sure you pinpoint it sharp.”

As they split up and made their way through the grove of trees, what forcefully caught their eyes was the noisy throng gathered before Enma Hall’s entrance. “Stay back! Stay back! Don’t you dare come near!” “Stay back!” “Stay back!”

From the sight of local guard post’s minor officials desperately shouting themselves hoarse, it became immediately clear that the corpse in question lay within that black-clad throng—so the master approached without commotion. At precisely that moment, the one who raised such an absurdly booming clamor was none other than our comic charmer.

“Oh no! Oh no!” “Oh no! Oh no!” “Hey, just a sec.” “Just as I thought—it’s lying dead under the shrine gong!” “Look, see? The body’s stretched out right under that limply hanging shrine gong, isn’t it?” “The corpse we saw at Myoken Shrine this morning was exactly like this too.” “It was lying on its back like this, arched back and all, spewing blood bubbles from its throat and stretched out at full length, you see.” “I’m tellin’ ya, this ain’t right! No matter what you say, Master, this limp shrine gong hangin’ here ain’t normal, I tell ya!” “Yes, I tell ya!” “Since we’re testing things out, hanging the sash here again and thinking it through would be the shortcut, I tell ya!” “Hey, wait a sec—huh?!” “Master!”

While ignoring the noisy remarks and peering in, there lay a corpse arched back at length beneath the sham shrine gong’s hanging cloth. Moreover, the wound was extraordinary. It was neither a spear wound nor a sword wound—the fatal strike had gouged open what’s commonly called the throat’s windpipe at the neck’s vital point, leaving a wound so gruesome it resembled a split-open pomegranate.

“Hmm… Well, well.” “This is quite an unusual case.”

Stroking his chin and glaring intently, he examined the body in detail. The man appeared to be thirty-one or thirty-two. The haori jacket and hakama trousers, paired with wide long and short swords, along with the blue-shaven forelock sharply swept back into a koban coin shape—as explicitly stated in the magistrate’s official missive—left no doubt: this was unmistakably a stipend-holding samurai of some domain, evident at a glance. If he was a samurai, then which domain’s retainer he belonged to—that was the first problem at hand.

“Officers of the guard post!” While constructing a bamboo fence and desperately trying to hold back the surge of gawkers, the master summoned one of the town officials and inquired calmly. “Since when have you been keeping watch here?”

“As we received word at precisely six bells of dawn, we have kept watch since that hour.” “You’ve maintained vigil quite long indeed. If so, rumors of this commotion must now permeate the entire city. Thus any retainers from this man’s own domain household—those who might recognize connections upon hearing such talk—should by rights have come to observe. Yet you’ve seen none fitting that description?” “Haa... Not the slightest indication of such persons, Your Honor. Precisely why I deemed it most suspect.”

Whether they weren't coming because they didn't know, or weren't coming despite knowing—if it was the former, it posed no issue, but if it was the latter, there was ample room for consideration here. Regardless of which domain he belonged to, it was standard procedure that upon hearing of a retainer's violent death, one should first and foremost follow protocol to claim the body. Yet if they knew and deliberately refrained from doing so, there must have been some great secret at play. As if recognizing this as the key to unraveling the mystery, the master crouched down with piercingly gleaming eyes and deliberately began examining the body. What immediately caught his attention were the bamboo sword calluses on the domain samurai's fingers and palms.

“Hmm... This fellow appears quite devoted to martial arts.” “To see a practitioner of such caliber dispatched so easily—” “Huh...?” “You figured it out *that* quickly?” “Silence.” Scolding Denroku as he bustled forward to begin his usual antics, the master ignored the eerie atmosphere and touched the corpse, meticulously examining its wound. No matter how thoroughly inspected, it was no stab wound. Nor a puncture. A bizarre wound—deeply gouged as if bitten through. The master’s face gradually paled, his look of confusion deepening. A man bearing bamboo sword calluses from rigorous training—both blades still at his waist, slain before he could even draw—made clear the perpetrator wielded extraordinary skill. And if not thrust, stabbed, nor slashed... What weapon could gouge so? That became the first enigma.

“Hey, Master.” “That’s one mighty fine chin you’ve got there.” “Stroke that chin now. Go on, stroke that chin of yours.” “Stroke it slow-like, gentle-like, and those eyes of yours’ll snap wide open with a notion, won’t they?” “Go on and stroke it! Don’t you mind me none!” “Hey, just a sec.” “Don’t hold back now—go right ahead! Huh?” “Master!” “You deaf or somethin’?”

While silently ignoring the noisy remarks of the annoying fellow, the master suddenly reached in and examined the contents of his pocket. If any of the pocket contents had been missing, that would have given him something to focus on. But there was a wallet. It clearly wasn’t a case of highway robbery-murders or sneak-thief ambushes—the wallet remained intact, storing five koban coins and seven or eight small silver pieces as carefully as one would cradle tiger cubs. “Hmm, well now...” “With five ryō, a daring man could laze around eatin’ and sleepin’ for a whole year!” “This fellow’s got the look of some backwater samurai without an ounce of style, but seein’ how he’s got five ryō stashed in his pockets without battin’ an eye—might be he’s pullin’ down a fat stipend after all!” “Hey, hold on—ain’t that right?” “Huh? Master!” “Ain’t I right?”

However, the master was completely and utterly the sullen Umon. If neither clues nor suspicions lay in the pocket contents, one must take one step beyond perfection and search for second and third leads. As though handling something defiled, he silently returned the wallet to the corpse's breast in that instant! A chill ran through the master's hand as something brushed against it. The moment he withdrew it, his eyes blazed with intensity. Stranger than strange—from the deepest recesses of the suspicious corpse's pockets emerged items utterly bewildering for a samurai: a single hammer of no conceivable martial use, and several three-inch nails tightly wrapped in paper.

“Hmm, well now. “What in blazes is this now? Master?” “Blast it all, more of this lowly junk’s turned up, ain’t that right?” “You don’t mean this samurai was moonlighting as a master carpenter, could he? Huh? Master.” “Hey, hold on.” “What on earth is this?” Ignoring Denroku’s immediate and noisy chattering, the master kept his piercing gaze fixed on the two items before him, but when he rose resolutely to his feet, it suddenly became a decisive Umon-style revelation.

“What do you say?” “Bro.” “Today’s my first time payin’ respects to the Beard-Smoothing Enma-sama.” “Shall we take a look around?”

“Huh...?” “There’s trees, a forest, a pond—seems like quite the impressive precincts. I mean we should take a look around.” “Unbelievable.” He started talking like he’d just remembered something, then went right back to spouting nonsense. *You’re such a saint that if you died, you’d waltz straight into paradise.* *No call to go sniffin’ round Enma-sama’s mood when there’s no cause—hey, just sayin’.* *This is beyond endurance.* “Just quit dawdlin’ and get over there already! What’s so bleedin’ fascinatin’ about it?”

Without so much as glancing back at Denroku’s clamoring pursuit, the master briskly made his way to a dense, daytime-dark thicket of trees behind the hall. Not only that, but as he stomped into the depths of that forest, he meticulously inspected each towering cedar tree one by one—when, the moment he approached the largest tree at the very back, the master’s legs seemed to freeze in place as if nailed down, and his eyes took on an eerily frightened gleam as though terrified by some unseen presence. How eerie it was—for there, upon the belly of that thick cedar’s reddish-brown trunk, a fully-limbed straw doll, that accursed straw doll, had been savagely nailed down with seven three-inch nails driven through both legs, both arms, chest, neck, and head, all while holding within it a voiceless enigma and infinite secrets. And the newness of those nails! The newness of that straw doll! No matter who saw it, they could only think it had been used to perform the curse during last night’s Hour of the Ox. At the same time, Denroku—his lips turning deathly pale—let out a shrill cry.

“Y-Y-You damn bastard! You did it!” “You did it!” “That’s him! That bastard!” “Didn’t a hammer and three-inch nails come outta his pocket?” “Hey, look—it’s that country samurai leanin’ back under that crocodile mouth there!” “Huh?!” “Master.” “Unbelievable.” “By nature, this kinda stuff just ain’t my thing.” “If we keep quiet, we’ll rake it in. Right, Master? We’ll profit! Huh?” “Hey.” “If you don’t answer, we’ll rake it in!”

There was no voice. No reply came either. It was only natural there was none. Given that matters had reached this point, the secret door had already been opened as it were. The master quietly approached and, taking care not to disturb its shape, gently pulled out the straw doll before turning it over to examine. At the same moment, what caught his eye was urgent—a mysterious character written large as "urgent." And then there was the age of the curse's target. A man of the Year of the Snake, twenty-one years old—this was written in vivid jet-black ink on the straw doll's back.

“This is too much.” “What’re you gonna do stowing that creepy thing in your pocket? Hey c’mon, can’t you at least say something?”

However, the master was terrifyingly silent. He pocketed the straw doll as though it were a precious object, moving with such speed—such speed. Just as he had briskly returned to the front of the hall, he suddenly came face to face with Pockmarked Kei and his group, who had rushed over from Myoken Hall in Neri Wall Alley while wiping sweat from their brows.

“How busy we are. Pardon me for going ahead—”

After bowing lightly, he nimbly boarded the palanquin he had kept waiting and coolly issued a command. “Take your time now.” “Myoken Hall in Neri Wall Alley now.”

“Tch.” “This is why I can’t stand you.” “If you’ll go talkin’ to palanquin carriers and Pockmarked Kei, your cute subordinate here, ain’t it only fair you’d say somethin’ to this humble one too? What a stubborn old mule you are.” Swaying the palanquin rhythmically to the tolling, they soon arrived at their ordered destination—the grounds of Sanbon-en Myoken Hall. However, the corpse that should have been there was already gone.

“Damn it! It’s Pockmarked Kei.” “Pockmarked Kei must’ve hidden it somewhere—no doubt about it!” “When I saw it this mornin’, it was properly leanin’ back long under this crocodile mouth here.” “That bastard noticed us comin’ round here and spitefully made sure t’ dispose of it already—no doubt about it!”

Of course, there was no doubt about that—but the master, unhurried and composed without so much as a flicker in his expression, briskly headed over to where three cedars towered cloud-high beside the hall. Glinting sharply, he examined the trunk—and there it was: on the unseen rear side of the exceptionally thick central trunk, an identical brand-new straw doll had been eerily nailed in place. Moreover, even the characters on the back matched perfectly. The mysterious character “urgent” stood written in the same manner—a single character—with “a man of the Year of the Snake, twenty-one years old” inscribed below it like some cryptic riddle. No sooner had he slowly pocketed it than—with both suddenness and utter unexpectedness—a truly ferocious Umon-style command was issued.

“Jutte!” “Jutte!” “Den! Prepare the jutte!”

Nimbly boarding the palanquin, the destination he had ordered turned out to be yet another formidable Umon-style maneuver. “Our destination is Tenkaiji Temple in Shinobugaoka.” “Hurry it up.” This was the present-day Kan’ei-ji Temple—though its current imperial name of Tōeizan Kan’ei-ji had been bestowed slightly later during the Keian era. At that time, it was commonly called Tenkai-ji after its founding Archbishop Tenkai, and they swiftly had the palanquin raised toward that renowned temple of Tokugawa lineage.

Three

Of course, the one whose liver was nearly scared out of him was none other than our infinitely beloved Brother Den. Utterly flustered, Brother Den—that usually noisy fellow—had fallen completely silent, audibly gulping down nervous saliva again and again as he stared wide-eyed, his eyes like saucers. No wonder. For if there truly was a criminal within Tenkai-ji Temple—founded by Archbishop Tenkai under the shogunate’s decree—who warranted the use of a jutte, this would indeed constitute a grave matter.

But the master was truly inexpressibly composed. While discarding their vehicle at Mitsuhashi and briskly proceeding to the monks’ quarters beside the temple complex, the manner in which he requested guidance was indescribably antiquated—and moreover, indescribably grand.

“A moment—a moment.” “How may I assist?” The monk responded with equal antiquity. As Umon watched this vividly azure-clad temple administrator place his hands formally on the floor, the bluntly spoken words struck him as slightly peculiar. “As you can see, I am of Hatchobori.” “If there lies a quiet chamber to borrow, how might that be arranged?”

“Huh…?” “Your suspicion is understandable—but as this rolled haori shows, I am of Hatchobori. Having resolved to pursue Buddhist training, I have come here—for rumor has it that this temple gladly guides earnest seekers along the path. If there exists a quiet room, I would humbly request to borrow it temporarily—may I have your permission?”

“I see, I understand perfectly.” “For a man as occupied with official duties as yourself to undertake Buddhist training—truly an extraordinary thing these days.” “I cannot claim to be worthy of guiding you with pleasure, so please come this way.”

The room they were led to turned out to be—astoundingly—a massive hall of about two hundred tatami mats. Moreover, within that vast beyond vast room, there was not a single piece of furnishings or utensils. Truly, this was a quiet beyond quiet—there could be no room quieter than this. After humbly having the master and his servant wait in the very center of that massive hall—a room so vast it seemed to fade hazily into the distance—what was eventually brought forth were dozens of sutras, cunningly patterned and wise.

“The noble teachings you seek are all contained within these sutras; you may peruse them at your leisure.” After watching the temple administrator shuffle away with those parting words, what happened next struck him as truly peculiar. “It’s a bit of a waste, but allow me to borrow these sutras as a pillow and see myself a dream of paradise. You too—take a midday nap and rest.” Even as he spoke, he bowed to the sutras, stacked them as a makeshift pillow, then plopped down and closed his eyes with utmost serenity—so of course Brother Den, who had been tensely polishing the jutte while awaiting action, erupted like a hundred thunderclaps at once.

“Tch! What the heck?!” “What the heck?!” “There’s a limit to how much you can belittle someone!” “What about the jutte?!” “The jutte you ordered me to prepare—how are we supposed to handle it?” “The way yours truly’s been handling the jutte these past two days has a whole different level of spirit—spirit, I tell ya!” “I’ve been raring to go since earlier, I tell ya!” “Where’s he?!” “Hey, wait a second—is the suspect we need the jutte for inside these sutras?” “Huh? Master!” “Where is he?!”

“Quiet down, quiet down. If you’ve got time to yammer away, just sleep. There’s nothing more blessed than sleeping with sutras as your pillow. Rest easy so you can reach paradise.” “I’ll get angry, I tell ya! Honestly—there’s only so much teasing one can take! So you were fooling me all along? You told me to prepare the jutte—was that a lie?”

“Ain’t no lie.” “I made you get ready now because I figured a hothead like you’d panic when things hit the fan—that’s why I gave you that kick in the pants.” “When midnight’s hour of the ox comes around, we’ll need so many jutte that even ten wouldn’t be enough. If you ain’t keen on sleeping, then plant yourself right there, hold your jutte at the ready, and keep your spirits up till that ox-hour bell tolls.”

“Tch. What a laid-back jutte this is.” “What about Pockmarked Kei?” “What’ll we do if Pockmarked Kei beats us to it?” “Even that boss is running around like his life depends on it, you know!” “As they say—even monkeys slip with their brushes and even Great Master Kobo takes a tumble from trees.” “What’ll we do if they beat us while we’re lazing around?!” No matter how much he shouted or pounded, there was no response anymore. As if declaring that the essence of Buddhist teachings—the Buddha’s compassion and Amida’s wisdom—lay within this single pillow, the Master, with sutras dedicated to pursuing enlightenment and spreading the Dharma beneath his head, began to snore peacefully and contentedly, guided to the land of dreams by the temple bell tolling from the mountain. Moreover, once he fell asleep, he truly did not wake easily. Despite Brother Den—that charming hothead with his incessant grumbling—pacing furiously back and forth across the endless two-hundred-tatami hall, brandishing his jutte in a fit of pique and too flustered to sleep, [Umon] continued slumbering undisturbed. Only when dusk had fully deepened did he finally jolt upright, summon the temple administrator with utmost solemnity, and declare...

“Well, I’ve just completed an ascetic practice unlike any in recent times. While it may seem presumptuous to bring this up on such an occasion, it happens to be time for the monastic meal. I wouldn’t presume to trouble you with dinner preparations.”

“Hah, understood.” “When your lordship awakens—as this concerns none other than your lordship’s own affairs—we anticipated this matter would likely arise and accordingly made preparations beforehand.”

“Concerning none other than your lordship—what is the matter?” “Do not conceal it, your lordship. Given your suspicious conduct since earlier and that gentleman’s clamor over there, we have thoroughly deliberated due to your inexplicable demeanor—but you must be the now-famed Lord Umon, I presume.”

“Ahahaha, so you’ve finally seen through me? Since you’ve seen through me, I won’t conceal it any longer. Since there is a matter I must investigate, I have resorted to such rudeness. The numerous irreverent acts that have defiled your lord’s prayer hall—I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

“There’s no need for such formal courtesies—you honor me too greatly. Abbot-sama presumes this matter involves no ordinary investigation, and as he instructed us to extend proper hospitality, please relax here at your leisure.”

As expected of Ningao-oka Academy’s devout practitioner. Having apparently already discerned the Master’s suspicious behavior, before long, an array of splendid vegetarian dishes was brought there.

“Tch.” What I really need is a boss with plenty of wits. He never realized napping could involve such tricks. “Well, take a look already. The sheer goodness of this vegetarian fare—ain’t it just the most unbearable sight you ever did see? In that case, how ’bout you lively folks join in this ‘restraint’ and dig in?”

A man this good-natured was hard to come by. Denroku, who until moments ago had been puffed up like an angry blowfish, suddenly broke into a beaming Ebisu-like grin as he rushed about—dishes and chopsticks flying in all directions until the scene became almost dizzying to behold.

However, the Master refused to budge. Though one would expect him to mobilize immediately after securing provisions and completing battle preparations, he instead flopped back down once more, finally rising while stroking his chin at precisely the ninth hour of the night. No sooner had he heard the deep *bong-bong* of the timekeeping bell resonating through the temple than it was the devout practitioner from earlier who calmly clapped his hands and summoned [someone].

“Do you have some business with me?”

“There is a matter I wish to inquire about. As this temple presides over exorcism rituals and subduing dark arts in its grand hall of practice, I presume you monks are intimately familiar with such matters. Pray tell—which locations in Edo are currently used for Ushi-no-koku mairi?”

“I see. So it concerns that matter.” “As Ushi-no-koku mairi is an unforgivable heresy to we who uphold the true dharma of demon subjugation, we are not ignorant of their locations.” “First and foremost is Myoken Hall in Neribei Alley, followed by Higesuri Enma in Yanagihara, then Mitsumata Inari at the foot of Yushima Slope. Skipping ahead a bit, there’s Ikiume Gyoja in Honjo Yotsume, and Shirahata Kongen in Nihonbashi Hongin-cho—these five are the most well-known locations.”

“You’ve taught me well.” “I am deeply grateful for your generous hospitality.” “Though it is a trifling amount, I humbly request you accept this as an offering for the temple lamps.” What was wrapped and presented were three pieces of yamabuki-colored paper. Even when taking a nap, he demonstrated the flawless execution of a Master. With his face fully concealed under a ninja hood that never left his person, he descended the mountain just as the ninth-hour bell finished tolling. Simultaneously entering his view were the imposing black shadows of officers securing every street corner.

“Hmm, you think Pockmarked Kei’s pulled some trick here?”

It seemed he had nimbly tied up his clothes in that distinctive seven-three style and dashed out, but apparently even Denroku could occasionally maneuver with unexpected agility, for he came rushing back wearing a triumphant look and spilled everything as though it were a matter of grave importance.

“Oh no! Oh no!” “Oh no!” “We can’t be dawdlin’ around here!” “I managed to sweet-talk the guard posted at that corner there and got some info outta him—seems Pockmarked Kei’s gone and pegged that killer as some kinda throat-slittin’ highwayman who’s done his training! He’s rounded up every last constable from the station flunkies to the beat cops and set up dragnets all over Edo’s key spots!” “Hey, wait— This is too much.” “Has yer Silent Bug come on again?” “Huh?” “Master.” “Are you okay?” “Hey, Master.” “Hey—I said hey, Master!—”

“You shut up.” “My Silent Bug isn’t some common pest you can price per head.” “I’ll show you a place that’ll curdle your guts, so drown that two-bit chatterbug in oil and follow me without a word.” “If you utter even one word from here on out, I won’t show mercy tonight.” “Kusaka-ryu’s gonna fly.”

The place they briskly entered was the grounds of Mitsumata Inari at the foot of Yushima Slope—one of the hidden *Ushi-no-koku mairi* prayer sites Umon had just extracted from the mountain’s devout practitioner. Naturally, the surroundings were true darkness. With oppressive silence and a demonic aura closing in on his chest—a chill creeping up to his collar—the Master paid no heed to the eerie shrine grounds. Slipping behind the small shrine, he pressed himself against the shadow of the main hall, holding his breath perfectly still as he began waiting for someone. Denroku too was silent. It didn’t seem to be because he’d been told to shut up; rather, the eeriness and dread of their surroundings appeared to have made his chatterbug shrivel up, leaving him gulping down spit over and over.

Half an hour... A quarter-hour…

At last arrived the Hour of the Ox's Fullness—that deepest midnight said to bend roof beams three inches. BONG rang out once. Then came the second BONG. Three, four, five, six—once the final eighth toll rang out, the hour would come for the Ushi-no-koku mairi curse ritual, said to demand every ounce of one’s being in devoted prayer—and Denroku’s legs began trembling violently.

However, the Master remained motionless, his gaze fixed unwaveringly into the demonic-tinged darkness. Toll! First toll! Another toll! Second toll! And then a quarter-hour—. But there was no sound at all. Not a single footstep could be heard; no sounds of nails or hammers reached their ears. No sooner had he realized this than the Master suddenly let out a dry, metallic laugh and spoke dismissively.

“Wahahaha! So tonight we’ve finally been stood up!”

“Huh? “What did you say?! Hey, wait, wait!” “W-w-what’re you sayin’?!” At the same time, it was only natural that Denroku exploded with noise. “There’s a limit to how much you can scare someone!” “There’s no way you’d pull such a creepy prank!” “My life’s been shortened by about three years!” “This ain’t funny—what’s this ‘stood up’ nonsense?” “What madness made you pull this stunt?”

“You can get mad all you want—it won’t change a thing.” “It’s their damn fault we got stood up, so barking at me won’t do squat.” “There’s another ‘tomorrow’ night comin’.” “Go on home.”

“What did you say?!” “What do you mean by ‘tomorrow’?” “Ain’t this supposed to be some big urgent job where we gotta rush and handle Pockmarked Kei?!” “There’s another ‘tomorrow’ night comin’—what’s that supposed to mean?” “I ain’t sharp enough.” “I ain’t sharp enough.” “There’s a limit to mockin’ a man!” “I ain’t budgin’ from here till I get a good look at that culprit’s mug, no matter what!” “Shut it, brat.” “This Silent Umon here set up a stakeout based on solid deductions.” “If you’re gonna throw such a tantrum, I’ll tell you.” “Do you remember the characters on the back of the straw doll we got this morning?”

“Ain’t no mistake. There was the character ‘urgent,’ and right below it was written ‘man born in the Year of the Snake, twenty-one years old.’” “What in blazes does that have to do with anything?” “It’s as simple as this—the key lies in that ‘urgent’ character.” “Course someone like you wouldn’t know.” “That’s the first character of the curse phrase ‘Kyūkyū Nyo Ritsuryō’.” “For the dolls: one ‘urgent,’ then another ‘urgent’—first night nailed at two spots. Second night ‘as,’ third ‘law,’ fourth ‘order’ to finish. That’s how Ushi-no-koku mairi’s always been done.” “Those two at Beard-Smoothing Enma and Myoken Hall this mornin’ were last night’s starters. Figured they’d do ‘as’ tonight—no mystery why I staked out this Mitsumata Inari hole Aodo-shin tipped. Just our luck pickin’ wrong.” “Likely they hit Shirahata Kongen in Hongin-cho or Ikiume Gyoja at Honjo Yotsume tonight—swapped crews and methods.” “Were you half-decent help, we’d split teams.” “Even Silent Umon’s tricks can’t work short-handed—wastin’ nights ain’t fixable.” “How’s that sit with you?”

“Tch! There’s no need to go actin’ all high-and-mighty now, callin’ this humble one slow-witted or claimin’ the role’s beneath me—you can quit tallyin’ my faults already! If I’m the one shinin’ bright, Master’s halo’s gotta go dim. Even sashimi needs its garnishes—there’s real flair in that setup. A clean Edo-style garnish like yours truly’s just what your own folks crave.” Heh heh heh… Damn you, grinnin’ sudden-like ain’t fair. If that’s how it stands, no call for me to puff up on purpose. “So what’re you sayin’? That if we stake out this curse ritual and use Master’s sneaky ways to trace things back, we’ll spot who’s been ambushin’ those cursed bastards like this mornin’—and nail that killer too? That it?”

“It’s obvious.” “We ain’t layin’ out no sardine nets, nor is roundin’ up lackeys Pockmarked Kei-style the only trick we got.” “Sneak out early tomorrow and investigate both Ikiume Gyoja and Shirahata Kongen.”

As though hastening to outstrip speech itself, a mist-like autumn drizzle fell with a soft pitter-patter. 4

By morning, the rain had imperceptibly turned into a full downpour, and truly heaven and earth lay desolate; the willow leaves fluttering down at the wind’s whim seemed all the more sorrowful and lonely, while even a dog passing through the wet gloom barked plaintively, until one’s spirits could not help but sink.

However, Denroku—undeterred by the rain—had apparently gone early in the morning to investigate the two locations he’d been ordered to check. He returned with great vigor and shouted from the garden entrance. “The eyes! The eyes! “Shirahata Kongen was empty, but sure enough, they ended up goin’ to Ikiume Gyoja at Honjo Yotsume last night!”

“So they struck again.” “No! In front of the shrine—a samurai in hakama with a daisho had his throat torn out same as before, thrown back like that!”

“Did you find the straw doll too?”

“Letting that thing get away? Not a chance! The bag of tricks this top underling learned from his boss is roughly what you’d expect. Look! Here! This is it—this is it! It was nailed into the big maple behind the shrine, I tell you. Everything’s just like it looks—the character ‘as’ you mentioned is written plain as day here, Master!” “Hmm… The characters for ‘man born in the Year of the Snake, twenty-one years old’ are clearly written here as well. From the look of things...”

“Huh…?” “From the look of things, this’ll turn into a full-scale manhunt.” “Don’t know which domain’s samurai’s cursing who—but them switching up their crews night after night means this curse gang ain’t some half-assed outfit. And whoever’s slittin’ their throats ain’t no two-bit thug either.” “You did check on Pockmarked Kei’s doings, yeah?”

“That’s it! That’s it!” “That’s the real problem here.” “Just like we ran into at Yamashita last night, they went and dragged out even petty officials from street guard posts to cast a huge net over all of Edo—but all they caught was three sneak thieves and one pair of swindlers, not a single decent catch to show for it.” “Just as he was in a panic, news of this morning’s Ikiume Gyoja incident reached his ears.” “So you see, even with those pockmarks, that’s Keishirou for you.” “Since all these throat-slashing incidents keep happenin’ at shrines and halls, seems that bastard’s finally caught on—tonight he’s changin’ tactics and settin’ up stakeouts at every last hall and shrine across Edo, they say!”

“That’s a stroke of luck.” “It’s not like I’m being stubborn just to hog all the glory myself.” “If they’re lending us their manpower through this assist, that’s exactly what I wanted.” “But mark this—nine times out of ten, it’ll be a wasted dragnet.” “Last night proved it—even after casting that wide net everywhere, they still let the killer who wandered into Ikiume Gyoja slip through... Given that outcome, we’re staking out Mitsumata Inari in Yushima again tonight.” “Since we need to keep watch all night, get some proper sleep now.”

“Huh…?” “Don’t get it? If they performed last night’s ‘As’ prayer at Honjo Yotsume, that leaves only two nights—‘Ritsu’ and ‘Rei’—remaining. Set up our stakeout at Mitsumata Inari and hold position—even if they don’t bite tonight, by tomorrow’s peak Hour of the Ox, they’ll get snared in Mitsumata’s net for sure. Stakeout rule one: pick one spot and stick to it till prey shows. Quit fussing over trifles and get some proper sleep instead.”

“No, that’s all well and good.” “It’s all well and good to set up a stakeout without hesitation at Mitsumata Inari, but...” “But I’m just… I’m a bit resentful here.” “When I think how heartless humans can be… I’m... I’m resentful.” “I haven’t told you this before, Master, but I’m just… I’m so resentful.” “I-I-I’m so resentful!”

“You idiot.” “What’s this? You suddenly burst into tears—what’s so sad?”

“But you see, on my way here just now, I overheard things in a couple of places—Edoites are more heartless than you’d expect.” “When you pull off a feat, Master, you lot put on airs like you’ve become Stoic Umon and cheer your heads off—but then!” “Once they take a bit more time, they start spouting all sorts of worthless nonsense.” “Seems word ’bout this mornin’ Yotsume Gyoja incident’s already spread all over town! Heard folks gossipin’—‘Pockmarked Kei and Master Stoic Umon been on the case since yesterday, but still ain’t caught the culprit? Ain’t that just pathetic!’” “If those eerie deaths keep happenin’ for three or four more days, you won’t even be able to visit shrines without worryin’, what with all this gossip they’re spreadin’ around!” “On top of that, they’re spoutin’ nonsense.” “They were spouting things they’d heard like it was gospel!” “They’re sayin’ even Master Stoic Umon’s past his prime now, y’know.” “They don’t know a thing about others’ hardships, yet they were yammering on like that!” “That’s why… That’s why I-I’m so resentful!” “I can’t stand how resentful I am!”

“Heh heh heh. You call that something to cry about? “Ain’t worth the tears.” “The more effort it takes, the louder the applause and cheers’ll be.” “Though I’ve thinned some from summer wasting, no rust clouds these eyes.” “Drizzling light again.” Autumn—ah, autumn. In love’s bone-seeping pluck, this misting rain… No—rather, its sound’s tightening grows all the more hateful—so it goes. “I’ll dry those tears and nap to rain’s song—so fetch a pillow from that closet.”

As soon as he flopped down, he began snoring lightly and carefree—as if to show that man up—already drifting into peaceful sleep. The chirping sounds, whether they were crickets or pine crickets, were the lonely cries of insects calling for love.

Before long, the sun set. And so night fell. The autumn night—early to darken yet slow to deepen—passed through Four and Five, and before long, Nine was struck. At the same moment, the master rose with dashing poise, clad in a black silk kimono and a deep hood. He issued a brisk, crisp command.

“Stealth palanquins! Prepare two immediately!”

As if he'd been waiting for this moment, Denroku moved with astonishing speed—how quickly he acted, how swiftly he sprang into motion! But before long, he came flying back like an arrow and shouted shrilly.

“Oh no! Oh no! It’s happened! It’s happened! They’re saying it’s already struck tonight! The Ushi-no-koku mairi curse—it’s struck again! They found someone sprawled out in Shirahata Kongen Shrine’s grounds!”

“Heh heh. Well now.” “What’s happened this time?” “Well, see—they’ve been gettin’ hit every single night, so they probably thought they’d head out early tonight to get ahead of it, but seems they got sniffed out again! Thing is, since it was an ambush, the guys who set up the net are in a total uproar!” “How’d you dig that out?” “Pried it from Pockmarked Kei’s underlings, see.” “When I went there just now, those street cops were millin’ about—so I laid a neat trap and wormed it out! Turns out they’re scramblin’ to track down Pockmarked Kei’s whereabouts through some scheme or other!”

“Searching? What’s happened now?” “Wasn’t Pockmarked Kei also part of the stakeout?” “That guy went off to patrol Yamanote, they say.” “And those guys are real pathetic too—get this! Even though they had three men posted in three directions around Shirahata Kongen Shrine’s town corner, they’re sayin’ they don’t even know when the curse ritual showed up or when they got exposed!” “So, since it’s even more humiliating for Pockmarked Kei, they’ve split up and are desperately searching for that guy’s whereabouts right now, or so they say.” “Either way, we can’t afford to dawdle.” “Why don’t you go out, Master?”

“Very well.” “How’s the rain?” “It stopped raining earlier this evening.”

“Well, it’s not far then.” “To shake off sleepiness, let’s head out while picking up clues.” “Prepare a portable lantern and follow me.” The destination they stealthily made their way to while holding portable lanterns in one hand was the Shirahata Kongen Shrine precincts in Hongin-cho—a stone’s throw away from Hatchōbori—where the incident had occurred. The ones who, seemingly ashamed at having fallen for a feigned ambush, were scrambling about with their tails between their legs in the shrine precincts were five or six street cops who had laid an ambush net across the area under Pockmarked Kei’s orders. Of course, when they approached the still-untouched corpse nearby, the samurai’s attire—hakama trousers, swords, white tabi socks, and geta clogs—remained unchanged, but the position in which he lay was slightly different. Not in front of the shrine hall as usual—exactly there was the precincts’ entrance along a muddy path. When they suspiciously reached into their pocket—there it was, there it was—what emerged was a straw doll of a 21-year-old Snake-year man named Ritsu written on its back, along with a hammer and a three-inch nail.

“Well, well. It appears they were ambushed just as they tried to begin the curse ritual. Denroku—hand me the lantern.”

As he took it, with a flicker, he simultaneously illuminated the fallen samurai’s chest and began scrutinizing it at the same moment. “Hah!”

A voice laced with sharp surprise rang out from the master’s mouth.

“There it is! There it is!” “Strange muddy footprints running from the waist up to the chest!” What appeared to be animal footprints at first glance—small plum-blossom-shaped muddy marks—were scattered across the corpse’s kimono. But they weren’t just on the kimono. When they illuminated the area with the portable lantern, they found identical four-legged footprints still fresh on the rain-dampened muddy path here and there.—His eyes gleaming sharply, he traced those muddy tracks from waist to chest, from chest to nape, comparing them to that mysterious gouge wound—neither spear thrust nor stab nor sword slash—as he contemplated in silence. Truly, this discernment, this decisive conclusion, was the keen insight granted only to our stoic detective Umon, master of criminal apprehension.

“It’s a dog! This culprit is definitely a dog!”

“Huh?! This’s bad! Wh-wh-where does it say ‘dog’?!” “Look closely at the plum-blossom-shaped muddy marks on the chest. And then there’s the wound on the throat. It’s been torn open like a split pomegranate—this is unmistakable proof of the dog biting through. The muddy marks on the chest were made when it aimed for the neck and pounced. It’s a stroke of luck that it rained. It’s precisely because the road was muddy that we caught on. It’s all thanks to the autumn rain. Even so, this dog’s no ordinary one, I tell you. To maul a samurai of such considerable skill without so much as a sound—that’s no small feat. How about it, Den-anii? Even your old Stoic Umon’s finally gotten into the groove—or am I off the mark?”

“Tch, this is unbearable.” “Did you finally figure it out on the third day?” “Well, there you have it.” “Now the whole mess’s gotten damn complicated.” “A dog bein’ the culprit—what a shocker!” “After all, it’s some quick-footed four-legged bastard.” “Why’re they crackin’ down so hard anyway?” “If even Kusakarai-ryu’s tanglin’ with Wan-kō, they might not get a word in edgewise either.”

“Don’t panic, don’t panic.” “Now that we’ve spotted this much, Stoic Umon’s treasure box has wisdom pills to spare.” “Let’s head back home and stroke our chins awhile. Gentlemen officers—Master Pockmarked Kei should be arriving soon from Yamanote after getting his urgent report.” “Pass word that we’ve settled on a dog as the culprit.” “Have them reset the ambush net with that in mind.” “Right then, Den-anii—let’s pull out.”

5

However, when they returned, things seemed slightly off. It appeared that Keishirou—who should have been patrolling Yamanote—had somehow returned to Hatchōbori without anyone noticing, for around the estate, servants were bustling about in a strange commotion, creating an odd crowd.

“Hmm...” “Hmm… What’s this all about?” “You don’t mean Yakko-sensei couldn’t have thrown in the towel, could you?”

Denroku, who was perpetually busy with one thing or another, relayed something unexpected with a doubtful look.

“Damn it! We’ve been had, we’ve been had.” “Talk about rotten luck!” “They beat us to the punch and took all the credit, I tell you!”

“What?!” “They’ve already caught the culprit?!”

“They haven’t even caught the culprit yet! They’ve hauled in one ronin they caught, and what’s more, they’re bringing in one samurai corpse on a plank—exactly like the curse ritual we just saw earlier at Shirahata Kongen Shrine—I tell ya!” While feeling suspicious, they boldly approached and peered into the garden front, where they found a ronin bound with his arms behind his back, and beside him—sure enough—lay the corpse of a samurai in haori and hakama with his throat torn out, placed atop a wooden plank. This was truly something one could not help but call mysterious. They had just identified the dog as the culprit and returned—yet not only was it suspicious for the perpetrator to be a ronin, but the appearance of another identical corpse from a location other than Shirahata Kongen Shrine was utterly perplexing.—The Master Detective lumbered closer, stroking his chin, then fixed a piercing gaze upon the corpse as he scrutinized it sharply. Just as it seemed he had noticed something, he smiled refreshingly, having seen through it, and directed gentle words toward Keishirou.

“This appears to be a counterfeit, but what on earth is this about?” “What?! Counterfeit, you say?” “Unwanted interference.” “Don’t think you can pick petty flaws just because you’re sore about being beaten to the punch.” “Now now—no need to growl and bare your fangs.” “The hakama measurements, the samurai’s physique, the throat wound’s condition—even the timing aligns perfectly. But this here’s unquestionably a fake.” “First off—this neck wound. Every case we’ve handled had throats savagely torn by dog bites, but isn’t this clearly a sword stab wound?” “It’s rather odd that ronin over there’s being called the culprit—where exactly did you apprehend him?”

Perhaps unable to bear watching Keishirou—who had been squarely identified as the culprit—left utterly speechless, one of the street officers nearby answered instead. “Ah, right.” “If you put it that way, things do seem odd—but this ronin definitely did it.” “See, we were stakin’ out Ichigaya Hachiman Shrine’s grounds on Master Pockmarked Kei’s orders when we spotted this poor samurai comin’ from t’other side. Then that ronin over there suddenly stabbed ’im clean through the windpipe and started riflin’ through his pockets. What with the timin’ matchin’ up and that neck wound lookin’ just like th’others—we figured this bastard must be tied t’the case! Had no choice but t’drag ’im in!”

“Look—society’s been cursing us for not catching the culprit yet, so you rushed this in your panic. But we’re colleagues sworn to official duties here.” “You’ll be laughed out of town if you don’t work with clearer foresight.” “The one targeting belongings? A complete fraud.” “Proof trumps theory—all previous corpses still had their purses and coin pouches intact, no?” “Exactly. This bastard’s just a highway robber-murderer exploiting yesterday’s chaos.” “Since the real culprit’s methods take effort, they mimic the pattern to pin their own bloody deeds on others—pure highway robbery through and through.” “Capturing him’s a grand achievement indeed—but you’ve nabbed the wrong man, haven’t you?”

While he was speaking, two underlings who had apparently been staking out a shrine hall under Keishirou’s orders came clattering up. Moreover, upon arriving, they began clamorously reporting.

“They’re here! They’re here!” “Master Kei!” “They’ve happened again, I tell you!” “In Yotsuya’s streets—two more of them! Samurai-attired men had their throats slit, and what’s worse, all their belongings were stolen, I tell you!” The moment he heard this report, Keishirou’s eyes—those of a true master—flashed sharply, and he uttered words brimming with decisive confidence. “Those too are the same imposters exploiting this chaos.” “Ronin!” “Lift your face!” As he approached, he stared fixedly at the brazen figure, scrutinizing it thoroughly—but what caught his eye in a fleeting glimpse was the three-character tattoo clearly visible on the inner left wrist: “Hachijōjima.” —There! The brilliant insight of the Umon school flew forth in his bold tone.

“You’ve been putting on airs, haven’t you.” “You’re an exile from Hachijōjima Island, aren’t you? —The hell you say!” “The hell you say!” “Even if you act all shocked now, it’s a bit too late.” “In Hatchōbori, there’s me—the one they call the Taciturn Umon.” “Mock me again, and your head’ll fly off.” “Probably, yesterday and today’s throat-slashing incidents dragged on, so they exploited that to pull off their violent crimes.” “My eyes have never once been wrong.” “Since they’ve now found two more corpses with similar methods in Yotsuya, there must be a gang of four or five working together—joining hands to pull off these violent jobs. —Master Kei.”

Having pointedly identified the culprit and calmly turned to Keishirou, this was exactly where the Umon school’s methods became all the more satisfying.

“Let me lay it all out plain. I ain’t nitpicking your captured culprit here, but this bastard’s a wrong lead—sad to say. Now, I know that’ll stick in your craw, but even a wrong lead can turn into one hell of a major arrest operation.” “As for that case—we’ve finally managed to recognize it as the dog’s doing—but it seems I’ll have to come up with a plan moving forward. Let me be honest.” “While you’ve been scrambling around trying to claim merit for each other’s work, look what’s happened—these imposters with their phony tricks have popped up, only making the whole mess worse.” “Moreover, I hear two more have been killed in Yotsuya as well.” “As this tattoo shows, the felons exiled to Hachijōjima Island must’ve conspired with each other to commit violent crimes while exploiting the chaos.” “Therefore, why don’t we split up and handle the investigation? If we tighten the screws on this bastard here, we’ll likely find out where his accomplices holed up in Yotsuya are hiding. So you go ahead and make your own name by taking them down.” “Well then—I’ll say this emphatically: one who chases two hares catches neither.” “If you handle both cases and let both culprits slip away, it’ll reflect poorly on the authorities’ reputation.” “You should decisively—and graciously—withdraw and conduct an encirclement hunt on this bastard and his gang.” “However, do take care.” “This bastard’s guts aren’t ordinary, I tell you.” “Given that these highway robbers and their gang are likely a thoroughly formidable bunch, you’ll need to devise a clever plan without oversight—and when you net them all in one sweep, do steady your resolve and go at them properly.” “If you send for me, as long as I draw breath, I will certainly lend my assistance as well.” “Well then, I must hurry, so I’ll take my leave.”

Keishirou had no choice but to yield before reason.

Faced with our master detective’s laid-bare reasoning and meticulously explained counsel, even the obstinate Pockmarked Keishirou could push no further—seemingly resolving to withdraw graciously, he set about tightening the screws on the ronin employing deceptive methods in violent schemes. With no lingering concerns left behind, the master detective promptly returned to his samurai compound and delivered a straight shot to Denroku, who stood blinking in bewilderment.

“Listen.” “From here on out’s when I gotta let this jaw of mine do the talkin’.” “Make one peep beside me—you’re outta my service for good.” Shrinking back with a mumbled “Yessir,” Denroku retreated meekly to the room’s corner. The master detective didn’t so much as glance his way. He laid those eerie straw dolls in a row before his knees, flipping each over one by one. His eyes locked on the identical cryptic characters scrawled across every doll’s back—Year of the Snake man, twenty-one years old—as he began massaging his famously potent jaw like a man possessed, rubbing and kneading the flesh while diving headlong into contemplation.

Moreover, this wasn’t merely an hour or two. He went without sleep or food; even as a new morning dawned, even when a sunny autumn day arrived, and even as the sun began setting once more—he remained seated in one spot, utterly motionless, continuing to ponder deeply in silence. Denroku too held his ground. Desperately stifling his unbearable urge to speak, fidget, or make noise, he huddled in the room’s corner and sat there small and still like a figurine. But when darkness fully descended and the bell marking the fifth hour of evening faded into the distance—There!

“It spoke! It spoke! Denroku! My chin’s finally spoken up!”

“Wha—!” “Thank goodness!” “Thank goodness!” “D-damn you…!” “Gah—my stomach’s suddenly growling like crazy!” “Gah—I-I can’t even speak properly!” “What’d he say?” “What’d the chin say?” “My chin said to look up the Bukan.”

“Huh...?” “My chin told me to check the Bukan registry.” “Don’t you get it?” “Uh... well.” “For someone who spent a whole day and night thinking without sleep, your investigation target’s a strange item—but what’re you even on about here?” “No choice then.” “Look close at the writing on these straw dolls’ backs.” “Every one’s got ‘Year of the Snake man, twenty-one years old’ written on it.” “Since it’s here plain as day, this twenty-one-year-old Snake-year man’s the curse target.” “But here’s the rub—the folks goin’ out nightly for these curse rituals, switchin’ people and dates each time—they’re all provincial domain samurai through and through!” “The key’s right there.” “Domain samurai—no, samurai servin’ their lords.” “Despite so many bein’ slaughtered, not a soul’s come to claim the bodies—that oddity made me stroke my chin.” “So listen—curse rituals ain’t normal folk’s business since ancient times.” “Yet these domain samurai kept goin’ out nightly—don’t that strike you strange?” “They’re proper two-sword bearers through and through.” “Skilled warriors like that—if they bore grudges or wanted someone dead, why resort to cowardly curses?” “They’d just cut ’em down.” “If keepin’ ’em alive was trouble, no need for straw dolls—slice clean through ’em.” “But they chose roundabout Ushi-no-koku mairi rituals—means they couldn’t cut their target down.”

“As for opponents they can’t cut down—listen.” “The ones performing the curse rituals are prosperous domain samurai—and who would those prosperous samurai want to cut down but can’t? Can’t you see that?” “It’s the bigwig! Couldn’t it be the lord they’re servin’ their rice to?” “That’s right.” “It’s the character for ‘eye’.” “Precisely because their target is a lord of such exalted status—one they cannot lay hands upon—they’ve scripted this entire staged play: a scheme where cursing him from the shadows becomes their only means to eliminate him.” “In other words, the one being cursed is a twenty-one-year-old man of the Snake year this year.” “If that’s the case, then by combing through the Bukan registry to find a twenty-one-year-old lord, we’d uncover which domain and which lord it refers to—don’t you think?” “No—it’s more than that. Once we know the domain’s name, we’ll uncover why that damn dog’s been hunting down and slaughtering the curse ritual conspirators night after night. Both the mystery and the secret behind it should become clear.” “No—it’s not just that either.” “Truly, that dog is a loyal hound rare even in this world.” “The usual sort of thing.” “A loyal dog tale and clan conflict drama—that’s what this is.” “There are villains.” “Those villains formed a gang plotting to usurp the clan, cursing to death the twenty-one-year-old young lord—and the loyal hound that sniffed them out has been hunting them down. That’s the scheme.” “Therefore, there must be a mastermind pulling the strings behind that dog.” “They’re obsessed with preserving their clan, obsessed with their domain—a faction of loyalty, that’s what they are.” “That’s precisely why—hurry up and make about three rice balls.”

“Huh? Is this bait to lure out the dog?” “I’m the one eating ’em. Stuff your face with these while flipping through the Bukan—once we spot our mark here, we’ll ride the wind and make our move. Hurry up and make ’em.” “Damn you—just you wait’n see what I’ll do! Heh heh…—Ah, maybe this one’s too big? Eh, whatever—got carried away with the kneadin’, y’know? Don’t go takin’ offense now.”

While accepting what was offered and meticulously examining the Bukan—its pages filled with detailed records of stipend amounts, official posts, fiefs and more—there it was, there it was. There indeed existed exactly one twenty-one-year-old feudal lord corresponding to the Year of the Snake.

“Well, well now.” “He’s a 30,000-koku lord.”

“Tch! A measly 30,000-koku lord? Ain’t he some shoddy one you’ve dug up.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.” “His stipend may be thirty thousand koku, but he is Lord Iwatsuki Todo of the branch family under Lord Todo Omi-no-kami.” “Now then—we’re pressed for time.” “The palanquin!” “Get the preparations done quickly.”

They departed precisely at the fourth hour. The destination they rushed toward at full speed was the Iwatsuki Todo family's upper residence in Ushigome Tanukizaka.

“Now it’s your turn.” “If you go through that nagaya gate over there, there should be a shed.” “It doesn’t matter which household—just cleverly win over a middle servant or gatekeeper and thoroughly investigate the mansion’s situation.” “I’m on it!” “When it comes to things like this, this here chatterbox jaw of mine is pretty darn useful, you know.” “The craft’s all set—just you wait!” The busy fellow, having received his orders, seemed to vanish as if sucked away—but before long, he bounded out from within the mansion and reported with a triumphant look.

“The character for ‘eye’! The character for ‘eye’! Just as I thought. There’s something strange going on here!”

“What’s this? Has the lord been confined to some mansion prison cell?” “Has the lord been confined to a mansion prison cell or something?”

“No—the chief retainer, see? He ain’t done nothin’ wrong, but they’ve had him under house confinement for three months now, they say.” “That gatekeeper old man we got talking, right? But he started shedding tears drop by drop and said this.” “The one enduring house confinement is someone called Murashige Shinano-sama, the Edo chief retainer, they say.” “Even though there ain’t another elder statesman as single-mindedly loyal as him, they say he suddenly got hit with house arrest punishment outta nowhere!” “So, you see—”

“Did you investigate the dog?” “That’s it! That’s it! Since I figured checking on the dogs was crucial, when I asked how many they kept at this mansion, they said there were six.” “And outta those six, they say the smartest Akita dog—the real clever one—is with that chief retainer right now.”

“The culprit.” “Didn’t you ask about that dog’s condition?” “Asked? ’Course I asked! That’s the linchpin—figured this’d be Denroku’s big break! So this humble one here waterworks flowing and all while prying for clues—” “Well… y’see… how do I put it—”

“Lurking in the shadows—what’s all this about?” “No, see—that beautiful young lady at the honorable chief retainer’s residence, well, she and that Akita dog have been sneaking out nearly every night around midnight to make rounds of shrines, offering prayers for her father’s house confinement to be lifted even a day sooner—that’s what they’re saying!”

“That’s it!” “The mystery’s solved.” “Tonight’s the final night of the curse from the rei-marked dolls.” “The ambush net’s set at the remaining Mitsumata Inari.” “Palanquin bearers!” “Rush us straight to Yushima!”

Star, star, star. The road deep into the night, past the Hour of the Ox, was a starry sky that poured down.

“Don’t make a sound.” The place they stomped into with Denroku in tow was behind that profoundly eerie—menacingly demonic—shrine deep within Mitsumata Inari’s grounds, the very spot where they had set their ambush net on the first night only to end up waiting in vain.

One koku! Two koku! And a quarter koku—.

“Footsteps!” “I can hear ’em!” “Master!” Alongside Denroku’s whispered voice, three samurai retainers in hakama, swords, and ninja-soled geta sprouted up into the faintly bright starlit courtyard of the shrine grounds.

“Hey! There are a lot tonight.” “Shut up!” The master—scolding while holding his breath and watching intently—saw the three men creep closer until they stood just two ken ahead. One pulled from his pocket what could only be a cursed prayer straw doll.—Now! From the pitch-dark grove came faint rustling sounds—then without bark or growl, bursting forth like a whirlwind came a supremely fierce jet-black hound. The moment it appeared— Targeting the throat of a conspirator preparing the curse ritual, it leapt skyward—and in that instant sank its fangs deep with a vicious bite. But lasted only an instant.

“There it is again!” As the remaining two shouted while drawing their swords, they were poised to strike. Evidently men of considerable swordsmanship skill who knew their craft, no sooner had they felled one attacker than they swiftly turned and—in a single flash—seemed to cut down the ferocious hound as it twisted mid-leap to strike again, finishing it off with a decisive slash. At the same time. “We’ve done it! We’ve finished Kuro!” “This ends now! I, Tazuru—daughter of Murashige Shinano—shall face you villains who betray our clan! Prepare yourselves!”

With a crisp, cool cry and a dagger brandished in one hand, the one who leapt forth was a gallant yet beautiful woman around nineteen or twenty years old—recognizable even in the dim night.

“There they are!” “Master! Master!” “The dog-handling assassin’s here!” “What’re you dilly-dallying for?” “It’s Kusaka-ryu!” “Kusaka-ryu, I say!”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Even after coming this far, you still can’t tell right from wrong? Didn’t the young lady just declare she’ll strike down the villains who betray our house? —Lady Tazuru! A woman’s valor most admirable! Kondo Umon of Hatchobori shall lend my blade to your cause!” With a shout, he leapt out abruptly—then composed himself. Crack, crack—slowly cracking his knuckles, he stepped beneath the drawn blades of the two cursed samurai, delivering that bold declaration that made hearts leap.

“Even a dog won’t forget three days’ worth of feeding!” “Curse the lord who feeds you? The world might forgive that—but Grim Umon’s pride won’t swallow it!” “Walk smarter if you’re gonna tread your master’s shadow.” “There!” “Snap—here I come!” “This is Edo’s famed Kusaka-ryu!” “Chill your bones!” He drove a strike straight into the chest’s vital point. With a thud, he dropped one man—a declaration so sharp it left no room for rebuttal.

“You there! In Edo’s Hatchobori, you see—Ote, Karamete, Shikoro Masaryu, Kusaka-ryu—there’s no shortage of crafty scoundrels like me aplenty. While you’re at it—cool off for good.” He darted in and delivered another strike to a vital point. “They went down easy! Looks like it’s all settled. Young Lady, that was quite the feat, wasn’t it?” “Oh! There’s no need for thanks. Words… I have no words. These people are…”

She started to say— “Do not speak!” “Do not speak!” “Should others hear, it risks your clan’s name.” “Most likely, this rabble hatched a vile scheme to usurp your house—egged the lord on, sought first to dispose of those in their way—thus condemning your father of peerless loyalty to house arrest’s misery.” “Ah.” “Precisely so.” “Not only that—each and every night thus—”

“Ah, no need—I understand perfectly.” “Night after night they’ve switched men—shamefully scheming to shorten the lord’s very life. Disregarding your station as a woman, you sought to eradicate these villains alone in secret, resorting to using your dog thus… Yet even so, this poor creature was remarkably well-trained.” “This brings me deepest shame.” “Alone against grown men, I could not hope to smite so many villains. Thus over twenty days I secretly trained this Akita dog—whom my father cherished—and at last succeeded in carrying out [the task] until last night. Yet tonight, in this perilous moment, your aid has filled me with joy as if ascending to heaven… Yet even so—that I killed Kuro… That I slew Kuro grieves me above all else.”

“Your grief is most understandable indeed.” “In exchange, present this pitiful corpse to the lord—and then this straw doll.” “Should you present these together, your innocent father’s house arrest shall be lifted, and as the lord himself will punish the remaining villains, your clan will thus be restored to prosperity.” “As for these two retainers cooling their heels here, I shall have the local guardhouse officers take them later and discreetly deliver them to your estate.” “You must not delay a moment longer.” “Make haste—take back the dog and doll, explain matters thoroughly, and uphold Kuro’s loyalty—Den-aniki, arrange things swiftly.” “Secure a palanquin for the Young Lady.” “Now then, I take my leave.” “Umon of Hatchobori is not a man who would divulge his clan’s secrets.” “Rest assured of this, Young Lady.”

The wind rustled through his disheveled sideburns as he walked home, listening intently to the autumn insects—such was the noble bearing of the Master! ——.

They were willing to endure hardships.

It was only natural that the women of Edo would willingly endure hardships, burning with love for such a dignified and manly Master.

It was at the bright break of dawn that he returned to Hatchobori.

As if timed perfectly, the one who had been waiting for it with a smile to greet the Master was none other than that Master Pockmarked Kei.

“Thanks to you—” “Was that your achievement?” “It seems I’ve apprehended about five members of the gang, I tell you! As expected, it was just as you perceived. Those who escaped from Hachijōjima, lusting after koban, exploited the commotion with that rōnin scum’s scheme and carried out their counterfeit robberies, I tell you. By the way, how did your suspect fare?” “That too is thanks to you, but it is a feat that cannot be spoken of. Though it may be impolite to state it thus, please report your arrests as your own feat alone. The magistrate will surely be pleased as well. This humble one’s feat is one I cannot speak of, but with you sir, both disturbances have been resolved at once.—Den-aniki, you should sleep for two days straight.”

“Not at all! Master Kei, my apologies! If the magistrate commends us, I’ll have to treat you to Kusa-ya’s dried fish, eh? Heh heh heh. There it is! Hey, look—the morning sun’s come up all grand-like! My, what a cheerful scene this is, ain’t it?”

Even this rascal today was giving Pockmarked Kei some uncharacteristically smooth flattery.—Just then, a welcome message arrived out of nowhere.

“To Master Kondo Umon,” “Tazuru—” it read.

“Hmm… Well, now.” “Now, that ain’t to say that Young Lady from earlier’s been burnin’ up with passion or nothin’.” “Shut up.”

When he opened it, there was a letter that read as follows.

“Earlier at Mitsumata Inari Shrine, your gracious arrangements brought me such joy—I humbly offer my thanks.” “Having promptly returned to the estate and reported to the lord as instructed, all matters concluded most auspiciously. I pray you will rejoice in this outcome—this kindness I, Tazuru, shall never forget through all my days. And in my dreams, I humbly pray that another day may bring the honor of meeting you in person.” “Written in haste, with deepest respect—” “Heh heh.” “Happy now?” “Huh?!” “Now then—her praying in her dreams like that, hidden away yet her feelings showing through—ain’t that just delightful?” “Nah c’mon—even if the magistrate ain’t givin’ public praise, havin’ such tender feelin’s smolderin’ night after day for ya—Master, ain’t that gratitude enough?” “Huh?” “That not allowed?”

But the Master did not so much as smile and, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, continued to toy with his chin. ——Fine insect sounds. At that moment, the fine morning cries of autumn insects chirred from the garden thicket.