base stood the forty-seven r ō nin ’s trophy.
Bled dry and washed clean, the neck smoothly severed, Kira’s head looked like a wax prop from a Kabuki play. Sano caught himself thinking how lifelike the details were—the yellowed teeth, the age spots, the gray hairs, the scar on the crown, and the white, wrinkled skin. The mouth hung open; the eyelids drooped. Sano hardly recognized Kira, the prim, stiff-lipped man he’d known.
Sano’s party stared in dumbfounded shock.
Hirata broke the silence and addressed the forty-seven r ō nin. “This is the shogun’s s ō sakan-sama .” He indicated Sano. “Which of you is the leader?”
“I am,” said the man standing nearest to Lord Asano’s tomb. “My name is Oishi Kuranosuke.” His voice had the raspy sound of diseased lungs. “I was Lord Asano’s chief councilor.”
He was in his forties, lean but broad-shouldered. Although his pallor was gray with fatigue, his fierce eyes glittered as if from an inner fire. He reminded Sano of statues of guardian deities in temples. The candlelight on their eyes imbued their carved wooden figures with life.
Oishi gestured at his comrades. “These were Lord Asano’s other men.” The other forty-six r ō nin stood as motionless as the grave markers, except for the youngest, who strode to Oishi’s side. “This is my son, Chikara.”
The two men shared the same long nose, slanted brows, flared nostrils, and thick, firm mouth. But Chikara’s face was still soft with youth, his build sturdy. The ferocity in his eyes seemed a deliberate imitation of his father. It flickered on and off, as though he couldn’t keep up the act.
“Which of you killed Kira?” Sano asked.
“I did.” Oishi spoke quietly. “But we were all in on it together.”
He and his comrades radiated savage pride. Although they’d freely publicized their crime, Sano was nonetheless surprised by their candor. “Are you aware that the shogun forbade action against Kira and your vendetta was therefore illegal?”
“We are,” Oishi said.
“Then why did you do it?” Sano asked.
“We had to avenge Lord Asano’s death. It was our duty.”
That was the stock answer Sano had expected, but he heard something in Oishi’s voice, a faint dissonance of tone. He sensed that the man’s words were true, but perhaps not entirely. “What else?”
“Nothing,” Oishi said, adamant.
Sano perceived a wrongness in the air, like a smell. The silence among the r ō nin was unnerving. They looked eerily alike, even though their ages, shapes, and facial features varied. They seemed part of one monstrous creature, with Oishi clearly the brains.
“Why are you standing here?” Sano said. “Why didn’t you commit seppuku ?” Ritual suicide was mandatory for illegal vendettas, which the law considered murder. “Or run away?”
“We’re awaiting orders,” Oishi said.
Sano frowned in puzzlement. “Orders from whom?” He felt as if he were caught in a nightmare whose events didn’t follow ordinary logic. “To do what?”
“We’re awaiting orders,” Oishi repeated. The other r ō nin nodded.
“What’s going on?” Sano demanded.
“We avenged our master’s death. Our mission is accomplished.” Oishi’s words sounded stiff and formal, recited. Although none of his men spoke, Sano could almost hear cheers shouted from their minds.
“Well, you’re all under arrest,” Sano said. “You’re coming with us.”
He braced himself for the r ō nin ’s reaction. He craved a battle even though there had been enough violence for one day. Marume, Fukida, and his other troops stirred, ready for a fight. Hirata alone remained calm. Sano still wanted a chance to be a hero, to regain his lost standing, and although nothing he’d seen of the forty-seven r ō nin indicated that they would resist arrest, their behavior was so peculiar that he couldn’t predict what would happen.
Oishi gave Sano a long, enigmatic look. A moment passed. Salty, metallic
Bled dry and washed clean, the neck smoothly severed, Kira’s head looked like a wax prop from a Kabuki play. Sano caught himself thinking how lifelike the details were—the yellowed teeth, the age spots, the gray hairs, the scar on the crown, and the white, wrinkled skin. The mouth hung open; the eyelids drooped. Sano hardly recognized Kira, the prim, stiff-lipped man he’d known.
Sano’s party stared in dumbfounded shock.
Hirata broke the silence and addressed the forty-seven r ō nin. “This is the shogun’s s ō sakan-sama .” He indicated Sano. “Which of you is the leader?”
“I am,” said the man standing nearest to Lord Asano’s tomb. “My name is Oishi Kuranosuke.” His voice had the raspy sound of diseased lungs. “I was Lord Asano’s chief councilor.”
He was in his forties, lean but broad-shouldered. Although his pallor was gray with fatigue, his fierce eyes glittered as if from an inner fire. He reminded Sano of statues of guardian deities in temples. The candlelight on their eyes imbued their carved wooden figures with life.
Oishi gestured at his comrades. “These were Lord Asano’s other men.” The other forty-six r ō nin stood as motionless as the grave markers, except for the youngest, who strode to Oishi’s side. “This is my son, Chikara.”
The two men shared the same long nose, slanted brows, flared nostrils, and thick, firm mouth. But Chikara’s face was still soft with youth, his build sturdy. The ferocity in his eyes seemed a deliberate imitation of his father. It flickered on and off, as though he couldn’t keep up the act.
“Which of you killed Kira?” Sano asked.
“I did.” Oishi spoke quietly. “But we were all in on it together.”
He and his comrades radiated savage pride. Although they’d freely publicized their crime, Sano was nonetheless surprised by their candor. “Are you aware that the shogun forbade action against Kira and your vendetta was therefore illegal?”
“We are,” Oishi said.
“Then why did you do it?” Sano asked.
“We had to avenge Lord Asano’s death. It was our duty.”
That was the stock answer Sano had expected, but he heard something in Oishi’s voice, a faint dissonance of tone. He sensed that the man’s words were true, but perhaps not entirely. “What else?”
“Nothing,” Oishi said, adamant.
Sano perceived a wrongness in the air, like a smell. The silence among the r ō nin was unnerving. They looked eerily alike, even though their ages, shapes, and facial features varied. They seemed part of one monstrous creature, with Oishi clearly the brains.
“Why are you standing here?” Sano said. “Why didn’t you commit seppuku ?” Ritual suicide was mandatory for illegal vendettas, which the law considered murder. “Or run away?”
“We’re awaiting orders,” Oishi said.
Sano frowned in puzzlement. “Orders from whom?” He felt as if he were caught in a nightmare whose events didn’t follow ordinary logic. “To do what?”
“We’re awaiting orders,” Oishi repeated. The other r ō nin nodded.
“What’s going on?” Sano demanded.
“We avenged our master’s death. Our mission is accomplished.” Oishi’s words sounded stiff and formal, recited. Although none of his men spoke, Sano could almost hear cheers shouted from their minds.
“Well, you’re all under arrest,” Sano said. “You’re coming with us.”
He braced himself for the r ō nin ’s reaction. He craved a battle even though there had been enough violence for one day. Marume, Fukida, and his other troops stirred, ready for a fight. Hirata alone remained calm. Sano still wanted a chance to be a hero, to regain his lost standing, and although nothing he’d seen of the forty-seven r ō nin indicated that they would resist arrest, their behavior was so peculiar that he couldn’t predict what would happen.
Oishi gave Sano a long, enigmatic look. A moment passed. Salty, metallic
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