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serious consequences of violence against a government official. The cash-strapped regime would welcome the excuse to confiscate his wealth.
    “Very well.” Glad to avoid a fight while saving face in front of his men, Lord Tsunanori gestured as if tossing garbage at Sano’s feet. “Interrogate my household. Search my wife’s room. You won’t find any evidence against me.” He spoke with such confidence that Sano wondered if he was really innocent or really sure he’d covered his tracks. He told his men, “Go collect everybody for Chamberlain Sano to talk to.”
    They departed. Aggression flared in Lord Tsunanori’s eyes again. “If you go around saying my wife was murdered and I’m under suspicion, you’ll be sorry.” He wasn’t drunk or stupid enough not to recognize how dangerous the suspicion could be to him, or not to know the trouble that he and the other daimyo could cause Sano and the Tokugawa regime.
    “Good enough.” Sano pretended grudging concession, hid his relief that he could count on Lord Tsunanori to keep quiet about the investigation.
    It was the only bright spot in his investigation, which was already going wrong, leading away from Yanagisawa.

 
    7
    THE SHOGUN’S HEIR’S residence was isolated in the western fortress of Edo Castle, on the tier of the hill just below the palace. Enclosed by stone walls topped by covered corridors and a guard tower, the residence was a miniature version of the palace. Damage from the earthquake had been repaired. The residence was a safe nest from which the new dictator of Japan would eventually hatch.
    Yanagisawa strode through the chambers, sliding open the partitions between them, admiring the gilded landscape murals, smelling the fresh, sweetly scented tatami, and exulting in the territory he’d won in this round of his battle for power.
    “I’ve done it. We’re here at last, set to rule Japan!”
    At the opposite end of the building, Yoshisato stood in his new room. He rearranged books and clothes that the servants had unpacked. “What do you mean, we ? I’m the one who will inherit the dictatorship.”
    Stung by his ungraciousness, Yanagisawa said, “You couldn’t have gotten here by yourself.” He moved toward Yoshisato. “Whose idea was it to pass you off as the shogun’s son?”
    “Yours,” Yoshisato admitted grudgingly. He rammed books onto shelves.
    “Well, then.” Yanagisawa prided himself on the brilliant scheme he’d dreamed up after he’d lost his favorite son, after Ienobu had devised a plot to banish him from court. Yoshisato, one of his other four sons, was his salvation. “Don’t forget how hard I’ve worked to convince the shogun, his clan members, and his top officials that you are indeed his son. Don’t forget how much money I’ve paid in bribes to persuade people to support your bid for the succession.”
    “Don’t forget that it wasn’t your money. It came from my allowance from the shogun.”
    “Without me you wouldn’t have that allowance. So you shouldn’t mind if I celebrate our accomplishment.”
    “Do it by yourself. Now that I’m the shogun’s heir, I don’t need you anymore.”
    Fear stabbed Yanagisawa. He’d known that the day he put Yoshisato in line to become the next dictator could be the day he outlived his usefulness to Yoshisato. They’d been at odds during their four-month collaboration. It was a miracle that they’d come this far together.
    “You do need me.” Yanagisawa had to convince Yoshisato. One bad word from him, and the shogun would throw Yanagisawa out of the regime. Yanagisawa’s enemies would descend on him like a pack of wolves. “I’m the one with a lifetime of experience in politics. You’re just a seventeen-year-old boy. Without me, you’d be eaten alive.”
    “I won’t be seventeen forever,” Yoshisato said, irritated because Yanagisawa was right. He meticulously folded clothes into drawers. “And I’ve learned a lot.”
    “With my tutoring,” Yanagisawa