Since the Tokugawa had taken power in 1600, they had confiscated property from many a lord, in the process demoting many samurai to ronin. There were now perhaps four hundred thousand ronin in Japan, and, with Japan at peace, they had few opportunities for respectable employment.
Katsuo wrinkled his nose. Masashige had been rewarded for his diligence with promotion to the lower junior rank of the court nobility; he now styled himself Chikugo no kami. And earlier this year he had been promoted to ometsuke, chief inspector, with a fief having an income of four thousand koku. A koku was the rice needed to feed a man for a year.
The ronin wondered why Masashige was so virulent in his hatred of the Catholics. Did he really consider them a threat to the bakufu? Did he see persecution of the Christians as a stepping stone to power? Could he be a relapsed convert, contemptuous of his former teachers?
The safest thing for Katsuo to do was to forget what he had heard. It wasn’t as though he cared a hoot what happened to the kirishitan.
But the opportunity to deal a blow to Masashige was tempting, and who knows? Katsuo might be rewarded, perhaps even become a direct retainer of the shogun.
* * *
Katsuo couldn’t exactly walk up to the shogun and say, “one of your junior ministers is plotting to trick you into thinking that there is about to be a Christian uprising. And putting the whole city at risk of fire in the process.” Even if he could get into earshot, and the shogun believed him, the shogun would thank Katsuo and then have him beheaded for his impertinence.
Nor was Katsuo on an intimate basis with any of the Council of Elders.
Logically, Katsuo should go to the Edo magistrate. There were two, the “North” and “South,” and they alternated months of duty. The magistrate on duty met with the councillors every morning.
But perhaps he was too high a personage to receive a visit from a humble ronin. Under the magistrate, there were the yoriki, also samurai. With a suitable gift, a yoriki would certainly introduce Katsuo to the Edo magistrate.
Unfortunately, Katsuo didn’t have any money.
Well, it was easy enough to find a doshin. They were the officers who actually patrolled the streets of Edo, and each carried a jitte as his badge of office.
But time was short, given what he knew of the plotter’s plans. By the time he worked his way up from a doshin to a roju, it would be too late for the information to do any good. Worse, the authorities might decide that he was part of the plot.
Wait. This was still the term that the magistrate of the north was on duty, the magistrate of the south didn’t take over until next week. That meant that the magistrate of the south should be reachable at his home. And he knew a merchant who was likely to know where that was.
* * *
Katsuo waited outside the magistrate’s home for the right opportunity. At last, he saw a maid walk out, bamboo basket in hand. He sweet-talked her into letting him into the anteroom. He explained to a higher servant that he had urgent, confidential information for the magistrate. Something about his voice and gestures must have been convincing, because he was told that the magistrate would see him as soon as possible, and he should just wait.
At the Hour of the Dog, he was ushered into the private office of the south magistrate. The official listened closely to Katsuo’s story.
“Inoue Masashige? You are sure it was him?”
“I would stake my life upon it.”
The magistrate stood up. “You have done the government a great service, Katsuo-san. I must ask you to remain here while I make the necessary arrangements. I assure you, you will get your just desserts.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency.”
The magistrate left, sliding the door behind him. Some time passed, with Katsuo lost in a reverie about the possible rewards. Suddenly, a nasty thought struck him. The south magistrate would be the magistrate on duty at the planned time of the mock attack. The police would make their reports to him. Might he actually be involved in the plot?
Katsuo ever so slowly slid the door open a crack. He could see the higher servant was outside, holding a cudgel. Fuck, he thought. But let’s see if we can profit from the experience.
He carried out a lightning search of the judge’s papers, looking for anything that could possibly relate to the plot. One of the papers was a map, with locations in Edo marked that Katsuo figured were the planned sites for the explosives. The map wasn’t labeled “plot to overthrow the shogun,” of course, but it would still lend support to Katsuo’s tale. And it wasn’t signed, but Japanese calligraphy was distinctive, and he thought, thinking back to that terrible order his daimyo had received, that it might be the work of Inoue Masashige himself.