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shogun’s orders prohibited a vendetta in this case.”
    “My master was always afraid it would happen anyway,” Gorobei said. “That’s why he had so many guards. That’s why his bedchamber had a secret exit.”
    “That just goes to show: If someone’s determined to get you, they will,” Marume said.
    “Well, at least the mystery appears to be solved,” Sano said. “We know who killed Kira and why.”
    He felt a massive letdown. Kira’s murder was supposed to be the big case that he could impress the shogun by solving, the pathway to regaining his status and honor, but it had proved to be disappointingly simple, almost over as soon as he’d begun.
    “We still have to arrest the r ō nin, ” Hirata said, then asked Gorobei, “Where did they go?”
    “I don’t know,” the old man said unhappily.
    “We’ll find them.” Sano hoped that he could accomplish some good by finishing the investigation quickly. “Let’s get to work.”

 
     
    4
     
     
    “ I HAVE GOOD news and bad news,” the matchmaker told Lady Reiko. “Which do you want first?”
    The two women sat in the reception room in Sano’s mansion, at the kosatsu —a table built over a sunken charcoal brazier. Their feet and legs were warm in the space around the fire. A quilt covered the table and their laps. They wore silk kimonos lined with fur. The old matchmaker’s was dark gray, Reiko’s a plum shade suitable for a matron of thirty-three. A teapot, cups, and a spread of sweet cakes shaped like flowers lay before them on the table.
    “Tell me the bad news,” Reiko said.
    The matchmaker was Lady Wakasa, the mother of Lord Ikeda, who was one of Sano’s most powerful allies. She was seventy-nine years old but vigilantly preserved, her hair dyed an unnatural black that matched her teeth, which were also colored black in the fashion of samurai wives. Age had shrunken her to the size of a child and withered her face, but she had the energy of a woman twenty years younger. She liked meddling in other people’s business, and when she’d heard that Sano and Reiko were looking for a bride for their son, she’d volunteered to act as the go-between who conveyed proposals to and from families with marriageable daughters.
    “The Fukushima clan rejected your proposal,” she said.
    That clan was another of Sano’s allies, with a large domain and much wealth. “Oh,” Reiko said, disappointed.
    Lady Wakasa jabbed her finger at Reiko. “I told you that you were reaching too high.” She was blunt and outspoken to the point of rudeness, a trait common in old women, a privilege of age. “When your husband was chamberlain, they would have leaped at a chance to intermarry with your family, but now—”
    “I know.” Reiko cut Lady Wakasa off before she could chew over the story of how Sano’s troubles had reduced Masahiro’s marriage prospects. A curse on Yanagisawa! Reiko was furious at him for jeopardizing her children.
    “Here’s the good news,” Lady Wakasa said. “A representative from the Chugo clan has offered Masahiro the youngest daughter of the main branch of their family.”
    “We were hoping for something better,” Reiko said. The Chugo clan were Tokugawa vassals, but their leader was only a captain in the army. An alliance with them would do little to improve the political standing of the Sano clan. Furthermore, Reiko knew the girl, a dull creature.
    “Are you directing me to say you’re not interested? We’ve had sixteen refusals in a year, and this is our first offer. Don’t be too quick to turn it down.”
    “All right,” Reiko said reluctantly. “Tell them we’re considering their proposal. But keep looking for new prospects. There’s still time. Masahiro is only eleven.”
    Samurai boys didn’t officially reach manhood until age fourteen; yet children were often betrothed, and Sano and Reiko needed to safeguard Masahiro’s future. If Masahiro was betrothed, he would have another family to protect him while he