Ichizo shrugged. “Perhaps Isamu-sama tires of living…”
Drums rang out in the dusk as the luminance of the fireworks died. Michi turned with the rest of the throng, watching as a long convoy of motor-rickshaws trundled down the Palace Way. The vehicles were squat, beetle-shaped, chi lanterns at their snouts setting the smog around them aglow. A dozen Iron Samurai marched in the vanguard, arrayed in golden tabards of the Kazumitsu Elite, bone-white armor spitting plumes of blue-black. A stomping, clomping legion of bushimen followed, naginata at rest on their shoulders, Tiger banners streaming from the hafts.
Looking around the crowd, Michi saw sheer adoration—genuine or contrived, she couldn’t tell. Applause and cheers, the tune of flute and drum and string spilling through the rust-clad speakers of the public address system. As Lord Hiro’s motorcade approached, she saw movement on a rooftop at the corner of her eye, glancing across to see a small clockwork spider crawling from a downspout on silver, needle legs, red eye aglow. Her stare grew wide and she flinched, grasping Ichizo’s arm.
“What in the name of the gods is that?”
Ichizo glanced at the contraption, muttered beneath his breath.
“I beg pardon, my Lord?” Michi said, leaning closer to hear him over the clamor.
“A Guild device.” Ichizo spoke a little clearer, turned his eyes back to Hiro’s approach. “The palace teems with them.”
“What do they do?”
“What they see, the Guild knows.”
“My honorable Daimyo Hiro is content to let the Guild into his bedchambers?”
“Apparently so.”
She watched the device ticking across the rooftop of a crumbling store shed, a windup key spinning upon its back. Glancing around, she saw several others, tiny red lights hiding in the shadows of lean-to warehouses or storm drains, silver limbs rippling.
“The Guild has done much for my cousin,” Ichizo murmured. “Returned the arm that the Impure assassin took away. Given him the power to seize the Four Thrones. But Yoritomo-no-miya’s old guard warned against tying ourselves too closely to the Guild. As time wears on, I wonder if there was wisdom in old men’s voices.” He ran one hand over his neck. “At least the Guild keep their spies in the open, I suppose. Not hidden in shadows.”
She glanced at him, trying to read his features. His voice was low and measured, tinged with metal within his breather, but she swore she caught a hint of emphasis on the word “shadows.”
“Do you think my cousin will make a good Shōgun, Michi-chan?”
Michi blinked, attention sharpening at the question. She looked around—the jubilant crowd, the soldiers just a shouted order away. Maybe this was where it happened: here in public, right on this boardwalk. Where the viper bared its fangs to strike.
“My Lord?”
“Hiro-sama.” Ichizo nodded toward the approaching procession. “Do you think he will make a good ruler?”
“It does not matter what I think.” She turned her eyes to the floor, trying to appear embarrassed. “I am not worthy to judge.”
“But you have made a judgment nevertheless. That is only human. You knew him briefly, when he courted the Kitsune girl. How did he strike you? As a fair man? Balanced?”
“He was Kazumitsu Elite. His honor was impeccable, his conduct above reproach.”
They stood in silence for a long time, listening to the crackling music, the fireworks popping anew, the percussion of the approaching legion. Ichizo was staring at her, but she refused to meet his eyes, to show any kind of strength. If this was a play, she didn’t quite know what to make of it. He spoke again, his voice so low she could barely hear.
“When we were children, Hiro and I would play soldiers. Fighting side by side against the gaijin hordes or demons from the Yomi underworld. It was all either of us wanted to do: defend the throne. Preserve the might of the Shōgunate.” He glanced at the Daimyo of the Dragon and Phoenix clans, their gathered entourages. “But never once, not in all the times we played, did we imagine our enemies would be our own people.”
She kept her face still. Breathing steady. Wondering what shape her end would take. How far she would get before they cut her down …
“Do you have something to tell me, Michi-chan?”
She licked her lips. Just once. Finally met his stare.
“My Lord?”
“I want you to trust me.” He put his hand on her arm as the noise of the crowd swelled. “I want you to know you can tell me anything.”
Of course you do.
“If you hide things from me, I can’t protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
“Yourself.”