“He will be right back. He went to get more flour for the noodles.”

  “Did that yoriki come back and cause you any trouble?” he asked.

  “Oh no, samurai-sama; he never came back.”

  The small door at the back of the shop opened and Hana’s grandfather entered holding a small, wooden bucket piled high with a light brown substance.

  “Grandfather, come and see,” Hana said. “It is the samurai who saved us by going to jail.”

  Recognition dawned on the old man’s face and he began bowing low. “Domo arigato gozaimasu samurai-sama. I pray the consequences were not too dire for you.”

  “Not too dire, grandfather,” Hideki said. “But enough of that depressing story, I brought along a friend to taste the best noodles in Edo. He does not believe me. Hana, you did tell me this was the best noodle house in Edo, did you not?”

  The smiling young girl tried to put on a serious face. “Honto, samurai-sama, we have the best noodles in Edo. Ask anyone, anywhere. Ichiban is the best!” she said and then went back to smiling.

  “That’s good enough for me. We’ll take two bowls please,” Hideki ordered. Then he took up his seat next to the noodle-cutting table. It allowed him to view the main entrance.

  “Hai,” the old man shouted as he turned to the cutting table to start a fresh batch of noodles. Hana’s geta cut into the dirt floor as she raced to the stove to tend the fire. “I’ll take care of that Hana,” her grandfather called. “You provide out honored guests with ocha.”

  “Hai, ogisan,” Hana replied as she moved off, the wooden geta shoes crunching into the earthen floor.

  While they were sipping their tea, two very young doshin came in and took a seat at the first bench on the left. They wore gray, simple-patterned kimonos with the bottom edge pulled up and tucked into their obi, complemented by blue tabi and black haori outer garments. Jubei snorted his displeasure at their sight.

  Hideki was not sure if it was from his dislike of all police or their dress. Most samurai looked down on doshin. Most considered them very low ranked due in part to their daily contact with the chosin, or townspeople, of Edo. Their investigations required handling and investigating the dead. Doshin positions went from father to son. No one worked his way up to doshin. Their adoption of the style of dress without hakama was called kinagashi style and was considered inappropriate by most wellborn samurai.

  The compulsory “Irashiai dozo” from Hana greeted the two. Surprisingly, Hana abandoned her duties, rushed to their bench, and began chatting with them.

  “I’d say you have been forsaken for guests more her age, hero,” Jubei observed.

  “That is as it should be,” Hideki said without emotion.

  Hana’s grandfather brought Hideki and Jubei more tea. “Gomen nasai samurai-samas, those two come in every day and flirt with Hana.”

  “She seems interested,” Jubei noted.

  “Oh she is interested,” the grandfather confirmed.

  “You approve of them?” Hideki asked.

  “They are good boys and just a little older than Hana. They are honest and hardworking. They are newly assigned to the Hatchobori and have not learned bad habits.”

  “What do you mean?” Hideki asked.

  “Well, I probably shouldn’t be talking about it, but since you risked everything for us, I’ll tell you. The Hatchobori doshin extort money from the shopkeepers throughout Edo,” he said. “We either pay or go to jail.”

  “Why don’t you pay the Gumsumgumi?” Hideki asked.

  “Because those devils charge more.”

  “Do those two extort as well?” Hideki asked.

  “No, in fact they have shamed a few other doshin away,” the grandfather replied. “It must be the young one’s infatuation with Hana that protects us.”

  “Are his intentions honorable?” Hideki asked.

  Jubei rolled his eyes skyward.

  “I’m sure they are. They are both nice boys. But I have to discourage it,” the old man said.

  “Why, if they are honest?” Hideki asked.

  The old man looked shocked. “How could I hold my head high as an Edoko if my daughter was married to a samurai?” he asked. Then he smiled to soften the insult and went back to his stove.

  Hideki looked at Jubei. “Was he kidding?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say he was more serious than kidding.”

  “But why? If Hana marries a samurai his station in life would be raised as well,” Hideki said.

  “Hideki, life in Edo is a little different than in the provinces. You have been in Edo for a few weeks now. Have you not noticed the almost defiant nature of many of the citizens? This is not Kyoto or Osaka. Edo is a new city and still very wild. The people who are pouring into Edo are used to a hard life somewhere else. They want the freedom and opportunity a big city gives. Most are very self-sufficient and somewhat prideful.” Jubei looked at the old man at the stove. “I’d say he was more serious than kidding.”

  Hana returned to her grandfather’s side, then shuffled over to Hideki’s bench and placed two large bowls in front of Hideki and Jubei. “Please enjoy our noodles samurai-sama,” she beamed.

  Even Jubei reacted to her exuberance. He tried to smile back. Hideki noticed it looked like it hurt. Hideki grabbed his watabashi and with a slight stir of the contents began to slurp noodles. Jubei was more cautious. He sniffed the contents and stirred it slightly with his watabashi, trying to identify all the contents before bringing anything to his mouth. Once he managed a taste, he exclaimed, “These really are good.”

  “I told you so!” Hideki said.

  The two doshin received their bowls and began eating. Soon one of the doshin stopped and reached into this kimono sleeve and brought out a folded paper. He unfolded it and showed it to his companion. Then both looked toward Hideki and Jubei. They put down their watabashi and rose. They came over to Hideki’s bench behind Jubei and pulled their jutte.

  “You are under arrest,” the young one said. “Turn over your weapons and come to the Hatchobori with us.”

  Jubei ignored him. He repeated his command louder this time.

  Hana shuffled over behind Hideki. “No Kimbei-chan, these are our friends. This one saved us from jail and worse,” she pleaded.

  “Quiet Hana. We have our duty to perform,” he ordered.

  “Who do you think we are?” asked Hideki between slurps.

  “He is the one-eyed devil that escaped last week,” the older one said, holding up the sketch of a brigand with an eye patch.

  “Not a very good likeness,” Hideki commented. “The only resemblance is the eye patch. What’s he supposed to have done?”

  “We don’t know,” the young one answered. “Our duty is to bring him to the Yoriki. The lieutenant supervisor will decide what is to be done with you.”

  “What if he does not want to go?” Hideki asked.

  The two doshin looked at each other. “Then it is our duty to force him,” the older one said.

  “What are you names?” Hideki asked.

  “Who are you to ask our names? This jutte is all the authority we need,” the younger one said.

  “Actually, you are mistaken. That jutte provides authority over the chosin, the commoners of Edo. You have no authority over samurai. That is the purview of the ometsuke and hatomoto,” Hideki corrected.

  The young one was not so sure of himself now. “We have jurisdiction over ronin, and you two wear no mon,” he challenged.

  “Again, you are incorrect,” Hideki said. “Your yoriki and the last magistrate assumed that authority to make money, selling innocent ronin to mine owners,” Hideki said.

  “That is not our concern. He looks like the fugitive and we must arrest him,” the younger one said again.

  “The real reason I wanted to know your names is I hate to see men killed for no reason. If you persist, either my friend or I will kill you. I’d like to know the names of men I kill,” Hideki said. “Paying a priest for a sutra is the least we should do and for that we need your names.”

  “The young one is Kimbei-chan. His friend is Gorbei-chan,” Hana volunteered using the familiar child’s ending for their names.

  Both doshin looked horrified that the two samurai should hear them addressed in such an informal manner.

  The young one bowed his head slightly, “I am Shimada Kimbei, dozo yoroshuku,” he said.

  The older one followed suit. “I am Katayama Gorobei, yoroshuku.”

  Hideki stopped eating and bowed his head slightly, “I am Yoshinobu Hideki, cousin to the shogun, brother to the new south magistrate and student of Myamoto Musashi. This fine, one-eyed gentleman is Yagyu Jubei, son of the chamberlain to the shogun, master of the Yagyu Shinkage-ryu fencing style, and we both are on official business for the shogunate.”

  The two doshin dropped their juttes to their sides. Hana stood open-mouthed and her grandfather dropped a bowl of noodles on the dirt floor.

  “Gorobei and Kimbei-chan,” Hideki said, adding a little salt to their wounds by using the childish endings to their names, “you have a dilemma. You can either persist in doing your duty … or you can live.” Then, looking at Jubei, “You are a master at the katana and have been the fencing master to the shogun. You’ve seen me practice. How would you categorize my fencing skills?”

  Jubei looked at the two behind him. “Formidable,” he said.

  “There you have it. He is the fencing master to the shogun, and I am formidable. Therefore, you can persist in doing your duty and die, or you can return to your bench, finish your noodles, and when we are done, we will accompany you to the Hatchobori, as we happen to have business there. You may even tell the yoriki that you arrested us. But we will not be surrendering our swords.”

  Hana’s grandfather stepped forward. “Please do as he says Kenbei. Do it for Hana’s sake. This samurai is very good with a sword. I watched him defeat four samurai in this very shop.”

  “That’s it. Do it for Hana’s sake. She would not want to see any death in her famous noodle shop,” Hideki said.

  Glad for a way out without losing face, they both turned without a word and went back to eating their noodles.

  After a few minutes of noodle consumption Jubei spoke. “I do admire your restraint.”

  “We promised Jii and Naga that we would act as envoys. I’m just trying to keep my promise,” Hideki said.

  “Your patience is impressive. I take it your forbearance was learned from Musashi?” Jubei asked.

  “Probably. He is always talking about the responsibility swordsmen have not to fight.”

  “He sounds like my father: ‘The best victory is the fight not fought.’ Maybe I should have listened more,” Jubei mused. “You know, I would have never considered Musashi a sensei.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “From what I had heard, he is all brute force. Anger and fighting spirit accompany every report I’ve heard of his fights.”

  “I don’t know about that. There is no doubt he is strong. But he has been a very good teacher in many different ways.” It was hard for Hideki to explain how he felt about Musashi. His sensei had taken him to another level in his swordsmanship and in his quest for being a good samurai. He wondered if Jubei was a little jealous.

  “The youngsters have finished their noodles and await us,” observed Jubei.

  They rose from the benches and Hideki placed coins on the tabletop.

  “Oh no, samurai-sama; the noodles are free to you,” the grandfather said.

  “No old man. Noodles of such quality deserve payment,” Hideki said, then bowed. “Domo.”

  As he and Jubei started for the door, the young doshin pulled juttes from their belts. Hideki eyed them sternly. “That won’t be necessary, gentlemen; but if you’d walk behind us we’ll lead the way.”

  The young police officers looked at each other and quickly returned the juttes to their belts.

  “You talk to them as if they are children, yet you are very close to their age,” Jubei commented.

  Hideki smiled. “It has a lot to do with Musashi. I feel older than both of their ages combined.”

  “From a standpoint of experience and training, you probably are twice their ages. I wished I’d had the opportunity to train with Musashi.”

  “I’m sure it can be arranged, if the sensei sticks around. But you surprise me. I would have thought the fencing master to the shogun would be confident in the dominance of his own style,” Hideki said.

  “Oh, I am confident in Shinkage-ryu style. However, Musashi the man, as well as his two-sword style, intrigues me. Anyone who has fought almost seventy duels and lived to talk about them must have some interesting things to share,” Jubei mused.

  Hideki stopped at the entrance to the Hatchobori. Two sergeants armed with rokushakubo staffs guarded it. They extended their staffs at arm’s length across the threshold, creating an “X” and blocking Hideki’s entrance.

  “What is your business here?” one asked.

  “They are with us. We have arrested them,” Kimbei said.

  “Then why are they armed?” the other sergeant asked authoritatively.

  “If you want to disarm them, go ahead. The tall one is the fencing master to the shogun,” Gorobei said smugly.

  The “X” barrier formed by the staffs disappeared. Hideki moved into the entrance. Like most Japanese buildings, the main opening was on ground level where footwear was removed. Hideki removed his and stepped up onto the main floor in his tabi while removing his saya and katana from his obi, dangling loosely in his left hand by his side. Jubei did likewise.

  The floor was very large and covered in hard wood polished to a high sheen by countless prisoners. In the center was a square sand pit with a stove in the center for keeping the area warm in winter and heating tea year round. One side of the room was made of three large sliding shoji screens with paper panes that let in the light from the ubiquitous garden and courtyard that such buildings surrounded. The far wall was made of the same wood as the floor with various signs adorning it. One indicated the various watch teams and their areas of operations and the yoriki in charge.

  At the base of the far wall were several low-lying desks where the doshin could sit on folded legs and write reports. Next to the desks were plain cabinets used to store various police items. Probably full of torinawa or arresting ropes, Hideki suspected. Once a suspect was overpowered with the jutte or close-quarter grappling, he had to be restrained for interrogation. The Edo doshin developed rapid means to tie suspects often while they were still struggling. This required skill and practice. This skill was termed hojo-jutsu and raised to an art form. There were ties reserved for farmers, ties for merchants, ties for artisans, and special ties for women so that knots did not crush breasts.

  On top of the cabinets were three portable lanterns with collapsible paper globes and a metal insert on the bottom to support the candle. The globe attached to a long, willowy, flexible handle which was connected to the top of the globe for patrols at night. Next to the desk sat two square lamps with paper panes on tri-pod stands for use near the desks after dark. Above the desk was a map of Edo divided into sectors for the yoriki’s area of responsibility. Off to the right was a hallway. Hideki knew where that went. It shot back to the jail and police barracks. He had taken this route in his escape several weeks ago.

  Coming up the hallway were three men Hideki recognized. The yoriki paused when he entered the main room and looked from Hideki to Jubei, then at his two doshin.

  “What do we have here?” he asked.

  “Kumogiri-sama,” Gorobei said. “The one-eyed samurai looked like the paper alert you posted, so we brought him in for questioning.”

  “And well you should, Gorobei, for he is indeed the escapee from a few weeks ago. And if I’m not mistaken, the other is the one who engineered the mass escape,” he said.

  With those words, the two doshin that trailed Kumogiri fanned out on either side of their boss and drew their juttes. Hideki recognized the doshin on the left as Jubei’s inquisitor. The doshin on the right was the leader of the attempted assassination of the Gumsumgumi the night Hideki escaped.

  “But why are they still armed?” Kumogiri asked.

  Gorobei was hesitant to answer. “Sir, they looked dangerous; there was just we two, and they claimed they weren’t ronin,” he managed.

  “Nonsense; do you see any mon? They wear no identification of a clan. They are ronin.”

  Jubei stepped up and to Hideki’s left.

  “You men surrender your weapons. You are under arrest. If you don’t do so peacefully it will go hard on you,” Kumogiri demanded.

  “I believed you the last time you recited those words and it almost cost me my life,” Jubei said. “I will not do so again.”

  “You cannot think to defy us; we are the law.” Kumogiri nodded to the green-clad doshin on his right, sending him down the hallway to bring reinforcements.

  “You are not the government,” Jubei corrected. “You are dogs preying on the carcasses of better men. You use your office to intimidate and harass the townspeople to enrich yourselves. You are vermin.”

  The doshin in brown who had tortured Jubei took a step forward and raised his jutte to crack Jubei’s skull. The iron weapon was on its downward path when Jubei stepped back with his left foot and at the same time drew his sword with a lightning earth-to-sky draw, severing the doshin’s right hand at the wrist. The severed hand, still clutching the jutte, hit the hardwood floor at the same time the doshin’s knees did as he went down grasping his bloody stump, frantically trying to stop the pumping geyser of blood. The whites of his eyes got large and he started to scream. Even in the large room, the screams were deafening. Jubei flicked his sword to the right and down to release any blood and returned it to the saya in his left hand. The doshin’s screams subsided into sobs and whimpers.

  Jubei looked at Kumogiri. “I guess that hand won’t be used to beat innocent men anymore.”

  Kumogiri was in shock. He prided himself on his fencing ability. He considered himself quite accomplished. However, he had not seen the one-eyed swordsman draw his weapon. One moment the one-eyed swordsman was about to get his skull cracked and in the next, the doshin had no hand. Kumogiri was not used to being threatened. He was used to doing the threatening. Nevertheless, one look at that one good eye and Kumogiri knew he was moments away from his own death.