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THE SAMURAI DETECTIVES

THE KILLER ON THE STREETS

The Samurai Detectives: The Killer on the Streets

The Samurai Detectives

Volume Two

The Killer on the Streets Shōtarō Ikenam I

Translated by Yui Kajita

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Kenkaku Shōbai Tsujigiri by Shōtarō Ikenami

Original Japanese edition published in 1973 by SHINCHOSHA Publishing Co., Ltd. First published in Great Britain by Penguin Books 2026 001

Copyright © Ayako Ishizuka, 1973

Translation copyright © Yui Kajita, 2026

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Translator’s Note

Yui Kajita

Shōtarō Ikenami is one of the titans of Japanese historical fiction, and Kenkaku Shōbai  –  widely considered to be his greatest work –  balances light- footed entertainment with literary weight, humour with wisdom, and sword-clanging action with the quiet current of the seasons.

While I hope readers can jump right in and get carried away by Ikenami’s storytelling, there are some basic historical details worth going over in brief. The Tokugawa shogunate, or Edo bakufu, was the military government of Japan established by Tokugawa Ieyasu, which lasted for 264 years (1603–1867): a long era of peace and economic growth after many years of civil war. The Shogun was the de facto ruler of Japan, residing in Edo Castle (in present-day Tokyo), though nominally appointed by the Emperor (a figurehead seated in the Imperial Palace in Kyoto).

In the four-tier hereditary class system of the Edo period, warriors were the ruling class, followed by farmers, artisans and merchants –  and the outcast group below the fourth tier, which included people from professions that were deemed ‘unclean’. Some of the most powerful members of the warrior class were the daimyo: the 270 or so feudal lords

Ikenami

who controlled most of Japan’s land. Ultimately subordinate to the Shogun, the daimyo were divided into three categories depending on how close their ties were to the Tokugawa family. Hatamoto were high-ranking samurai who served the shogunate directly. Unlike the lower vassals of Tokugawa, daimyo and hatamoto had the right to an audience with the Shogun. Samurai were bound by a strict hierarchy and code of conduct under their lord. A ronin was a masterless samurai.

The status and income of those in the service of the shogunate were measured in rice: koku, a crucial unit, was the amount of rice that could feed one person for a year, equivalent to about 150 kilograms (330 pounds) or five bushels. For instance, a daimyo’s domain was worth at least 10,000 koku, while a ‘greater hatamoto’ had an income between 1,200 and 10,000 koku. Lower down on the social ladder, another level of income mentioned in this novel is forty tawara, or straw bags of rice, which was enough to cover the annual living costs of eight people. Such salaries could be collected in either rice or money.

The ryo was the unit of currency in the form of an oblong gold coin. According to the narrator, ‘Fifty ryo was a considerable sum: in those days, commoners could easily live for five years on that kind of money.’ One ryo was equal to four bu, sixteen shu, or 4,000 mon.

The samurai class were privileged to wear two swords, inserted between the sash-like belt around their waist called obi: a long katana (the blade measuring 27–30 inches long on average, and about 40 inches including the hilt) and a short wakizashi (the blade 12– 24 inches long). Shorter blades,

The Killer on the Streets

such as tanto and kozuka –  straight blades in between a dagger and a knife –  were also carried for self- defence. A samurai’s formal dress usually included a pair of swords and a hakama (wide trousers worn over the kimono), but Kohei, our protagonist, likes to keep it casual with only his wakizashi, kimono and loose haori jacket. Forging katanas is a fine art, and the swordsmiths mentioned in this novel are notable figures from history.

Chapter 1

The Onikuma Bar

IThat day, Kohei saw a rather peculiar thing.

The peculiar thing was a man.

But it wasn’t the man that was strange. In fact, Kohei had seen the old man’s face a few times in the last month, and he knew Kohei, too.

The old man was the owner of a bar called Onikuma, or Demon Bear, in Honjo Yokoami, and he was called Kumagoro. Kohei figured Kumagoro was at least four or five years older than himself.

But Kumagoro wasn’t just any old man –  after all, he was the sort of person who would name his own bar after a deadly mythological beast.

Back when he was running the bar by himself with only the help of his adopted daughter, Oshin, the people from those parts used to mutter, ‘Beats me why anyone would pay to go drink at his bar, of all places.’

The bar wasn’t exactly thriving, but it always got a steady flow of customers. It had managed to stay in business for more than a decade now because it served

‘good sake and good food for a good price’, as the regulars liked to say.

Kumagoro never so much as smiled at his patrons, let alone gave a friendly word of greeting; if he didn’t like the look of a customer, he’d growl, ‘There ain’t no drink for you here, not a single drop of water,’ before they had a chance to sit down.

Sometimes he would get in a big row with people and throw them out of his bar. Even when the customer got the upper hand and pummelled Kumagoro until blood smeared all over his face, the old man never backed down; he would grab the thick pole he used for barring the door and square up to the opponent. ‘I ain’t afraid to die,’ he’d bark fearlessly. ‘Go on, come at me. Kill me now!!’

The people in the neighbourhood dubbed him ‘the Frost-withered Lord Enma of Hell’, ‘the God of Dispelling Disastrous Deeds’, and other such names, and they mostly kept out of his way.

Kumagoro was tall, but he was all skin and bones, with a face as gaunt as a weatherbeaten skull and eyes that glared out of deep hollows. His eyeballs bulged like those of a giant octopus, and they swivelled around restlessly with an ominous glint.

A young man named Bunkichi had married Oshin about four or five years ago, and Kumagoro’s first granddaughter, Okayo, was born. Since then, the mood at Onikuma had begun to shift a little. Bunkichi was mild-tempered, so he was a good go-between for his sharp-tongued father-in-law and his gentle wife; he knew how to treat the customers and had a flair for using the chef’s knife, too.

Kohei had started dropping into Onikuma about a year ago. He had been on his way home from seeing his good friend Ogawa Sotetsu, the town doctor in Honjo Kamezawa, when he caught sight of the unusual name of the bar and decided to pop in.

Only the day before yesterday, Kohei had played Go with the old doctor, stayed for dinner at his house, and – on his way back home to Kanegafuchi, where his young wife, Oharu, awaited him –  stopped by at the bar on a whim, wondering, How’s that stubborn old codger doing?

That night, Kumagoro had got into a violent quarrel with a temporary servant working at the third mansion of Todo Izumi-no-kami and had driven away the drunken roughneck, brandishing the thickest knife in the kitchen.

‘You’re as tough as ever, chief,’ Kohei had piped up.

Kumagoro had merely glowered at him and, with a harrumph, disappeared into the kitchen.

But now, Kohei caught sight of Kumagoro, acting rather odd, in a place he wouldn’t have expected to find the old man.

Early that morning, Kohei had crossed the River Ohkawa, with Oharu steering the boat, and paid a visit to Daijiro’s dojo. He had heard that Kumetaro –  the only son of Iida Heisuke, the retainer who had been part of a plot to assassinate Tanuma Okitsugu and ended up hanging himself in the aftermath – was now a regular pupil at Daijiro’s dojo thanks to the mediation of Sasaki Mifuyu, so he’d had it in mind to watch Kumetaro at practice.

Despite Heisuke’s serious transgression, Tanuma still allowed his widow, Yone, and Kumetaro to live in the nagaya

row house for the retainers in his secondary mansion in Hamacho.

Tanuma was certainly a broad-minded man with a forgiving heart.

No one in the service of the Tanuma family, including Yone and Kumetaro, had the faintest idea why Heisuke had killed himself.

Anyhow, Kohei had observed young Kumetaro throwing himself into practice, drenched with sweat, then gone around to Honsho-ji temple in Asakusa Imado to visit the graves of his late wife, Otei, and his fellow swordsman Shimaoka Reizo. After that, he strolled back in the direction of home and came to a grassy field called Asajigahara.

Adjacent to the famous temple Sosen-ji, Asajigahara was known for its connection to the legend of Umewakamaru: the boy was kidnapped by a slave trader and died a tragic death, and his grieving mother was said to have drowned herself in a pond in this field.

The field stretched out to the west, and Kohei was walking down the path on the raised dirt bank through the bordering pine grove when he suddenly came to a stop. He saw Kumagoro on the edge of the field, doubled over at the foot of the bank, clutching at clumps of grass and writhing in pain.

There wasn’t a soul around except for Kohei. It was almost noon in the middle of August. The sun glared overhead, the ghost of high summer throwing stark shadows on the ground.

The rhythmic chirring of the houshi cicadas filled the pine grove.

Oblivious to Kohei’s presence on the bank, Kumagoro desperately fought back his groans, wrestling with the air and reeling in agony, until he retched up some white fluid and, with feeble moans, collapsed into the tall grass. There he lay, as limp as a corpse.

The ‘Demon Bear’ Kumagoro could never have shown such weakness to anyone in his entire life.

Kohei didn’t call out to him.

But when Kumagoro staggered up the bank about an hour later and hobbled away with his hand pressed against his stomach, Kohei was still there, watching him from the shadow of the trees.

II

The next day, Kohei crossed the Ohkawa to visit Daijiro’s dojo again.

Iida Kumetaro was hard at practice as usual. For a pupil so young, he was holding out well under Daijiro’s intense training.

When they had finished for the day, Kumetaro placed both palms neatly on the floor in front of him and said, ‘Thank you very much for the lesson.’ At this, Kohei nodded in approval.

Kumetaro’s steps were a little wobbly as he headed back home.

Daijiro’s coaching was certainly not for the faint-hearted.

‘Well, son, do you think that boy’s got what it takes?’ Kohei asked.

‘Yes, I believe so.’

‘Mm. I thought so, too.’

‘He seems determined to make something of himself –  perhaps because of the way his father died.’

‘Hmm . . .’

‘As you know, he has no idea why his father killed himself. But Lord Tanuma has said that when Kumetaro comes of age, he’ll appoint him to a position in his house, so the boy is even more intent on making strides in the way of both literary and martial arts.’

‘Is that so . . . Very good. He’s a fine lad.’

The swordswoman, Sasaki Mifuyu, had accompanied Kumetaro to the dojo on his first day in order to introduce him to Daijiro with proper decorum, but she hadn’t appeared since then.

These days, she had taken to staying at Tanuma’s primary mansion. No doubt she was hoping to protect her father, Tanuma Okitsugu, as much as she could, since she knew that he had almost been assassinated by poison.

This proved just how much her idea of her father had changed over time.

Apparently, she had been a little surprised to see his response to the assassination attempt and what dangers he was prepared to face. Though he seemed to lack the dignity and air of importance one might expect from the most influential man under the great Shogun –  at least in appearance –  Lord Tanuma had more fortitude and openminded generosity than she had imagined.

After witnessing recent events, she had been forced to

reconsider her views regarding her father: this was evident to Kohei.

Now, Kohei left Daijiro’s dojo around the same time as the day before, dropped in at Honsho- ji temple to visit the two graves, and came to Asajigahara again. When he reached the spot on the bank from where he had seen Kumagoro hunched over in pain, he stopped and peered down at the same patch of grass.

But the field was empty this time.

Kohei sat down on the grass on the bank and listened to the houshi cicadas for a while. The sun still burned, but a hint of autumn was in the air, so his skin was free of sweat.

Sometime later, he got to his feet.

He ambled down the west bank of the Ohkawa to Ryogoku bridge, crossed into Honjo and knocked on Sotetsu’s door in Kamezawa.

The old doctor had just returned from visiting his patients, and he pulled out the Go board as soon as he saw Kohei, saying, ‘I’ve been waiting for you, Master Kohei.’

Kohei had come with the same purpose in mind, so he picked up the Go stone without missing a beat.

His plan was to kill time playing against Sotetsu until sunset.

Then he would pop round to Onikuma to check how Kumagoro was doing.

Now that Kohei had given up his fame and career as a swordsman, married young Oharu and spent his days lazing around, he suddenly found himself brimming with curiosity about the lives of other people.

It’s an old man’s bad habit , he thought, but he couldn’t

help it. Am I that bored . . .? A wry smile flickered across his face.

Judging from what he had seen yesterday, he was convinced that old Kumagoro was suffering from a serious illness. He wondered if Kumagoro had had a fit of some kind as he was passing by the field.

He’s not sick in bed today, is he . . .? The thought nagged at Kohei. Onikuma wouldn’t be the same without that old grump.

In fact, Kohei secretly believed that the bull-headed, bearish man was the beating heart of Onikuma.

All through their game of Go, Sotetsu didn’t mention a word about the deadly poison, which Kohei had shown him the other day while solving the assassination case. Clearly, the doctor placed his complete trust in Kohei.

It was this kind of quality in Sotetsu that made him such a reliable friend.

III

After dinner, just past seven in the evening, Kohei departed from Sotetsu’s house.

He walked down the street lined with samurai mansions towards the north side of Ekoin temple until he came to the third residence of Lord Todo on the corner of Koizumi. As he went along its earthen wall, the large roof of the third mansion of Tsugaru Etchu-no-kami loomed higher, a pitchblack silhouette jutting out into the dark sky.

To his right lay the Yokoami district, and further

down the street stood the main residence of Matsumae Izu-no-kami.

The Onikuma bar was situated on the tip of the triangular patch across the street from this Matsumae mansion, bordering the north wall of the Tsugaru mansion. This triangle wasn’t connected to the main part of Yokoami, but it was still considered part of the district.

The interior of the bar was probably about 250 square feet, with a dirt- floor pit and a raised floor space covered by about ten tatami mats for the customers to sit on. That was it.

There was a kitchen at the back, where Bunkichi, Oshin’s husband, was always toiling away with his knife.

Kumagoro would often bark at him at the top of his voice –  things like ‘Hey, Bunkichi, get a move on, will ya?!’ or ‘Come on, we ain’t got all day! Think you can run a bar carvin’ out food like it’s a damn work of art? Get crackin’, or you’ll never take over from me!’ or ‘The lot who come here don’t even know what they’re guzzlin’ down. Any grub would do, just get on with it!’ –  and he would be stomping around the bar all the while, warming up sake and carrying food from the kitchen to the customers.

Most newcomers to the bar didn’t last long: they turned tail and never came back.

But if they stayed long enough to get used to it, they got hooked and turned into regulars. After all, they could drink the bar’s careful selection of sake at a cheap price, and as long as they didn’t stir up any trouble and get on Kumagoro’s nerves, they were free to enjoy themselves in peace.

Some of the neighbourhood yakuza types even said, ‘If

I don’t hear the Onikuma chief’s rants at least once, I don’t feel right at the end of the day.’

That night, when Kohei dropped in at the bar, Kumagoro was running the place as usual. Kohei happened to step in just as the old chief was pointing a big knife at a rowdy, blinddrunk servant from the Tsugaru mansion and bellowing, ‘Count yourself lucky I let scoundrels like you drink cheap sake here. Keep spittin’ nonsense, and I’ll stick this knife up your nose and hack the whole thing off, snot and all!’

The servant paled and shrank back from the blade. When the onlookers murmured to one another in amusement, Kumagoro threw them a look and bit their heads off, too.

‘Whaddaya think you’re lookin’ at?! This ain’t a show! Shut up and go back to your drinks!’

All the customers were ruffians who were every bit as unruly as they looked, but they all ducked their heads at Kumagoro’s scolding.

They knew Kumagoro wasn’t just playing games or throwing around empty threats. They knew that nothing could shake the old man’s resolve: Whoever rubs me up the wrong way, I’ll risk my life to throw ’em out . . . or shut ’em up. There was a raw truth to Kumagoro’s spirit that often made Kohei think, That fellow really does put his life on the line. When Kohei sat down in a corner of the tatami floor, Kumagoro shot a dark glance at him and lumbered over.

‘Sake?’ he asked.

‘Yep.’ Kohei nodded, simply.

One time, a customer had retorted to the same question, ‘What else would I be here for, huh?’

Kumagoro had snapped back, ‘Shut your trap. Some folks just want grub,’ and smashed the tokkuri bottle he was holding right on the man’s head. Hot sake exploded over him; blood oozed out of the cuts from the broken bottle as he crawled out the door. Kohei had seen the whole thing.

Anyhow, Kumagoro looked nothing like a sick man now. His sallow face appeared even more ominous than usual in the dim lamplight, and his voice boomed like thunder.

What happened to him in Asajigahara yesterday? Did he have a stomach ache or something . . .? Kohei wondered.

Listening to Bunkichi cooking up a storm in the kitchen and Kumagoro’s angry bellows directed at the customers, Kohei sipped his sake in silence. Soon he went home.

After that, he forgot about the strange sight he’d seen for a while. About five days later, however, on his way back from Daijiro’s dojo and Honsho- ji, he suddenly remembered Kumagoro and went around to the same field with a funny feeling that he might find the old chief again.

There he is!

Kumagoro was indeed in the exact same spot, clutching his stomach and lying on his side like a dead man.

Once again, Kohei refrained from making his presence known to Kumagoro. He merely watched over the old man from the shadows until he dragged himself up and tottered away from Asajigahara, visibly drained.

Kohei went home, had dinner with Oharu after sunset,

then stepped out again. ‘I’m going out for a bit. Remember to bar the doors for the night,’ he told Oharu, then headed in the direction of Honjo.

He wasn’t aiming for Sotetsu’s house. He went straight to Onikuma.

Kumagoro was there.

Just like the other night, he was shouting at the neighbourhood roughnecks, serving up sake, berating his son-in-law and practically thrumming with vitality.

Kohei emptied a smallish bottle of sake without saying a word and headed home.

Lost in thought, he traced the path northwards along the Ohkawa in the dark, moonless night.

‘Well . . .’ he muttered with a heavy sigh. ‘Wonder what I can do for that fellow? Though it’s probably none of my business . . .’ He sounded as though he was trying to persuade himself to let things be. With a shake of his head, he walked on.

It rained that night.

It rained again the next day, and the day after that, and Kohei stayed put at home.

Heavy clouds lingered in the sky.

Sitting in the soft sound of rain in a pensive mood, Kohei spent another two days without setting foot outside.

‘Really, sensei, what’s got into you?’ Oharu asked anxiously, peering into his listless face. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

‘Oh, it’s not about me. I’m fine.’

‘But sensei—’

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing to do with you.’

‘But you look so down these days . . .’

‘I’ve turned sixty, after all. Stands to reason I have burdens on my mind that you wouldn’t dream of.’

‘Burdens?’

‘The sort of feelings only old folk can understand.’

‘Don’t say such a thing . . .’

‘Never mind, dear. How about we drink tonight, just you and me? It’s been a while. And let’s get thoroughly drunk.’

‘Oh! Finally. You just smiled for the first time in four days, sensei.’

‘Silly girl.’ He drew her close on to his lap and wrapped his arms around her. Gently rubbing his cheek against hers, he said, ‘But I’m a lucky man. I’m still fit compared to that old codger, and I have a young wife like you to cuddle . . .’

‘What old codger?’

‘The one who’s about to be pitched in the iron pot of Hell,’ he chuckled. ‘I reckon he’s done in a few people in his time.’

‘Oh, don’t scare me.’

The rain cleared up the next day.

The deepening chill of autumn unfurled over the land.

Kohei left for Onikuma around noon.

The bar wasn’t yet open for business.

When he slid open the oiled shoji door, he found the young couple, Bunkichi and Oshin, sitting on the woodfloored corner of the kitchen, having a cheerful lunch with their four-year-old daughter, Okayo.

‘Oh, hello there. Welcome,’ the couple greeted him. They recognised his face.

‘Sorry to bother you, but would you mind giving me a cup of tea? I was just passing by, and I’m parched . . .’