The hunt for Reiko had gone on all day. Now the early winter dusk descended upon Fukuyama Castle. The western sky glowed with the cold orange flames of sunset, the trees and buildings black against them, the snowdrifts colored deep blue by the encroaching night. The temperature had dropped from cold to lethally cold. And still Reiko was missing.
Standing with his guards outside the stable, Sano heard other search parties crunching through the snow and calling to one another. Their lanterns flickered in the distance. Their desperation to capture Reiko vibrated the air like drumbeats. Earlier, Lord Matsumae had noticed his men rushing about the castle and demanded to know what was going on. He’d forced them to admit that one of his prisoners had escaped, then he’d announced that if she wasn’t found by dark, he would pick a soldier at random and burn out his eyes with a hot poker. Sano feared that if Lord Matsumae made good on his threat, the friends of the unlucky scapegoat would take out their anger on Reiko when they found her.
If she didn’t freeze to death first.
Okimoto flung open the stable door and stalked inside. His two comrades followed, pushing Sano in front of them, holding up their lanterns. Horses neighed in the stalls. The smell of manure filled air warmed by coal braziers. Okimoto hurried along the stalls, opening them and looking inside, as if Reiko were stupid enough to hide behind a horse that could trample her, as if they hadn’t already searched the whole castle.
The guards at the gates swore that Reiko hadn’t gotten out, and the walls were too high for her to climb. She must be still inside, running from one hiding place to the next, a few steps ahead of her pursuers. Sano could feel her fright even though he couldn’t see her.
At the end of the stable stood a huge pile of hay. Okimoto drew his sword and began hacking at the hay, shouting, “Come out from under there! You can’t hide!” His men joined in. “I’m going to get you!”
“Stop!” Sano yelled, horrified because if Reiko was under the hay, they would stab her. They were all so young, so cruel in their thoughtlessness.
He grabbed Okimoto, restraining his arm that wielded the sword. The other guards fell upon Sano. In the tussle, one dropped his lantern. It set fire to the hay. Flames leaped, crackled, and spread.
“Fire!” cried Okimoto as smoke filled the stables. The horses whinnied, reared, and pounded their hooves on the doors of their stalls. “Put it out!”
As he and his men stamped on the flames, they forgot to watch Sano. Sano knew that if Reiko were hiding in the stable, she would have come out by now rather than risk burning to death. She wasn’t here. Sano slipped out the door.
The sky had faded to dull copper along the horizon. Stars and a crescent moon winked in the onrushing ultramarine night. Sano heard barking, excited and bloodthirsty. They’d set the dogs after Reiko. He plunged across the snow, away from his guards. Ahead loomed a group of outbuildings. Sano didn’t see any lights there; other searchers must have already tried them. Maybe Reiko had slipped inside after they’d gone. He trudged down an icy path between two storehouses.
Their doors were open, revealing straw bales of rice stacked on pallets.
“Reiko-san?” he called.
Snow crunched under stealthy footsteps behind him.
He whirled and saw a blur of motion down the path, in the gap between the storehouses. At the same instant his mind registered a human figure hurling an object, something struck him. Sano cried out as pain jabbed between his shoulder and elbow. Stumbling, he skidded on the ice and fell. He grasped the place that hurt. A knife protruded from it. The blade had cut through his heavy coat and pierced his flesh. If he hadn’t turned, it would have struck him in the back and killed him.
Sano yanked out the knife. Even as he grunted in pain and felt warm, slick blood pour down his skin under his sleeve, he lurched to his feet, yelling, “Stop!” Brandishing the knife, he ran after his attacker.
But complete darkness had fallen in the last several moments. Lights flashing from distant lanterns illuminated dark buildings and empty snow. There was no sign of whoever had thrown the knife. From all around Sano heard footsteps beating the snow, men yelling, dogs barking. The assassin had blended in with the search parties.
“There he is!” said a familiar voice.
Captain Okimoto and his two friends surrounded Sano. Their relief turned to alarm as they saw the knife in his hand. “Hey!” Okimoto exclaimed. “Put that down!”
The guards drew their swords. Sano said, “Wait. Let me explain.”
“You were running away,” Okimoto accused.
“I was running after an assassin. He threw this at me.” Sano held up the knife.
That provoked yells and sword-waving from the guards. “Put it down, put it down!” Okimoto screamed.
Sano dropped the knife. The guards pounced on it, dug it out of the snow. “There’s blood on it,” one of them said. “He’s already killed somebody.”
“That’s my blood,” Sano said, his hand clasped over the wound. “I was hit.”
Suspicious and wary, the guards shone their lanterns on him. The blood had soaked through his coat, staining it red. “I guess you were,” Okimoto said, surprised. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look. He’s gone.”
“We’ll take you to the physician,” Okimoto said. “Lord Matsumae doesn’t need to know about this, but he probably wouldn’t want you to bleed to death.”
“No,” Sano said, even though his arm was sore and throbbing and he was afraid he’d already lost a lot of blood. “I have to find my wife.”
“Forget it! Shut up!”
In the physician’s chamber, Sano eased his injured arm out of his kimono. It was covered in blood. The physician, an old man dressed in the dark blue coat of his profession, peered at Sano’s wound. He soaked a cloth in warm water and bathed off the blood that still oozed from the cut.
“How bad is it?” Gizaemon asked. He and the men with him seemed less concerned about Sano’s fate than worried about how it would affect their own.
“Not too deep,” the physician said. “The honorable chamberlain was fortunate. His coat protected him. The wound should heal perfectly.”
Sano was relieved that his sword arm wouldn’t suffer permanent damage.
“But it needs to be sewn up.” The physician threaded a horse-tail hair through a long, sharp steel needle.
The sight opened a pit of dread in Sano’s stomach. “Fine. Do it,” he said, trying to act as though he didn’t care.
“This must be the work of an intruder who broke into the castle.” Gizaemon turned a fierce stare on Captain Okimoto and the other two guards.
“No one got past us, I swear,” Okimoto protested.
“How would you know?” Sano said. “You were too busy setting the stable on fire to notice a whole army of invading assassins.”
“Go search the whole castle,” Gizaemon told the men.
After they’d left, Sano said, “I doubt they’ll find any outsiders. I don’t think I was attacked by one.”
“Then who did attack you?” Gizaemon said. “And why?”
Sano couldn’t answer the first question, but he had a hunch about the second. “Maybe because of my investigation.”
The physician produced a ceramic jar of brownish green jelly, which he dabbed around Sano’s cut. It smelled a little like mint, but acrid and bitter.
“What’s that?” Sano asked suspiciously.
“Native balm,” the physician said. “To dull the pain.”
Sano said to Gizaemon, “My guess is that whoever threw the knife at me doesn’t want me to find out who murdered Tekare, and tried to kill me because he’s afraid I’m getting too close to the truth.”
Gizaemon’s squinty eyes narrowed further at Sano. “Are you getting close? What have you learned?”
“That the Ezo could have killed Tekare.”
“Well, that’s what I told you. But then some people have to figure things out for themselves. I’ll te
ll Lord Matsumae. He’ll be eager to get his hands on those bastards.”
The needle pierced Sano’s skin. It didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected, maybe due to the balm, but he had to steel himself against the pain. “Wait,” he said, alarmed by Gizaemon’s premature rush to judgment. “The Ezo had the opportunity to set the spring-bow, but that doesn’t mean they did. When I spoke to them, I wasn’t convinced they’re guilty. And now there’s a good indication they’re not.”
“Oh? What?”
In and out went the needle. The thread tugged Sano’s flesh with every stitch. Sano couldn’t look. “If it was the killer who attacked me, that clears the Ezo.” Sano drew deep, controlled breaths, fighting the waves of faintness that washed over him. “They weren’t in the castle at the time. You sent them back to their camp. If my theory is correct, then they weren’t involved in Tekare’s murder.” Then who was?“
Sano heard skepticism in Gizaemon’s voice. His body flinched involuntarily as the physician sewed. “I’ll need to question all the Matsumae retainers who were in the castle when I was attacked.”
“Our retainers?” Gizaemon scowled, both puzzled and offended. “You think one of them threw the knife?”
“They knew I was out there. Any one of them could have followed me.
The physician knotted the thread and snipped it with a razor. He bound Sano’s arm with a white cotton bandage, then left. Sano stifled a groan of relief.
“You’re saying that one of our retainers killed Tekare?” Gizaemon looked dismayed at the suggestion. “But how could they do that to Lord Matsumae? And why?”
“Those are good questions for them.” Sano paused, then said, “Also for you.”
The moment had come for the confrontation that they’d been moving toward all day. As their gazes locked, Sano felt the antagonism between him and Gizaemon turn as sharp as the needle that had stitched his wound.
“You think I did it.” Gizaemon’s tone made the phrase half question, half statement.
“Evidence against you keeps cropping up,” Sano said. “You hate the Ezo; that includes Tekare. You know all about spring-bows and native poisons.”
“So do most of the men in Ezogashima. And so what if I hate the barbarians? So do plenty other Japanese.”
“You’re constantly pointing the finger at the Ezo. What better reason than to divert me from you?”
“For your own good!” Gizaemon seemed exasperated by what he considered Sano’s foolishness. “And for the sake of my nephew. I in trying to help you solve the crime, so that he’ll get well.”
After ten years as a detective, Sano knew better than to accept at face value even such a logical explanation from a suspect. “Where were you when I was attacked?”
“Searching for your wife in the servants’ quarters. Which are across the castle grounds from where you were.”
“Was anyone with you?”
Instead of answering, Gizaemon picked up the knife from a table and examined it. The blade was about as long as his hand, attached to a short, smooth wooden handle. He turned it over, looked for markings, and said, “No identification on this. It’s not mine, and you can’t prove it is.”
“I doubt that you’d have used a weapon marked with your name.”
Gizaemon jammed a toothpick into his mouth. “I’m starting to wonder if there really was an attack on you. The troops told me they got there after it happened. We have only your word that it did.”
“Then how do you explain this?” Angry at being accused of lying, and at having the interrogation turned on him, Sano pointed to his wound.
“You could have done that to yourself. Wasn’t a fatal cut, was it? And you could have found that knife lying around someplace.”
“Why would I cut myself?” Sano said, on the defensive and more vexed than ever.
“So you could accuse me of murdering Tekare and make it look like I tried to kill you to keep you from finding out,” Gizaemon said. “But I didn’t kill Tekare. I didn’t attack you. And I don’t have to take any more accusations from you.” He called to guards outside the room: “Take Chamberlain Sano back to his quarters.” Then he bowed, insolently courteous, said “Good night,” and walked out the door.
Sano didn’t miss the fact that Gizaemon had avoided the last question he’d asked. He’d not named a witness to furnish him an alibi for the attack on Sano.
12
“What happened to you?” Hirata asked when the guards brought Sano back to the guest quarters.
As Sano explained, they huddled around the charcoal braziers with detectives Marume and Fukida and the Rat. The room grew colder with the deepening night; icy drafts puffed the mats that covered the walls. More concerned about Reiko than himself, Sano said, “Is there any news about my wife?”
“I’m sorry to say she’s still missing,” Hirata said.
A sense of helplessness threatened to drag Sano into a black whirlpool of despair. He hoped that at least the murder investigation had made progress. “Did you question the gold merchant?”
“Yes,” Hirata said. “You’ll be happy to know that he’s quite a good suspect.”
“What did you find out from him?”
“For a start, he had plenty of reason to kill Tekare. He admits he was angry at her because she left him for Lord Matsumae. Then his alibi for the night of the murder is weak.” Hirata explained: “Even if it’s true that he was at home when Tekare died, he could have set up the spring-bow in advance. Besides, he’s an odd character with a taste for death.” Hirata described the trophies Daigoro had collected. “Maybe Tekare was his latest.”
This sounded promising to Sano, but he spotted a problem. “Exactly when did you talk to the gold merchant?”
“A couple of hours ago.”
Sano told Hirata and the other men his theory about the attack on him. “If Daigoro was with you then, he couldn’t have sneaked into the castle and attacked me.”
“Daigoro needn’t have thrown the knife himself,” Hirata said. “He admits having spies inside the castle. I suspect that some Matsumae retainers owe him money, and they repay him with information. And maybe other services, like getting rid of the man who’s investigating a murder that he committed.”
“My assassination ought to be a big enough service to get any debt excused.” Sano saw the arrow of suspicion point away from Lord Matsumae’s uncle to his troops, who’d had as good an opportunity to kill him.
“That’s not all I learned,” Hirata said. “According to the gold merchant, Tekare wasn’t exactly the most popular woman around.” He described her ambitions, how she’d used and discarded men, created jealousy among both the Japanese and the Ezo, and fomented trouble everywhere. “Not that I would believe everything that comes out of Daigoro’s mouth, but this could explain why someone wanted Tekare dead.”
Sano pondered the new information about the murder victim. “‘The Empress of Snow Country.” I wonder how she got to be a shamaness. If she really was a universal troublemaker, then she’d have made enemies in the castle.“
“Maybe she played the same game with Lord Matsumae’s retainers as she did with the miners, fishermen, and traders,” Fukida said.
“If she did, they wouldn’t have needed Daigoro the gold merchant’s orders to kill her,” Sano said.
“How many Matsumae retainers live in or near Fukuyama Castle?” Hirata asked.
“Too many,” Sano said as he saw the pool of potential suspects expand.
“We’ll have to interrogate them all,” Hirata said.
“Which won’t be easy while they’re our jailers.” Sano wondered how long the investigation would last. Would he solve the crime before Lord Matsumae’s patience gave way to his madness?
Servants brought dinner, and his men dug in with hearty appetites. “This isn’t bad,” Marume said. “What is it?”
“Lily root dumplings,” the Rat said as he gobbled his meal. “Salmon stew made with ferns, garlic, and butterbur. Wine brewed from mil
let. Traditional Ezo food. Even the highest-ranking Japanese here have to eat it at least some of the time, or starve. There’s not enough Japanese food.”
Sano ate to keep up his strength, but he wasn’t hungry. Another day was ending, and he had yet to find his son. Another night stretched before him, long and cold. And where was Reiko?
He heard the exterior door open down the passage, the guards’ voices, and a scuffle along the corridor. Okimoto marched Reiko into the room. Relief gladdened Sano, but her appearance shocked him. She wore a fur-lined deerskin coat, mittens, and boots that were too big for her. She was streaked with black grime, her hair disheveled, her eyes wild.
“We found her hiding in the coal shed,” Okimoto said. “Keep her in here from now on, I’m warning you.”
He shoved Reiko at Sano, then left. Sano gathered Reiko into his arms. She was shuddering with cold and fright. He seated her by a brazier, put a bowl of hot wine in her hands. They trembled so much that he had to help her drink. He wiped her soot-stained cheeks with a napkin. Gradually the wine warmed the color back into them.
“Where have you been?” Detective Marume asked.
“We were so worried about you,” Fukida said.
“I went looking for Masahiro,” she said, her teeth chattering.
That didn’t surprise Sano; but just the same, he was upset. “You shouldn’t have gone. Lord Matsumae threatened to blind his men if they didn’t capture you. They were so afraid of him that they went berserk. They might have killed you by accident.”
Reiko spoke over his words, which she seemed not to hear. I found out what happened to Masahiro.“ She poured out a disjointed tale of how their son had arrived in Fukuyama City and Lord Matsumae’s troops had put his escorts to death. ”The maid saw. But the Ezo concubine says he’s alive, in the keep.“
Sano was amazed that Reiko had apparently managed to locate their son. Even after nine years of marriage, her daring, her abilities, and her luck never failed to surprise Sano. And praise the gods, Masahiro was alive!
“But I couldn’t get to him,” Reiko said, her voice breaking. “There are guards at the keep. And then they started chasing me.” Eyes fever-bright, she tugged at Sano. “We have to go to Masahiro. Can’t you get us out of here?”
Sano Ichiro 12 The Snow Empress (2007) Page 10
