Lady Matsumae shuddered at this outrage. She laid down her brush and wrapped her arms around herself, as if to keep from falling apart. “Well, I spent three days outside. My husband never relented.”
“Nobody was allowed to go near her,” Lady Pansy said, “not even to give her food or a blanket.”
“She caught such a bad cold and was so miserable that she finally had to give in,” Lady Smart said. “And from then on, Tekare ruled us all as if she were an empress.”
The Empress of Snow Country. Reiko recalled Hirata’s description of how Tekare had earned her nickname. Tekare had certainly fomented trouble in the women’s quarters as well as among the men she’d used.
“What did you do?” Reiko asked Lady Matsumae.
With a bitter laugh, Lady Matsumae said, “What could I do? I put up with the situation. I had no choice.”
“You’d think Tekare would have been satisfied because she’d won,” Lady Pansy said, taking a coy delight in this gossip. “You’d think she would have left well enough alone. But not her. She ordered our poor lady to kneel and bow down to her whenever they happened to meet.”
“And our lady had to do it or be cast out.” Lady Smart’s serious manner didn’t hide her relish of the drama.
“My husband didn’t care,” Lady Matsumae said. “He didn’t protect me. Not even after our daughter became ill and I was beside myself with worrying about her. Instead, he—”
Her throat visibly contracted as she swallowed. She lowered her eyelids; tears leaked from under her dark, spiky lashes. Her attendants sat in hushed sympathy. Reiko sensed secrets permeating the silence. She glanced at Lilac, who puffed her cheeks to express that she was bursting with tales but didn’t dare speak.
“What happened?” Reiko asked.
Nobody answered. History on Ezogashima was as deep and opaque as the sea around it. Reiko decided to go fishing. She said in a quiet, confidential manner, “Your life must be easier now that Tekare is dead. She stole your husband’s affections. If you took revenge on her, I wouldn’t blame you. I’d admire you for having the courage to do what many women in your position only wish they could.”
Lady Matsumae’s head snapped up. She and the ladies-in-waiting stared at Reiko in apparently genuine shock. “You think I killed Tekare?” You can tell me.“ Reiko smiled a conspiratorial smile, woman-to-woman against the world of men. ”I can keep a secret.“
“You haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I did not kill that woman, no matter how much I would have liked to.” Lady Matsumae spat the words at Reiko’s face. “You may be the chamberlain’s wife and a guest in my house, but I am utterly insulted by your accusation.”
Reiko was chagrined that her ploy had failed. She shouldn’t have pushed Lady Matsumae so hard so fast.
“Of course she didn’t kill her,” Lady Smart declared. She’s too gentle, too good,“ Lady Pansy said indignantly.
Lady Soldier folded her arms and fixed an insolent gaze on Reiko.
“You seem to know a lot about our business, but maybe not as much as you think. Did you know that Tekare was shot with a spring-bow?”
“So I’ve heard,” Reiko said.
“Who told you?” Lady Smart asked.
“My husband.”
Comprehension flashed across Lady Smart’s plain features. “I’ve heard about your husband’s deal with Lord Matsumae. He finds out who killed Tekare, and Lord Matsumae will set him and you and your friends free. If he fails, you all die. You’re trying to help him by putting the blame on our lady.”
So much for covert detective work, Reiko thought. “We’re only trying to discover the truth.”
“The truth is that our lady is innocent,” Lady Pansy said with staunch, childish loyalty.
Lady Soldier picked up Lady Matsumae’s hands, peeled the gloves off them, and held them up. “Can you imagine these setting a spring-bow?” The fingers were tapered and soft, typical of a high-class woman who’d never done any physical work in her life.
An alternative had become clear to Reiko. “You wouldn’t have had to do it yourself,” she said to Lady Matsumae. She turned a significant gaze on the ladies-in-waiting. But instead of being frightened because her suspicion had turned to them, they smiled.
“Well, I suppose I know how to set a spring-bow,” said Lady Smart. “My father is a trade official, and my family spent a lot of time in Ezo country while I was growing up.”
“The same with me,” Lady Soldier said.
“I knew that Tekare liked going to the hot spring at night,” Lady Pansy simpered.
“We could have plotted to kill her,” Lady Soldier said, “and punish her for hurting our lady. But even if we did, you’ll never be able to prove it. And we’ll never tell.”
Her smug smile was reflected on the faces of her two friends. Lady Smart said, “I’m afraid this visit with us has been a waste of your time, Lady Reiko. You came after one person you thought might have killed Tekare. Instead, you found four of us. Are not too many suspects as bad as too few?”
Reiko experienced the same weird disorientation as when she’d first met the women. On the surface they were as familiar as any at home, but inside they were infected with savagery native to Ezogashima. Violence and murder were in their blood, under the veneer of civilization.
Lady Matsumae beheld Reiko with an expression of hard, humorless triumph. “I think it’s time you left.”
15
The sound of angry voices came from the Ezo camp as Hi-rata and his companions approached it. He and Detective Marume, the Rat, and their guards arrived to find the barbarians facing off against three Matsumae troops. The barbarians had bows and quivers slung over their shoulders; they wore snowshoes made of bent wood and leather straps. Two of their dogs were harnessed to a sled. Barbarians and troops shouted at one another in Ezo language.
“What are they saying?” Hirata asked.
The Rat looked especially miserable this morning. He sniffled and coughed. His eyes were bleary, and frozen mucus matted his whiskers. “The Ezo want to go deer hunting. The Japanese won’t let them.”
Hirata had never been hunting, even though the idea had always intrigued him. The Buddhist religion prohibited slaying animals as well as eating meat. So did Tokugawa law, upheld by the shogun, a devout Buddhist. But there were exceptions to law and tradition. People weakened by illness or injuries were given meat stews and broths to cure them. Edo had a flourishing wild game market for that purpose. Here in Ezogashima, the barbarians hunted in order to survive, and the Japanese usually allowed them—but not today.
“The Japanese say the barbarians have to stay in camp. Lord Matsumae’s orders,” said the Rat.
Urahenka, the onetime husband of Lord Matsumae’s mistress, raged at the troops, who retorted. Hirata jumped into the fray. “Let them go,” he said.
Both sides looked at him in surprise. The lead Matsumae soldier said, “You don’t give orders around here.”
“I’m investigating the murder,” Hirata said, “and I have Lord Matsumae’s permission to question the barbarians. I can talk to them while they hunt.”
“You want to go hunting with them?” The leader and his men were flabbergasted. The barbarians muttered among themselves, trying to figure out what was being said—except for Chieftain Awetok, who watched Hirata with unmistakable comprehension.
“Yes.” Hirata wanted a new experience as well as a chance to speak with the Ezo away from their masters.
“Well, we’re not letting you,” the leader said. “If they run away, we’ll be blamed.”
“I won’t let them,” Hirata said. “My men and I will bring them back.”
“That’s what you think. You don’t know these sneaky devils. As soon as they get to the forest, they’ll give you the slip. You’ll be lucky if you find your way home before you freeze to death.”
“Please listen to him,” the Rat said with a loud sneeze. “He’s right.”
“We’ll comp
romise,” Hirata said. “I’ll take just those two”—he pointed at Urahenka and Chief Awetok—“if they’ll promise to be good.” He turned to the Rat. “Tell them what I said.”
The Rat obeyed. The two Ezo nodded. Urahenka looked wary, Chieftain Awetok curious.
“I’ll leave the others behind. If their friends don’t come back, you can take it out on them,” Hirata said to the soldiers. “Well? What do you say?”
As the soldiers exchanged glances, sly grins crossed their faces. They liked the idea of giving their superior from Edo a taste of northern life. “Suit yourself,” the leader said, and conveyed the information >n Ezo language to the barbarians.
Chieftain Awetok pointed at Hirata’s, Fukida’s, and the Rat’s feet. He spoke a terse sentence.
“He says that if we’re going hunting, we’ll need snowshoes,” said the Rat.
“Well, Honorable Chamberlain, it looks as if you’ve taken your investigation as far as it can go,” said Gizaemon.
“Not quite,” Sano said.
Snow had begun falling, and as they and Detective Marume trudged from the scene of the murder to the castle, swirling white flakes filled the sky and landscape. The footprints they’d left on their way out were almost filled. Sano could barely see the castle, its walls and turrets dissolved into a white blur. They reached it to find the sentries absent from the gate. Gizaemon muttered in disapproval.
“They should know better than to desert their post. As soon as I can get somebody to let us in, I’ll take you to Lord Matsumae. He’ll be wanting to hear what you’ve found out, even though it’s nothing.” He stalked to the base of one of the turrets that flanked the gate. “Hey! Anybody up there?”
Sano spoke in a low voice to Marume: “It’s time for a talk with Lord Matsumae. He’s the next step in our investigation.”
Marume gave Sano a look of surprise. “You can’t be thinking he’s the killer.”
“The killer is often the person who was closest to the victim.” Sano spoke from years of experience as a detective. “In this case, it’s him.”
“But he was in love with the woman,” Marume said.
“Love can be a stronger motive than hate. Particularly when the loved one had a talent for stirring up jealousy.”
“But he’s letting you investigate the murder. Would he do that if he were guilty?”
“Maybe.” Who understood what went on in the mind of a madman apparently possessed by the victim’s evil spirit?
A soldier popped his head out a window in the turret. Gizaemon told him to open the gate. Soon Sano, Marume, and Gizaemon were inside the castle. Snow blanketed the courtyard, and the air seemed colder here than outside. As they walked through passageways, the castle seemed deserted, a ghost village. The palace had the air of a beast hibernating.
“I would prefer to see Lord Matsumae alone,” Sano said.
Gizaemon looked weary of arguing. “Fine. Your man and I will wait nearby.”
Lord Matsumae was seated in his private office, poring over ledgers by the light of a lantern hung from the ceiling. Heat simmered up through grilles in the floor, from charcoal braziers underneath. When he saw Sano at the threshold, he said in a loud whisper, “Come in. Please sit down. I’m reviewing the account books. They seem to have become disordered.”
Surprised to find him so calmly and productively occupied, Sano entered, knelt, and glanced at the ledgers. Even reading upside down, he could tell that the entries for the past few months were sketchy, the writing almost illegible. Lord Matsumae’s officials must have been too busy coping with him to keep the books.
“I’m sorry to admit that I’ve been neglecting the affairs entrusted to me,” Lord Matsumae said ruefully. “I can only hope the shogun will forgive me.”
His remorse seemed genuine, his state of mind normal. But Sano detected something in the air around him, like the smell of a sick person who has only temporarily rallied from an illness.
“But my work can wait,” Lord Matsumae said, folding his hands atop the ledgers. “Have you found out anything new?”
“Not yet,” Sano began.
“Shhh!” Putting a finger to his lips, Lord Matsumae whispered, Keep your voice down. Tekare is asleep. Don’t wake her up.“
Sano’s flesh crawled at the thought of her spirit coiled inside Lord Matsumae like a dormant snake. He said quietly, “I must ask your help with my investigation.”
“Of course I’ll help,” Lord Matsumae said readily. Now Sano noticed a strange quality about his breathing. It rasped softly, like a Roman’s gentle snores. “What can I do?”
Sano knew he’d better proceed carefully. Lord Matsumae and Tekare weren’t the only ones inclined toward violence. Sano was furious at Lord Matsumae for holding Masahiro prisoner and refusing to admit it. Hiding his fury, Sano forced himself to concentrate on the investigation.
“For me to solve this crime, I need to understand Tekare. I’d like a little background information on her. Could you please give me your impressions of her?”
Grief and nostalgia colored Lord Matsumae’s features. “Tekare was like the iris that blooms wild in the far north. So bright, so beautiful, so fresh. So untouched by the evils of society that pollute Japanese women. A truly gentle, innocent spirit. She was rare even among Ezo women. The others are eager to take whatever they can from Japanese men. They always want food, clothes, jewels, and gold in exchange for their favors. But not Tekare. She never asked me for anything. When I gave her presents, I practically had to force her to accept them. She always said that all she wanted was me. All she asked was the privilege of making me happy.”
Lord Matsumae leaned forward, his eyes moist with tears and gratitude. “Can you imagine how wonderful it was, to have a woman want me for myself, not for my status or for what I could give her? To know that she loved me as much as I loved her?”
Sano could imagine that Tekare had used the same ploy as did the most popular courtesans in Edo. They pretended to fall in love with their clients. They made a show of refusing gifts, which made the men heap even more upon them. They were consummate actresses. And so might Tekare have been, if she’d hidden from Lord Matsumae a mercenary side she’d revealed to the gold merchant and her other lovers.
“I understand that she was special to you,” Sano said tactfully.
He also understood that he now had four very different portraits of the murder victim. Shamaness, social climber, innocent spirit, vindictive ghost—which was the real Tekare? Lord Matsumae seemed to believe his version of her. Love could be spectacularly blind. If that were the case for Lord Matsumae, there went his potential as a suspect.
“Did anyone have any quarrels with Tekare?” Sano said.
“Not that I know of,” Lord Matsumae said. “And she had none with me. We agreed on everything.”
During his time as a detective, Sano had learned that there was a point at which one couldn’t break a witness or suspect without provocation, threats, or physical force. He knew he’d reached that point with Lord Matsumae. Push too hard, and risk another violent episode.
“That’s all I have to ask you for now,” Sano said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
Gizaemon and Detective Marume appeared in the doorway: They’d listened to the whole conversation and heard it ending.
“If there’s anything else you need, just let me know,” Lord Matsumae said.
“There is,” Sano said. “I’d like to look around the castle.” Not only did he want to search for clues and witnesses, he wanted to find out if his son was in the keep, as the Ezo woman had told Reiko, as Sano was desperate to believe.
“Why?” Gizaemon was quick to challenge Sano.
“Standard procedure, I suppose,” Lord Matsumae said. “It’s all right. We’ve nothing to hide.” A shadow moved behind his gaze. “But you’ll confine your exploring to the palace. My uncle will escort you.”
As Sano was led away, he heard Lord Matsumae whisper, “Don’t worry, my beloved, I didn’t
tell him any of our secrets.”
Now Sano knew that Lord Matsumae did indeed have something to hide. And he was sure it included Masahiro, imprisoned in the keep, as well as information about the murder.
16
Walking in snowshoes was harder than Hirata had expected. As he plodded along a trail through the forest north of Fukuyama City, he tried to imitate the two barbarians, who moved as easily as across bare, solid ground. But his shoes scooped up and dug into the snow. The old leg injury that hadn’t pained him in years began to ache. He and Detective Marume lagged farther and farther behind the Ezo men, their dogs and sled, and even the Rat, who’d remembered the snowshoeing techniques he’d learned in his youth. Hirata climbed out of a thigh-deep drift, shook snow off his shoes, and paused to rest. Breathing hard, sweaty despite the cold weather, he cursed as he recalled the soldiers’ warning that the Ezo would shake him off and escape.
“If we go back to Fukuyama City without them, the soldiers will laugh at us,” Marume said, panting and doubled over beside Hirata. “Sano-san will be angry because we lost two of his murder suspects. And heaven knows what Lord Matsumae will do.”
“Come on,” Hirata said grimly.
They slogged onward until they caught up with the group. Urahenka spoke, and the Rat translated, “‘What took you so long? You’re slowing us down.”“
Hirata had no chance to retort, because Chieftain Awetok said in clear, fluent Japanese. “Now we are far enough from the city that you can ask me things that you could not before.”
“Now we’re far enough from the city that we can quit pretending you don’t speak my language,” Hirata said with a smile.
“He speaks Japanese?” the Rat exclaimed. “And you knew?” Indignant, he said, “You dragged me all the way out here, when you don’t even need me to translate! Well, I’m going home.”
He huffed down the trail, but Hirata snagged his arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. We still need an interpreter.” Awetok wasn’t the only barbarian Hirata needed to talk with. “And if you tell anyone he speaks our language, I’ll wring your scrawny neck.”
Sano Ichiro 12 The Snow Empress (2007) Page 13
