The Snow Empress

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Matsumae troops loitered on the veranda. She was desperate to look for Masahiro, but if she tried, would they stop her? Sano and Hirata had been escorted away by other troops who’d seemed not about to let them stray. Was she under the same arrest? In Edo, the rules were clear-cut. Here she felt marooned in a lawless, senseless nightmare.

  There was a tap on the door. “Come in,” Reiko called.

  It was the maid from Lady Matsumae’s chamber. She carried in a bundle of leather and fur. “Pardon me, Honorable Lady,” she said, bowing, “but I thought maybe you’d like these.” Her speech was carefully polite. Kneeling, she laid a fur-lined deerskin coat and hood, fish-skin boots, and leather mittens in front of Reiko.

  “Thank you,” Reiko said, grateful for the maid’s kindness. She put on the garments. They were roughly made, similar to what the maid wore, and smelled gamy, but they were much warmer than the clothes Reiko had brought from Edo.

  “I didn’t think she would give you anything,” the maid said. “Not after what happened yesterday.”

  She could only be Lady Matsumae. Reiko studied the maid, whose raised brows and tentative smile indicated eagerness to gossip. “Can you stay a while?”

  “Yes.” The maid went breathy with delight. “A thousand thanks.”

  “What is your name?” Reiko said.

  “Lilac.”

  Her eyes reminded Reiko of bright, quick butterflies looking for sweet flowers. Lilac sidled over to the dressing table and caressed Reiko’s silver comb, looking glass in the lacquer frame with jade inlays, and matching box of makeup. Awe parted her sensuous, pursed lips.

  “Does Edo have lots of shops where people can buy nice things like these?”

  “Yes,” Reiko said. “Haven’t you ever been there?”

  “No. I was born here in Ezogashima, and I’ve never left it. My family are servants of the Matsumae clan. But I wish I could go to Edo.” Passion swelled Lilac’s voice. “More than anything in the world.”

  She stepped over to the cabinet, where Reiko had stored the few clothes she’d rescued from the ship. “May I look?” she said boldly.

  Reiko nodded because they’d struck an unspoken bargain that granted permission for the girl to snoop. Lilac opened the cabinet and lifted out a silk kimono patterned with a blue and silver landscape.

  “So beautiful!” she exclaimed, holding it up to herself. Then she sighed. “Even if I had clothes like this, there’s no place to wear them around here. And there’s nobody worthwhile to see me. How I wish I lived in the big city.”

  It was time for Reiko to exact her half of the bargain. “Maybe you can answer some questions for me.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Lilac gave the kimono a last caress, put it away, and knelt by Reiko.

  There was a brazenness about her that put Reiko off, but Reiko was in no position to be choosy about her companion. “First, who are those Ezo women?”

  “They’re concubines.”

  Reiko was startled because the barbarians seemed so strange that she hadn’t imagined sexual relations between them and the Japanese. “Lord Matsumae’s?”

  “No, they belong to his retainers.”

  That explained why the women were in the castle even though Ezo were prohibited. “Why did Lady Matsumae get so angry at them?”

  “She hates them. And I’ll tell you why.”

  Lilac glanced at the open door. Across the hall, other maids were sweeping the men’s rooms. They giggled while Marume, Fukida, and the Rat flirted with them. Lilac beckoned Reiko to lean close and whispered, “She and her ladies-in-waiting think the Ezo concubines are inferior, like animals. They’re jealous because the men want them. They punish them whenever they get a chance.”

  Because they couldn’t punish the men, they took out their jealousy on the concubines, Reiko realized. And the concubines couldn’t fight back because if they made trouble, they and their people would be punished. Reiko began to pity the Ezo.

  “But Lady Matsumae started treating them even worse when her daughter died.”

  Comprehension stole through Reiko. “When was this?”

  “Last spring.”

  “How old was her daughter?”

  “Eight years.”

  The same age as Masahiro. “Has she any other children?”

  “No.” Lilac added, “Lord Matsumae adopted a cousin as his heir. She’s too old to have any more.”

  At last Reiko understood why Lady Matsumae had reacted so violently when asked whether she had any children and if she knew what it was like to lose one. Reiko had unintentionally touched a raw wound. Now she pitied Lady Matsumae; she regretted her own words and the fact that she’d provoked Lady Matsumae’s cruelty toward the helpless Ezo concubine. She wondered how Lady Matsumae’s daughter had died, but shied from talking about a child’s death while her own son was missing. And she had more pressing concerns.

  “I want to find my son,” she said. “Can you help me?”

  Lilac drew back from Reiko. Her eagerness to please dissolved into worry.

  “You know something, don’t you?” When Lilac wouldn’t meet her eyes, Reiko pleaded, “Tell me!”

  “I think I saw him,” Lilac said reluctantly.

  Dizzied by hope, Reiko said, “When was this? Where?”

  “About a month ago. Here at the castle. A little boy, with three soldiers. I’d never seen them before.”

  It had to have been Masahiro escorted by Lord Matsudaira’s men, Reiko thought. The hesitation in Lilac’s speech made it clear that she didn’t want to tell this story because the ending wouldn’t please Reiko, but Reiko had to know the truth. “What happened?” she demanded.

  Lilac sighed. “Lord Matsumae’s troops brought them inside the palace, to Lord Matsumae’s chambers.”

  Lord Matsumae had lied when he’d told Sano he didn’t know anything about Masahiro, when he’d claimed the boy had never reached Fukuyama City.

  “I don’t know what happened in there, but…”

  “Go on,” Reiko prompted, even though dread filled her.

  “After a while, the troops brought out the soldiers. They had ropes wound around them, and gags in their mouths. The troops took them to the courtyard. They made them kneel down. And then—” Lilac gulped. “They cut off their heads.”

  Reiko felt a terrible darkness crowding out all the light in the world. There was no reason to think that Lord Matsumae had spared her son after killing his escorts. “What about the boy?” She forced the words out past the breath caught inside her.

  “I don’t know,” Lilac said. “He wasn’t with the soldiers.”

  A fragile, tenuous relief seeped through Reiko. If Masahiro hadn’t been killed during the execution Lilac had seen, perhaps he was still alive. “What happened to him?” she almost didn’t dare to ask.

  “I don’t know. He never came out of the palace, at least not that I saw.”

  He could have been killed inside by Lord Matsumae, who’s mad enough to murder the chamberlain’s child. The voice of her common sense taunted Reiko. Lord Matsumae lied because he didn’t want Sano to know he’d killed Masahiro. He was sane enough to be afraid of punishment. But Reiko’s spirit refused to believe it.

  “Have you seen him again?” Reiko demanded.

  Lilac recoiled, frightened by the intensity of Reiko’s gaze. “No.”

  “Could he still be in the castle?” Reiko sat very still, her ears pricked, her eyes wide, mouth open, every sense straining to detect her son’s whereabouts.

  “He could,” Lilac said, but she sounded more as if she wanted to please Reiko than as if she thought so.

  One of the other maids peeked in the door. “Lilac! Lady Matsumae wants you.”

  “I have to go,” Lilac said, rising.

  Reiko clutched her arm and whispered, “Can you find out if my son is here? Will you look for him for me? Please!”

  Sly satisfaction glittered through the sympathy in Lilac’s eyes. “I’ll try.”

  As sh
e hurried off, Reiko knew that she’d put herself right where Lilac wanted, in her debt. Reiko didn’t trust someone who would take advantage of the mother of a kidnapped child, but she would deal with all the gods of evil to find Masahiro. At least now she had more hope than before, something else to wait for besides news from Sano. But the waiting grew even harder to bear. With every moment that passed, Reiko’s patience stretched beyond the limits of frustration.

  The other maids came to sweep her room. When they finished, they fastened their fur-lined coats and pulled their leather hoods over their heads, preparing to go out into the cold. Inspiration flashed through Reiko as she looked at their clothes, then at her own that Lilac had given her. She quickly tagged after them. People took servants for granted, didn’t pay them much attention. The maids were chattering together and didn’t seem to notice Reiko. She kept her head down, and the guards at the door didn’t look twice at her as she walked past them out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Gizaemon and the guards led Sano and Hirata outside, to a tea ceremony cottage with a thatched roof, plank walls, and a stone basin by the door for washing hands before entering. This symbol of Japanese high culture looked out of place in the alien north. Sano felt more unsettled than comforted by the familiar sight, as if he’d flown to the moon only to discover trappings of home. He had thought that after what he’d already experienced here, nothing else could shock him, but when he stepped inside the cottage with Hirata and Gizaemon, he found out how wrong he’d been.

  The corpse lay in a pine coffin set on the tatami floor, between the gnarled wooden columns that supported the ceiling. Strewn around it were gold lotus flowers and brass incense burners. Tekare wore a lavish gold silk brocade kimono embroidered with darker gold water lilies. Her thick, wavy black hair fanned across the pillow under her head. Her eyes were closed, her arms laid at her sides. Lord Matsumae had enshrined his beloved’s remains. The cold had semipreserved her, although her face was withered, sunken. At first Sano thought the bluish discoloration around her mouth was decay, but then he realized it was a tattoo such as Reiko had described seeing on the Ezo concubines.

  “Lord Matsumae’s dead mistress was an Ezo woman,” Sano said.

  As he and Hirata stood gazing down at the corpse, he noticed the flattened silk cushion beside Tekare’s head. Lord Matsumae must spend hours kneeling beside her. Mourning her. Worshipping her. Sano thought about the scene in Lord Matsumae’s chamber. His intellect couldn’t accept what he’d seen, heard, and felt. Surely the dead Tekare hadn’t taken over Lord Matsumae; surely his madness made him act out her persona. But spirit possession appeared to be the prevalent belief about what ailed him, and Sano—his prisoner—didn’t have much choice except to operate under the same assumption.

  “Taking Ezo women as concubines is common in these parts,” Gizaemon said. “Not enough Japanese women, and some men have a taste for native meat.”

  Sano raised his eyebrows at the crude remark. “You don’t approve?”

  “Only because of the trouble it can cause. Which you’ve seen with my nephew.”

  “Didn’t you like Tekare?” Hirata asked.

  “She was as good as any of them.”

  “Is it Ezo in general you don’t care for?”

  Gizaemon shrugged. “They have their uses. If not for them, my clan would be foot-soldiers for the shogun instead of ruling a trade monopoly.”

  Hirata exchanged glances with Sano as they noted Gizaemon’s attitude. Sano asked, “Can you tell me how she died?”

  “She was shot with a spring-bow. Ever seen one?” When Sano shook his head, Gizaemon explained, “It’s for hunting, a bow and arrow rigged with a string that’s tied across a path. When an animal trips the string, the bow lets loose. Except in this case, it wasn’t a deer that the arrow hit.”

  He took the front of the woman’s robe between his thumb and forefinger and gingerly pulled it open. Her flesh was grayish, her breast shriveled. Between her ribs was an ugly wound, the tissue blackened with blood and rot.

  “A good, clean shot,” Gizaemon said.

  The satisfaction in his voice repelled Sano. “Why does Lord Matsumae think Tekare was murdered? Couldn’t her death have been accidental? She walked into a trap set for deer?”

  “Not a chance,” Gizaemon said scornfully. “Nobody hunts game on that path. There isn’t any so close to town. Make no mistake, this wasn’t an accident.”

  He added, “It wasn’t just the arrow that killed her. The head was poisoned with surkuay.”

  “‘Surkuay’?” Sano frowned at the unfamiliar word.

  “A native potion made from monkshood plant, tobacco, stingray spines, and other poisonous things. You hit a bear anywhere on his body with it, and he can walk only about two hundred paces before he dies. You follow him until he drops. There’s only one cure. Immediately cut away the poisoned flesh and wash out the wound. As you can see she tried to do.”

  “With her bare hands,” Sano said as he and Hirata studied the claw marks around the wound.

  “Little good it did,” Gizaemon said callously.

  Sano thought his negative view of Tekare equaled fertile ground for the murder investigation. “Who do you think killed her?”

  “Had to be an Ezo.” Gizaemon sounded certain.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The spring-bow is an Ezo weapon. The poison is Ezo. One plus one equals two.”

  “You sound as if you want the killer to be an Ezo,” Sano said. “Why?”

  Amused condescension flickered across Gizaemon’s weathered face. “Let me explain the situation here in Ezogashima, Honorable Chamberlain. Relations between Ezo and Japanese have always been tense. They don’t like us keeping them confined in their own territory, controlling their trade with the outside. They’d rather come and go as they please.”

  “If they sell their goods directly to customers in Japan, they can set their own prices and cut the Matsumae middlemen out of the deals,” Sano said. “I know. What’s your point?”

  “So far we’ve had a compromise. The Ezo behave themselves. We let them choose their own leaders, rule their own villages, keep their traditions. But it doesn’t always work.”

  “There have been Ezo uprisings.

  “Right. Even though the Ezo will never drive us out, they’ll keep trying. Who needs the trouble? Much better to get them under our thumb for good.”

  His words conjured up a vision of the Ezo subjugated by warfare, their territory annexed to Japan. Sano thought of the men who’d saved him and Reiko and their companions yesterday. Now he saw the murder case in the larger context of politics. It had dimensions far beyond the matter of justice for one dead woman. If an Ezo had killed Tekare, that would give Lord Matsumae an excuse to subjugate the barbarians, even though she’d been one of their own. The survival of an entire people hinged on the outcome of this investigation.

  But Sano felt enormous pressure to solve the crime whatever way he could. His own fate, his wife’s, his son’s, and his dearest comrades’ depended on his success. He couldn’t shy away from incriminating the Ezo, and perhaps one of them was guilty.

  “Why would an Ezo have murdered Tekare?” Sano asked.

  “Who knows? Some squabble. Who cares?” Gizaemon’s tone said all personal relations between the barbarians were trivial.

  “I promised Lord Matsumae I would find Tekare’s killer,” Sano said. “I doubt he would be satisfied with pinning the murder on her people in general. Knowing why she died might lead me to who did it.”

  “Well, I’m not the person who can tell you why,” Gizaemon said. “Better talk to the Ezo themselves.”

  “I intend to,” Sano said, “but first I must talk to you, about my son.”

  Resistance immediately hardened Gizaemon’s face.

  “What happened to him?” Sano prodded. “Where is he?”

  Gizaemon shook his head.

  “Do you mean you don’t know or you won’t tell me?”<
br />
  “I mean you can’t force me to say anything that can be used against my nephew,” Gizaemon said with the obstinacy of a samurai loyal to his master.

  Sano’s anger at Lord Matsumae expanded to include Gizaemon, who he suspected did know Masahiro’s fate. “This is an innocent eight-year-old child who’s at stake. How can you do nothing?”

  Offense drew together Gizaemon’s bushy eyebrows. “I’m trying with all my might to keep order in Ezogashima and minimize the damage that Tekare does through my nephew. Wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’ Imagine yourself in my place. One lost boy would be the least of your concerns.”

  That logic didn’t diminish Sano’s need to find Masahiro or his determination to enlist the aid of Gizaemon, who seemed the only person here with any sense even if he was a good murder suspect. “You don’t have to betray your nephew. Just let me search for my son.”

  “Can’t do. You’re supposed to be solving the crime. My orders are to help you with that and nothing else.”

  “Lord Matsumae won’t have to know.”

  Gizaemon chuckled harshly. “I’m not going to help you, and neither is anyone else here. You want to get off this island alive, you’d best forget your son, cut your losses, and march in step.”

  Although Sano realized how even more serious the situation was than he’d thought at first, and how prudent was Gizaemon’s advice, he said, “In case you don’t realize it, your nephew has put you in a bad position. He’ll eventually be held accountable for his actions. Do you really want to go down with him?”

  “It’s my duty to go wherever my lord goes.” Gizaemon sounded ardently pledged to that duty; he wasn’t just paying lip service to Bushido. “I gladly bow to his wishes.”

  “Cooperate with me, and I’ll help you later,” Sano persisted.

  “Forget it.”

  “If my son is here, at least ask Lord Matsumae to give him to me. Use your influence to save him.”

  Sadness in his gaze said that Gizaemon wasn’t as heartless as he seemed, but he shook his head. “I have no influence with Lord Matsumae anymore. Nobody does, except Tekare.”

  Sano tasted the bitterness of defeat yet refused to swallow it. There was always more than one path to a goal. For now he said, “I’ll talk to the Ezo. Can you bring me the ones who were around town the night of the murder?”