The Snow Empress

by Laura Joh Rowland

  A buzz of disapproval arose among the Japanese officials. Lord Matsumae regarded the Ainu with skepticism and hope. “Can this really determine who killed Tekare?”

  “Of course not,” the gold merchant said scornfully.

  “It’s just barbarian foolishness,” Gizaemon said. “Don’t allow it, Honorable Nephew.”

  The native men began protesting. “They say they’ve been unjustly accused,” the Rat said. “They want a chance to prove their innocence. And they want everyone else to be tested, to find out who’s guilty.”

  Urahenka stood beside the brazier. He flung off his right mitten and held up his bare hand.

  Sano said, “I order the trial to proceed.” Not that he believed in magic rituals, but he was amenable to anything that might shed light on the crime that he’d taken responsibility for solving. And if Lord Matsumae took the test and scalded himself, so much the better.

  “You’re not in charge here, Honorable Chamberlain,” Gizaemon said. “And I, for one, won’t play along.”

  “Neither will I,” said Daigoro.

  Lord Matsumae vacillated, besieged by doubt, confusion, and what might have been fear, then spoke in Tekare’s voice: “I want to find out who killed me. Let there be a trial.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Reiko trudged through the forest. Icicles hung like sculpted fangs on the pine boughs and snow covered the path. She stepped in footprints that had earlier broken the white crust. As the terrain inclined uphill she panted with fatigue, but she hurried faster, anxious to reach the hot spring before the Matsumae folk noticed her absence from the funeral procession. Her anger at Lilac kept her going.

  Anger was a distraction from grief, a temporary antidote for pain. Now past the first shock of Masahiro’s death, Reiko wanted to punish someone for it. She was powerless against Lord Matsumae, and she couldn’t strike out at Lord Matsudaira, who had sent her son to Ezogashima but was far out of reach, but she had a convenient target in Lilac, who had deceived her. By the time she smelled the sulfurous odor of the hot spring, she was ready for combat.

  She rounded a curve, and the path ended at an irregularly shaped pond about fifteen paces wide and twenty paces long, set in a wide clearing. Rocks jutted up from the earth around the pond, forming a low, craggy wall. A cloud of steam hid the water that Reiko heard percolating beneath the pond’s surface. The heat had melted the snow off the rocks. Near a gap between them lay folded clothes beside a pair of boots.

  “Lilac!” Reiko called. “I want to talk to you.”

  There was no answer, no sound except the burbling water. Maybe Lilac was playing games, teasing Reiko again. Infuriated, Reiko moved to the pool’s edge. She crouched in the gap between the rocks, fanned at the steam with her hand, and saw a dark object partly submerged in the water nearby. It was the top of a head. Long black hair floated from it.

  “There’s no use hiding,” Reiko said. “You’ll have to come up for air eventually.”

  A moment passed. Lilac didn’t move. Reiko grabbed Lilac’s hair and pulled. Steam obscured her vision. She felt the heavy weight of the girl dragging through the warm water that lapped onto her gloves. The motion disturbed the steam, which thinned enough for Reiko to see the pale, long body floating on its stomach beneath the surface. Lilac’s head butted up against the rocks. Reiko was puzzled because Lilac didn’t resist. With an effort that strained her muscles and splashed water onto herself, she turned Lilac.

  The girl rolled face-up. Her skin was a bright, unnatural pink. Waves bobbed her limbs. Her mouth gaped, filled with water that vaporized in the cold air. Her open eyes had a cloudy, blank appearance, like those of a steamed fish. She was dead. The hot water had begun to cook her.

  Reiko screamed, recoiled, and lost her balance. She fell backward onto the hard, slick ice around the spring. Her horror was mixed with shame for her vindictive thoughts toward Lilac. No matter how venal Lilac had been, she hadn’t deserved to die.

  The wind stirred the pines. Icicles rattled like bones, fell, and stabbed the snow. Panic launched Reiko to her feet. She ran away from the hot spring as fast as she could go.

  At the graveyard, the water in the urn began to boil. Chieftain Awetok removed his right glove. He and Urahenka plunged their hands into the urn. The assembly gasped. Urahenka tried to suppress a cry but failed. The chieftain didn’t react at all. He spoke a command; he and Urahenka pulled their dripping, steaming hands out of the water. Six times they performed this torture. Urahenka shuddered. Involuntary tears ran down his tanned face. But Awetok’s remained calm; he appeared impervious to the pain. At last he and Urahenka extended their hands to the audience. He spoke, eyes flashing.

  “‘The spirit of Tekare has proclaimed us to be innocent of her murder,’” the Rat translated. “‘Come and behold the proof.’”

  Everyone rushed forward to inspect the natives’ hands. Sano was amazed to see that they appeared perfectly normal. Exclamations of awe arose.

  Urahenka shouted triumphant words. The Rat said, “‘We told you that we didn’t kill Tekare. Do you believe us now?’”

  “It’s a trick,” the gold merchant huffed.

  “How did they do it?” Hirata quickly challenged him.

  “Some native potion on their hands, maybe.”

  Sano couldn’t imagine any potion would protect flesh from boiling water, and he knew that humans were capable of wondrous feats. Martial arts history was full of examples. Maybe the Ainu had discovered a mental discipline for controlling their bodies and resisting injury. Or maybe their unmarred hands were in fact proof that Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka were innocent.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Gizaemon said. “Trial by ordeal isn’t recognized by Japanese law.”

  But Lord Matsumae beheld the Ainu as if the miracle had shaken him to his bones. Tekare’s aspect cloaked his features; her voice said, “If they didn’t kill me, then who did?”

  Urahenka beckoned and hurled a loud verbal challenge at the audience; he pointed at the boiling water.

  Appalled glances flashed from person to person. Sudden piercing cries sounded from a distance. Everyone turned to see Reiko burst out of the forest. She ran to Sano and collapsed, moaning, in his arms.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, upset because he hadn’t noticed she was gone. His thoughts of vengeance had crowded even Reiko out of his mind. “What’s wrong?”

  The funeral party crowded around them. Reiko blurted, “Lilac is dead.”

  Sano had to think a moment before he remembered that Lilac was the maid who’d befriended Reiko. Shock appeared on the faces of the Japanese, who understood what Reiko had said, and on those of the natives because they sensed it meant trouble had struck again.

  “How?” Sano said as possible implications occurred to him. “Where?”

  Reiko pointed. “At the hot spring.”

  The trial by ordeal was forgotten as the funeral party hurried from the cemetery. Hirata and the native men reached the hot spring first, Gizaemon and the soldiers next. Lord Matsumae shambled up the path in their wake. Sano stopped Reiko short of their destination, while the other women trailed behind them. He left her with the detectives, said “Look after her,” then joined the scene at the spring. Hirata and Urahenka hauled Lilac from the pool and laid her on the ground. Water ran off her, hissing as it melted the snow. Her body steamed like a boiled lobster.

  “Looks like she drowned,” Gizaemon said.

  Hirata looked into the pool. “How deep is this?”

  “Not very, but that doesn’t matter,” Captain Okimoto said. “I know of a man who drowned in water that was only knee-high.”

  The women arrived. One lady-in-waiting fainted. The others fussed over her. Gizaemon said, “Get them out of here,” and the troops bustled them to the fringes of the action.

  Sano knew how to determine whether a death was due to drowning: Cut open the lungs and look for water inside. But Tokugawa law forbade autopsies, and if Sano tried one even this f
ar from Edo, he could expect severe opposition. Crouching by the body, Sano noticed the snow under Lilac’s head turning red.

  “Let’s turn her over.”

  He and Hirata rolled Lilac onto her stomach. She was limp and floppy, not long deceased. The back of her head was thick with blood. Sano saw white bone fragments caught in her tangled hair, and brain tissue that had oozed from her shattered skull.

  “She didn’t drown,” Sano said. “She was killed by a blow to her head.”

  “She probably fell against the rocks.” Gizaemon’s tone expressed contempt for Lilac’s carelessness. “Knocked herself out, slipped under the water.”

  Hirata walked around the spring, inspecting the rocks. “No blood on these.”

  “A fall couldn’t have done this,” Sano said, examining Lilac’s wound. “This was murder.”

  Sano heard a small sound like a strangled whimper, but couldn’t discern who’d made it. It was quickly overlaid by murmurs and exclamations of shock from both the Japanese and the Ainu. The native men and women drew together, segregating themselves from the Japanese. Lord Matsumae hunched over Lilac, wringing his hands.

  “First my Tekare is murdered, now this poor girl.” He turned on Sano. “You promised to find out who killed Tekare. So much for your promises! And now there’s been more blood spilled.” His finger pointed at Lilac. “Who did this?”

  “The same person must have committed both murders,” Sano said. “Two murders of two young women from the castle, in the same vicinity, within a few months, can’t be a coincidence.”

  Captain Okimoto scoffed “How would you know?” and turned to Lord Matsumae. “He’s not familiar with the ways of Ezogashima. But I am, my lord, and I can tell you who killed this girl. It was them!”

  He pointed at the natives. They stepped back in unison, clearly aware of what accusation he’d leveled at them. Chieftain Awetok uttered a vehement denial. His comrades seconded it. The Japanese guards cried, “Yes, you did!” “Murderers!”

  Sano hastened to dash the cool influence of reason onto igniting tempers. “How do you know they killed Lilac?” He stepped between the two sides and faced Okimoto. “Did you see them do it?”

  “Well, no,” the captain blustered, “but it’s obvious.”

  “Why?”

  “One of their women was murdered. So they killed one of ours.”

  “A life for a life,” Gizaemon said. “That’s barbarian justice.”

  “I seem to recall you tried to convince me that they’re responsible for Tekare’s murder,” Sano said. “If they are, why would they need revenge? You can’t have it both ways.”

  “No, but they can. They’re savages. Logic means nothing to them.”

  Lord Matsumae sidled into the argument. “Can this be true?” Wonder and fury united in his voice. “They killed my Tekare, and now they’ve attacked a Japanese?”

  The Rat was busy translating for the natives. They shouted contradictions that the Japanese guards angrily shouted down. Sano raised his voice over theirs: “We don’t know who’s guilty yet. There’s no evidence to prove that the natives were involved. A Japanese could have killed both.”

  But Lord Matsumae ignored Sano and railed at Chieftain Awetok, “You owe your position to me. None of you tribal lords rule without permission from my clan. We’ve given you authority over your people and fair prices for your goods. And this is how you repay us? By slaying our folk?”

  “I appreciate your generosity,” Chieftain Awetok replied through the Rat. “I would never repay it with violence. Neither I nor my people had anything to do with either death.”

  “Don’t listen to him, my lord,” urged Okimoto. “He’s lying.”

  “You ungrateful, treacherous monster!” Spittle flew from Lord Matsumae’s mouth like daggers toward the chieftain.

  Awetok endured the insult with dignity. “If you seek the girl’s killer, look among your own kind.” He pointed at the Japanese men and women.

  Incensed, Lord Matsumae drew his sword. “How dare you accuse us?” He lunged at the chieftain.

  The native men pulled their knives. There was a tussle so brief that Sano didn’t see what happened. Lord Matsumae let out a high-pitched cry. The natives scattered. He knelt on the ground, dropped his sword, and pushed up his left sleeve. A gash on his forearm dripped blood.

  “You cut me!” he howled at the natives. “How dare you?”

  They looked as surprised as he. Urahenka spoke. The Rat translated, “‘You attacked us. We were only defending ourselves.’”

  “I don’t care!” Lord Matsumae shrieked. “I declare war on you and all your kind.” He ordered his troops, “Kill them!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Yowling with bloodlust, Captain Okimoto and the other troops drew their swords and charged the natives. Sano was appalled because the tensions between the natives and the Japanese had been ignited by unproven accusations and Lord Matsumae’s minor injury. He, Hirata, and the detectives grabbed the troops in an attempt to stop the fight. The troops fought them off. The women scattered in fright; the Rat dived into the forest. Okimoto shoved Sano, yelling, “Stay out of this!”

  Sano skidded on ice and collided with a soldier. The soldier punched his jaw. Sano went reeling. Marume and Fukida brawled with other troops. Hirata exploded into action, a blur of flying punches and kicks. Troops fell away from him, but others attacked the natives, whom they outnumbered at least ten to one. Chieftain Awetok barked orders at his men. All except Urahenka turned and ran. He and Awetok crouched, knives raised, prepared to fight and give their comrades time to escape.

  “Stop!” Sano threw himself between the two sides and spread his arms. “This is insane!”

  Troops barreled past him. They drew bows and fired arrows at the fleeing natives, hacked at them with swords and cut them down as they ran. Three soldiers grabbed Sano. Captain Okimoto shouted, “Hey, Hirata-san!” He held the point of his sword to Sano’s throat while Sano struggled against the men holding him. “Quit that, or I’ll kill your master!”

  Hirata spun to a halt amid the bodies of the soldiers he’d downed. Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka fought; swords battered knives. Amid curses in Ainu language and Japanese, the combatants lunged, struck, retreated, and lunged, trampling Lilac’s dead body.

  Afraid that Reiko would be caught in the battle and killed, Sano frantically looked for her. He saw a few troops gather her up with the other women and hurry them all away. From the forest came cries of agony as the troops slew the natives. Lord Matsumae jumped up and down, waved his sword, and cackled with gleeful excitement.

  In a desperate attempt to restore order, Sano called to him, “We haven’t yet found out who killed Tekare. Don’t you want to know?”

  “We do know. It was them!” Lord Matsumae pointed at the chieftain and Urahenka, who were fighting for their lives.

  “Maybe it wasn’t,” Sano said. “They passed the trial by ordeal. They could be innocent.”

  Lord Matsumae shifted his attention from the battle to Sano; he stopped cackling. Captain Okimoto pricked Sano with his blade. “Shut up!”

  Sano’s flesh recoiled from the sting of cold steel. “If you kill them now, you’ll never know for sure. Neither will Tekare. She’ll never be certain she’s had her revenge.”

  A vestige of rationality tinged Lord Matsumae’s frown.

  “Her murderer may still be out there,” Sano said.

  Impulsive as ever, Lord Matsumae shouted, “Stop the battle!” He kept shouting until the troops backed away from Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka, who stood panting, knives clutched in their hands, bleeding from cuts. “Everybody come back here!”

  His army rushed out from the forest. At first they were too busy hooting in triumph to notice that everyone else was at a standstill. A soldier roared, “They’re all dead. We got every last one of the barbarians.”

  Then they looked around in puzzlement, halted, and quieted. One said, “What’s going on?”

  �
�The war is postponed until we get to the bottom of things.” Lord Matsumae pointed at Awetok and Urahenka, the sole surviving natives, and said, “These are our prisoners of war. Bring them back to the castle.”

  The funeral procession turned into a wild, raucous march home from battle. At its head Lord Matsumae walked in a daze, accompanied by cheering soldiers. Gizaemon followed, grimly triumphant. More troops escorted Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka. The two native men wore stony expressions, held their heads high. Behind them walked Sano, Hirata, and their comrades, also escorted by guards, little more than prisoners themselves. Then came a hooting mob of the youngest soldiers, carrying the severed heads of the slain natives. Blood dripped from the grisly trophies.

  Trailing the march was another, quiet procession of servants. They carried Lilac’s body, wrapped in their coats. The girl whose death had precipitated a war was all but forgotten.

  As Sano trudged along, he felt ill with horror about the massacre. Detective Marume said, “I’ve met samurai bullies in my time, but these boys are the worst.”

  “They’re like a wolf pack,” Fukida said.

  The Rat moaned, “Merciful Buddha, transport me back to Edo!”

  Hirata’s face was set in tight lines of anguish and fury as he watched the chieftain prodded and tormented along. Through Sano’s horror rang guilt. If he’d solved the murder sooner, he might have prevented the massacre. Now he must do something to forestall more senseless slaughter.

  At Fukuyama Castle, sentries at the gate greeted the troops like returning heroes. They mounted the severed heads on pikes outside the castle wall. The army cheered Lord Matsumae: “Hail to the future conqueror of Ezogashima!”

  He smiled but looked perplexed, as if he didn’t quite understand what had happened. Sano rushed over to him. “Lord Matsumae, please call off the war. Even if Chieftain Awetok or Urahenka did kill Tekare, their people had nothing to do with it.”

  “They’re guilty by association,” Lord Matsumae said.