Wente bit her lips. “You ask me about Lady Matsumae.”
“Forget Lady Matsumae.” That woman had blown a big hole in Reiko’s certainty that she was a killer. Reiko now acknowledged how rashly quick she’d been to trust Wente, to believe her grief for her sister was genuine and to sympathize with her. “You’re the one I’m interested in now. You had a quarrel with Tekare shortly before she died. What was it about?”
“Why you care?” Wente sounded timid yet resentful of Reiko’s prying. “Why you care who kill my sister?”
“Never mind that.” Anger at herself for her negligence doubled Reiko’s anger toward Wente. “Now why did you and Tekare quarrel?”
Wente’s resistance crumbled. Probably the habit of obeying the Japanese was too strong to break. She sighed, then said, “She ruin my life.”
Reiko felt the clear wind of truth sweep away the atmosphere of deception. “How?”
Extreme hatred came over Wente’s face, disfiguring it so much that Reiko barely recognized it. “When she come castle, she want me by her. I no want leave village. But she say I have to, even though—” She struggled to find Japanese words to explain. “Not concubine, no can live here. So Tekare find soldier want Ainu woman. He bring me.”
Now she was so eager to vent her grievance toward Tekare that she forgot Reiko was looking to pin the murder on her, neglected caution. “I no want him. But he take me.” Bitterness saturated her voice. “And she happy.”
Reiko absorbed the ugly meaning of this tale. Wente had been forced to become a concubine in order that Tekare could have her company at the castle. Tekare had paired Wente up with a Japanese man, regardless of Wente’s feelings. Wente had suffered doubly, from sexual enslavement and her sister’s cruel, selfish connivance in it.
“So you fought with her because of that?” Reiko asked.
Wente nodded, then shook her head: What Tekare had done was the root of the argument but not its topic. “I want go home. She no let me.”
Reiko perceived that she’d stumbled up against another situation beyond her limited understanding of Ezogashima. “But once you became a concubine, wasn’t it up to the man to say where you can go?” That was how the situation worked in Edo. “What authority did your sister have?”
“Soldier tired of me, say he send me back to village. But Tekare say she ask Lord Matsumae let me stay. He do anything she want him do for her.” The hatred exuded from Wente, foul as rot. “I beg her, but she no give in.”
Reiko wondered if Tekare’s side of the story had been different. “Maybe she was scared to be by herself at the castle. Maybe she was homesick and needed someone from her family, someone she loved, with her.”
Wente burst out indignantly, “She no scared. Always, ‘Wente do this, Wente do that.’ ‘Wente, bring me food, rub back, brush hair.’ She no love me!”
It sounded to Reiko as if Tekare had treated her sister as nothing but a servant, adding insult to abuse.
“Same at home,” Wente continued. “When we children, I do all work—gather food, cook, sew, wash. Tekare do nothing. She shamaness. She special. I just plain girl.” Reiko heard old disgruntlement as sharp as a knife blade in Wente’s tone. “She always treated best. Get best things.” Wente touched her clothes, her bead necklace. “When not enough food, she eat. Village need her. I go hungry. She take everything. Leave nothing for me. And she happy.”
Reiko got a picture of a girl who’d been led to believe she was better than the other villagers. The Empress of Snow Country, who’d enjoyed her privileges, who’d provoked her ordinary sister’s jealousy.
“All my life, I wait to get away from Tekare. I older, I marry first, have own house. We grow up, and I find man. He strong, handsome, good hunter. He best man in village.” Wente’s eyes shone with the memory. “We fall in love.” Tenderness softened her voice. “We—”
She fumbled for words, and Reiko said, “Became engaged?”
Although Wente nodded, her expression went black. “But she want him. Can’t bear I have something she no have. She do magic rituals, make him love her, forget me. He marry her!”
Reiko pitied Wente, having her sister steal her fiancé. But she hardened her heart against Wente. This history only strengthened her cause for murder.
“In village, I try not see them, not look at him. But I still love. And she no care about him. She want rich Japanese. When she get Lord Matsumae and she bring me to city, I think I never see Urahenka again.”
“Urahenka?” The familiar name jarred Reiko. “Isn’t he one of the men at the camp?”
Wente nodded. Now Reiko remembered her watching him at the funeral. But she’d not bothered to wonder why; she’d been too preoccupied with her own feelings to perceive a love triangle.
“Men come for Tekare, want take her home. But not Urahenka. He come for me. He say marry Tekare, mistake. He no love, no want. He love me.” Wente touched her bosom; she radiated delight. “He say when we get back to village, he no more Tekare husband. We marry.”
“That’s why you wanted to go home, and why Tekare wouldn’t ask Lord Matsumae to let you,” Reiko clarified. “She didn’t want to give up Urahenka even though she didn’t want him.” Her greed must have infuriated Wente all the more. “That was why you quarreled, why you threatened to kill her. She stood in your way.” But now Reiko realized that Wente hadn’t been the only one whose hopes Tekare had dashed. “What about Urahenka? What did he do because Tekare kept you here?”
Wente was quick to sense the accusation implicit in Reiko’s questions. “He not hurt Tekare! No matter how she treat him, he too good, too—” She grasped for an adjective and found one she must have heard often in the samurai domain. “Honorable.”
But honor often took second priority to love. Urahenka wouldn’t have been the first man who’d wanted to rid himself of one woman so he could have another. He had as much reason for murder as Wente.
“He could have killed Tekare,” Reiko said. “I think it was either him or you. Tell me which.”
Maybe Wente would confess now in order to protect Urahenka. But she declared, “Not him. Not me.”
For the first time, Reiko considered the possibility that there was more than one killer, that the murder had resulted from a conspiracy. “Maybe it was both of you. You told Urahenka that Tekare used that path to the hot spring at night. He set the trap. She walked into it. If Lord Matsumae hadn’t gone mad and taken everyone in Fukuyama City hostage, you and Urahenka would have been free to go home and marry.”
Wente repeated, “Not him.” She had the look of a hunted, cornered animal. “Not me.”
“But that’s too complicated,” Reiko said. “Often the simplest answer is the correct one. It’s more likely that you acted alone. Urahenka doesn’t know you killed his wife, your own sister. But I think Lilac did. She saw you. She blackmailed you. And you killed her.”
Now Reiko grew furious on behalf of Lilac, Urahenka, and many others in addition to herself. “Lord Matsumae will kill your people in a war because of what you did. Many Japanese will die, too. If you have any decency at all, you’ll confess. Maybe it’s not too late to save them.”
Woe clouded Wente’s eyes. “Mistake,” she pleaded.
“You’re still saying Tekare’s death was an accident? I suppose Lilac’s was, too? And my son’s?” Reiko laughed sarcastically. “Spare me your nonsense.” She was ready to hold Wente responsible for Masahiro’s death, to believe that the loss of her son stemmed from Wente’s selfishness. “I should kill you for everything you’ve done!”
Wente stiffened in terror of Reiko, of the Japanese who held the power of life and death over her. She extended a trembling hand toward Reiko. “Please,” she whispered. “Believe.”
Her appeal begged the favor of Reiko’s mercy in exchange for favors Wente had granted. It called on Reiko to remember the brief yet intense relationship that had sprung up between kindred souls thrown together in harsh circumstances. But Reiko turned her back on Wente. S
he wasn’t absolutely sure that Wente had killed Tekare or Lilac, but she was certain that true friendship must be based on trust. This relationship was over.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lord Matsumae lay on his bed, wrapped from chin to toes in a quilt tied with ropes wound around his body. He groaned and writhed as Tekare ranted curses at him out of his own mouth.
“Is he going to be all right?” Gizaemon asked anxiously.
“I don’t know,” said the physician. He tried to stick acupuncture needles in Lord Matsumae’s head as it tossed from side to side. “Not if he keeps trying to hurt himself.”
Guarded by troops, Sano watched from the place across the room where Gizaemon had ordered him to stand out of the way. When Tekare had attacked Lord Matsumae, Sano and Hirata had helped restrain him, get him to his room, and wrap him up. Afterward, Gizaemon had sent Hirata back to the guest quarters. Now Sano locked eyes with Gizaemon.
“Look what you’ve done,” Gizaemon said bitterly. He looked aged ten years by worry. “This is all your fault.”
Sano wasn’t sorry. “Lord Matsumae killed Tekare. He deserves to suffer. It’s fitting that the spirit of Tekare kills him.”
“He didn’t kill her,” Gizaemon insisted angrily. “He’s innocent.”
“He’s guilty of everything else that’s happened since the murder.” Sano thought of Masahiro. How much had he suffered?
“You’re so sure you’re right. But suppose for the moment that you’re wrong. What happens to my nephew?”
Soldiers held Lord Matsumae’s head. He snarled, tried to bite them, and howled while the doctor inserted the needles.
“I honestly don’t care,” Sano said.
But now that he’d had time to think, he was forced to admit to himself that the case against Lord Matsumae was far from closed. Lord Matsumae had never actually confessed, and the other suspects had never been cleared. Sano was disturbed by his own rush to judgment. The death of his child had destroyed his objectivity. But he must separate the murder of Tekare from Lord Matsumae’s other crimes. Honor required him to see justice applied justly.
“I’ll find out for certain who killed Tekare,” he said. “If it’s not Lord Matsumae, that should save him from her.” But not from me.
Gizaemon beheld Sano with contempt. “You think you’re going to continue your investigation? It’s already made things worse for my nephew.” As the doctor twiddled the needles between his fingers, stimulating the flow of energy through Lord Matsumae’s body, Lord Matsumae screamed as though under torture. “Whatever you do next will probably kill him. Forget it.”
Sano had lost count of how many times an investigation of his had been hindered or shut down. He was determined to continue this one because the killer had set off the events that had led to Masahiro’s death and was therefore just as responsible as Lord Matsumae was. Sano wanted revenge on everyone involved. It was the only thing that might bring him and Reiko peace. But he knew better than to expect that argument to convince Gizaemon.
“It’s my duty to Lord Matsumae,” Sano said.
Gizaemon said with a sarcastic chuckle, “As if he’s in any shape to care about that now.”
“We have a deal,” Sano reminded him.
“I just broke it.”
“What gives you the right?”
“Now that my nephew is out of commission—thanks to you—I’m in charge.”
A moment ago Sano wouldn’t have thought anyone could be a worse ruler than the mad Lord Matsumae, but Gizaemon was. Stubborn, narrow-minded, plus mean added up to a spark in the powder-keg that was Ezogashima. Besides, if Lord Matsumae wasn’t the killer, then Gizaemon was still a major suspect.
“I outrank you in the Tokugawa regime,” Sano said, even though he knew that mattered little so far from Edo. “I’m taking over.”
“You and your little band of men? Don’t make me laugh.” Gizaemon jabbed a finger at Sano. “Your investigation’s over. And you’re not needed here.” He nodded to the troops.
The haste with which they pushed Sano toward the door made it clear that Gizaemon had already established himself as ruler. Sano said, “You can’t cure your nephew by keeping him tied up. If he’s left as he is, he’ll die. You need my help.”
“More of your help will finish him off.” Gizaemon swelled with new, malignant authority. “You’re forbidden to come near him again.”
As Sano resisted the men dragging him away, Gizaemon added, “Lord Matsumae let you get away with too much. I won’t. And don’t bother threatening me with your army, the shogun, or Lord Matsudaira. Your army is far away, and if the shogun and Lord Matsudaira cared about you, they’d never have sent you here.”
Troops marched Reiko up to the guest quarters just as others arrived bringing Sano. One of the soldiers with Reiko said, “Your wife has been causing trouble, Honorable Chamberlain.” He shoved her at Sano. “Keep her under control.”
After Reiko had cornered Lady Matsumae in the bath chamber, the woman had complained to the guards, who’d found her in the native concubines’ quarters and removed her. Now Reiko was relieved to see that Sano was safe, but the huge weight of her grief for Masahiro crushed happier emotions.
Sano moved his lips in what failed to pass as a smile. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Reiko said, although that had never been less true. She felt as if they inhabited separate worlds moving farther apart. “And you?”
“Yes.”
She could see that he didn’t want to burden her any more than she wanted to burden him, but lines of fatigue and sorrow carved his face. Reiko had a vision of what he would look like in twenty years—if they lived that long. She tried not to imagine that much time without Masahiro, time she’d planned to spend watching him grow into a man, marry, and give her grandchildren. She forced herself to concentrate on the moment, on putting one foot in front of the other along the course toward vengeance, her only, harsh comfort.
The troops locked her and Sano in the building, which was as cold inside as outside. Reiko and Sano removed only their boots in the entryway and kept their coats on. As they headed toward their room, Reiko said, “I have to tell you what I’ve learned.”
The door of the room where Sano’s men were staying opened, and Hirata appeared. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment.” Sano accompanied Reiko into their room. It was freezing; their beds were not put away, and no food was left for them. “It looks like the servants have quit us.”
He opened the braziers and put in coal. Reiko knew he needed to keep busy for the same reason she did, but she couldn’t help feeling annoyed at him because his actions were so practical, so trivial. “Must you do that now?”
“Don’t you want me to warm this place up?” Sano lit the coals and used his glove to fan up the fires.
“Yes, but I need you to listen.”
“I can listen while I work.” An edge sharpened his voice.
They’d often done this sort of ordinary bickering, but Reiko found that although grief diminished positive emotions, it intensified negative ones such as resentment toward her husband for not paying her enough attention. “Just stop for a moment. This is important.”
Sano replaced a lid on a brazier with exaggerated care and dusted off his gloves. “All right. I’m listening.”
“I think I know who killed Tekare and Lilac.”
“Oh?”
Disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm, Reiko said, “It’s either Lady Matsumae or Wente.” She described her conversations with both. “Well? Which one do you think it is?”
“Either sounds as good as the other,” Sano said wearily.
Reiko couldn’t understand his attitude. “Don’t you care?”
“It’s not that.” Sano drew her down to sit with him beside the brazier that emitted faint, inadequate heat. “The situation has changed.” He told her that he’d confronted Lord Matsumae about the diary and how Lord Matsumae had reacted.
Reiko was amazed by the idea that the spirit inside Lord Matsumae had tried to kill him. “You believe Lord Matsumae killed Tekare?”
“As much as I can believe anyone else did,” Sano said, “but the spirit of Tekare didn’t give him a chance to confess. And Gizaemon has taken over. He’s shut down the murder investigation. Who really killed Tekare, or Lilac, is beside the point.”
Reiko was devastated because her efforts had come to nothing, and angry because she didn’t agree with Sano one bit. “Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, but it does to me.”
“I didn’t mean it doesn’t matter to me. I’m just saying—”
“You’re saying that no matter who killed Tekare, the truth is useless because even if we find it, you can’t make anybody here do anything with it.”
Sano exhaled. “If you must speak so bluntly.”
“Well, I still want to know who the murderer is, and I have a good use for the information. He or she instigated what happened to Masahiro. I want that person punished. I want revenge.” Reiko’s voice shook with rage and grief. “It’s all I have left.”
“I know how you feel,” Sano said. “I feel the same.”
“Do you?” Reiko tasted the acid in her words. She didn’t see how the death of a child could possibly hurt the father as much as the mother who had borne him.
“Of course,” Sano said, clearly wounded by her implication. “Masahiro was my son, too.”
The pain of hearing him mentioned in the past tense boosted Reiko’s desire to lash out at someone, and Sano was the only person available. “Then stop acting so defeated. Let’s figure out who started this whole disaster!”
“It’s not that easy,” Sano explained. “I have even less freedom to question suspects, look for witnesses, and find clues than I did before. There won’t be any more guided tours around the castle and city for me or Hirata-san. We’re locked in here. My hands are tied.”
Reiko understood, but his helplessness angered her even more. “That would seem to be your own fault. If you hadn’t accused Lord Matsumae, he might still be in charge and willing to cooperate with you.”
The Snow Empress Page 21
