Sano Ichiro 12 The Snow Empress (2007)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  The castle awakened. The intoxicating breath of war pervaded the air, rousing the soldiers from their drunken stupor. As they hurried about, hauling weapons and provisions, they sparred and joked with one another. The palace was battle headquarters. Commanders streamed in and out, gave orders to troops. Busy with preparations for their raid on the nearest Ainu villages, they didn’t realize they were under surveillance.

  Sano, Marume, Fukida, and the Rat crouched behind a stone lantern. As they watched the activity at the palace, Marume said in a low voice, “Too many troops around Lord Matsumae.”

  “It’ll be hard to get close enough to kill him,” Fukida said.

  “Let’s forget it, then,” whimpered the Rat.

  But Sano had confidence born of sheer determination. “One or another of us will manage.”

  The last phase of his plan called for slaying Lord Matsumae as his punishment for Masahiro’s death. Sano, Marume, Fukida, Hirata, and Reiko would attempt that, after they’d completed their initial tasks.

  “Which of us do you think it will be? I’m taking bets.” Marume spoke with great joviality. They were all aware that they would be captured and killed sooner rather than later, and he’d decided to enjoy the rest of his life.

  Sano knew that Hirata, with his secret martial arts skills, would make a formidable assassin. So would Sano, Marume, and Fukida, now that they’d cast off the constraints of duty and turned renegade. As for Reiko, not even the gods could stand between her and the man she blamed for her son’s death.

  “Even odds,” Sano said. “But first things first.”

  He had to find out who’d killed Tekare and set off the chain of events that had led up to this moment. Then he would slay the murderer. If it turned out to be Lord Matsumae—as he believed—that would simplify his task. His favorite suspects were off-limits, but one branch of the investigation remained open to him: Lilac’s murder.

  He, Marume, Fukida, and the Rat stealthily made their way across the castle grounds. They tried to stay behind rocks, trees, and buildings, but they couldn’t avoid all the open spaces in view of the watch turrets. Once they heard footsteps coming down a passage and ducked out a gate just before troops passed them. Fortunately, the soldiers were too busy with their war preparations to notice anyone around who didn’t belong there. Sano and his comrades arrived outside the maids’ barracks attached to the women’s quarters. They took shelter behind a snow-covered bush to assess the situation.

  Maids came outside, draped bedding over the veranda railings to air, and emptied chamber pots into night-soil buckets. The war hadn’t affected their daily routine.

  “Someone’s going to see us,” the Rat whispered. “Let’s go back to our rooms now, and maybe everything will be all right.”

  “If you want to go back, then go by yourself,” Marume said. “Otherwise, shut up.”

  Too big a coward to leave on his own, the Rat moaned as he followed the other men up to the barracks and in through the door. In a large space divided by bamboo screens, some fifty women were dressing, chattering, washing their faces, and combing their hair. When they saw the men, they shrieked and hurried to cover themselves.

  “It’s all right,” Sano said, alarmed because the commotion could bring the guards running. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  They kept shrieking so loud that the Rat stuck his fingers in his ears. They rushed to hide, knocking over screens, spilling water basins. Marume drew his sword.

  “Shut up!” he ordered. “Nobody move!”

  Young and old, plain and pretty, the women fell to their knees, clinging to one another in terrified silence. Sano said, “Who killed Lilac? Does anybody know?” Nobody answered. When he looked at the women one at a time, they averted their gazes and shook their heads. He couldn’t tell if they really didn’t know anything or were just too intimidated to talk. “Which of you was closest with Lilac?”

  He heard nothing except their rapid breathing. The room stank of feminine sweat. Marume ordered, “Speak up!”

  A low, frantic murmur swept through the maids. They pushed forward an older woman, her thin hair streaked with gray, her full cheeks red and mottled like an apple. She looked as frightened as her companions, but she spoke boldly for them.

  “Lilac kept to herself. She thought she was too good to be friends with us.”

  That fit what Reiko had said about Lilac, the girl with big dreams. Sano persisted, “Had she talked to anybody in the few days before she died?”

  “Probably Lady Matsumae. Or the soldiers.” Disgust tinged the woman’s voice as she added, “People she thought could do something for her.”

  “Did she say anything at all to you or the other maids?”

  The woman looked around the room. Her companions all shook their heads, except for one, a husky girl with a strong-featured face, who looked as if she had native blood. She whispered to the older woman, who told Sano, “Lilac said she was working on something big. She’d found someone to take her to Edo.”

  It could have been Reiko, but maybe another person—her killer. Sano asked, “Did she say who?”

  The woman conferred with the mixed-blood girl, then said, “No. Lilac always talked that way. The other girls never paid her much attention.”

  “Did you see Lilac yesterday, before she went to the hot spring?”

  “Yes. She was the first one up, which was strange, because she was lazy and always slept late. She said she wanted to get away before the funeral started. She said she had important business.”

  This interested Sano. He wondered if Lilac had gone to meet her killer. “Did she say what it was? Or with whom?”

  Again the maids shook their heads. Sano felt time speeding away. The Rat looked nervously at the door, and Marume’s eyes signaled Sano that they needed to move on. Sano realized that the only person who could tell him about Lilac was Lilac herself, and since she was dead, the things she’d left behind must speak for her.

  “Show me where Lilac lived,” Sano said.

  The woman led him through the quarters, past mattresses and quilts still spread on the floor amid dressing tables that held mirrors, combs, hairpins, and other feminine paraphernalia. Cabinets stood open, revealing clothes and shoes crammed inside. She stopped in a corner of the room that was bare, uncluttered.

  “There’s nothing to see.” She opened a cupboard to show Sano an empty compartment. “We sent all Lilac’s things to her family in town.”

  Sano gazed at the cramped space that seemed barely adequate for a human to live in. Although the other maids could have used more room themselves, they hadn’t taken over Lilac’s spot, probably shunning it for fear that her bad luck would rub off on them. He saw coarse, grayish salt crystals sprinkled on the floor, to chase away evil spirits. Sano could understand why Lilac had wanted to leave Ezogashima, why she’d tried to latch onto Reiko. But he found no clue to who had killed the girl.

  “What now?” Marume asked. .

  His face reflected the disappointment that Sano felt. As Sano tried to think where to turn next, he paced Lilac’s corner, and something caught his attention. Salt crystals had collected in a crack between two floorboards, a crack slightly wider than elsewhere. Halting, Sano noticed that one board was shorter than the rest, about as long as his hand. He stepped gently on the short board, and it gave under his weight.

  “A secret compartment?” Marume said, intrigued.

  “I hope.” Sano knelt. He tried to lift the board, but couldn’t get his fingers inside the crack. He spoke to the maids who’d gathered around to watch: “Fetch me a hairpin.”

  One was handed to him. He inserted it in the crack and pried up the short board. Underneath he found a narrow space between the floor joists and a wad of brown cloth. When he picked it out, it was heavier than it looked, due to small, hard objects wrapped inside. He shook into his palm four irregular, gleaming yellow lumps.

  “Is that gold?” Marume put a lump in his mouth, bit it, and said, “In my amateur op
inion, yes.”

  The maids murmured with awe at the sight of more money than they could earn in years. The older woman said, “Lilac always had good things. She was like a squirrel, hiding them away.”

  “Where could she have gotten this gold?” Marume asked.

  “I think I can guess.” Sano asked the woman, “Did Lilac know Daigoro the gold merchant?”

  The woman shook her head, but the half-blood girl tugged her arm and whispered to her. “She says she once saw Lilac talking to him in town.”

  Sano’s investigation rebounded to the suspect that Hirata had interviewed, that they’d not pursued because they hadn’t had time and other suspects had seemed likelier culprits. Now Sano had made a connection between Daigoro and Lilac. He weighed in his hand the gold nuggets she must have extorted from the merchant. Daigoro was back in the picture, a new chance for Sano to solve the murder case just when he’d thought he’d exhausted his options.

  “It’s time for a talk with Daigoro,” Sano said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Marume said, “but how do we get out of the castle?”

  28

  Dagger in hand, Reiko pressed her back against the wall of a building inside Fukuyama Castle. Soldiers carrying armloads of guns hurried near her through the courtyard. When they were gone, she sped along passages. She glanced sideways and backward, alert for threats, but kept her mind focused straight ahead. The world outside the castle had vanished from her consciousness. Normal, human life had ended for her. She didn’t feel the cold. She had no past nor future; she existed solely in the present moment. All her physical and spiritual energy pulsed through her with concentrated intensity. She was a human arrow, burning flames at both ends, fired toward a single purpose.

  She didn’t bother spying on Lord Matsumae. He could wait. If Sano and Hirata failed to assassinate him, she would succeed. She would slash his throat and gladly watch him die for what he’d done to Masahiro. Her sense of purpose blazed away self-doubt as well as fear. But she had other matters to take care of first.

  Slaying Lord Matsumae wasn’t enough to satisfy her. Although he’d have made the decision to kill her son, a samurai lord didn’t dirty his own hands. He wouldn’t have tended to Masahiro in that cage, treating him like an animal. Other men had done that. Reiko wanted their blood, too. They must pay for Masahiro’s suffering. She didn’t know who among all the troops they were, but she knew where to start looking.

  Reiko headed for the keep. She easily evaded the troops busy preparing for war and the servants trudging on their daily routine. She felt invincible.

  The tower was a black monolith against the orange sunrise. It appeared on fire, the cloud wisps like smoke. Reiko hurried up the hill, retracing the path she’d taken yesterday, an eternity ago. As she ran in the open door, her heart pumped with wild, erratic rhythm. She could taste blood from her own innards lacerated by grief, from those about to die by her hand.

  All her senses and instincts were preternaturally alert. They tested the atmosphere in the tower and found only dead, empty air. Nobody was inside. Disoriented, she stumbled outside, down the hill. She paused at the gate to rethink her plans and catch her breath. The violent energy charging through her made her dizzy. Black waves licked her vision. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d eaten or slept. Her body might give out on her before she was finished with it. She was aware that she’d gone as mad as Lord Matsumae. There must be something in the air in Ezogashima that drove people to extreme actions. The madness was destroying her as it had done him. Reiko clutched the gate for support and willed her strength to endure.

  As she breathed deeply, her forehead pressed against the cold stone wall, the blackness retreated. She could see the wall’s rough, grayish plaster surface. Tiny black markings flecked it. They resembled crudely written characters. Reiko blinked, and they popped into focus. They actually were characters. She could read them.

  Mama Papa

  I escaped from prison

  I will come home to you

  Masahiro

  A cry burst from Reiko. She dropped to her knees in the snow beside the wall. She yanked off her glove and touched the characters, afraid that she was hallucinating this message from her son. But she felt the rough edges where they‘ d been scratched into the plaster with some sharp object. The black color was charcoal ground into them. It rubbed off on her fingers. The message was real.

  Reiko pictured Masahiro carving the words on the wall with a rock. Somehow he’d gotten himself out of his cage, out of the keep. He’d known that she and Sano would come for him, but decided to make his break for freedom in case they arrived too late to save him. He’d wanted to tell them he was making his own way home. He’d written the message where they might possibly find it, where his captors wouldn’t. Reiko saw Masahiro rub a piece of charcoal against the characters so that they would be visible, then run out this very gate. She clasped her hands and sobbed. Her brave, resourceful boy! The full implications of her discovery struck her.

  Maybe Masahiro wasn’t dead after all.

  Maybe he’d managed to get out of Fukuyama Castle, the Matsumae troops had never executed him, and the blood on the blanket wasn’t his.

  Maybe he was still alive.

  The hope she’d forsaken surged anew in Reiko. Her body trembled violently from its force that exploded the plans she’d made, shattered her unnatural state of calm, disciplined insanity. Her mind shifted focus, away from vengeance, to the new possibility of reuniting with Masahiro. She laughed for joy as mad as her grief had been. She noticed that the sun had risen, dazzling and gold. But her laughter quickly faded.

  How long ago had Masahiro escaped?

  What had happened to him since then?

  Merciful gods, where was he now?

  Reiko staggered to her feet and looked around for some clue about what had become of Masahiro. But she saw nothing except the empty compound, the deserted keep. As she tried to think what to do, she heard footsteps from the other side of the wall. A male voice said, “Old Gizaemon is working us so hard, I’ll be exhausted before the war even starts.”

  Another, similar voice said, “Me, too. Let’s take a rest in here. Maybe he won’t notice we’re gone.”

  The gate opened. Two young soldiers were beside Reiko before she had a chance to hide. “Hey, who are you?” one said. His friend asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Reiko took in their almost identical pudgy faces and stocky builds, their belligerent expressions. She recognized them as the two guards she’d seen on her first trip to the keep, the men she’d come hunting. She wasn’t so far past her obsession with revenge that she’d forgotten it; she hadn’t forgotten her anger toward her son’s jailers. She still wanted to kill them.

  She lashed her dagger at the soldiers. They leaped away, too surprised to fight back.

  “Hey!” one of them exclaimed. “Why are you attacking us?”

  “This is for what you did to my son!”

  “I know who she is,” the second said. “She’s the chamberlain’s wife.”

  Reiko carved wild swaths in the air with her blade. The men dodged. The first drew his sword. She slashed at his hand.

  He yelled and let go of the weapon, a cut on his hand dripping blood. “She’s crazy!”

  “I’m going to kill you!” Reiko shouted.

  The second man grabbed her from behind. She stomped on his feet and banged her head against his face. He lost his grip on her, and she lunged at his comrade, who stumbled and fell on his back in the snow. Reiko bent over him, her dagger at his throat. The other pulled his sword.

  “Throw that sword as far as you can, or he’s dead,” Reiko ordered.

  The fallen man lay pop-eyed with fear, arms spread, hands and heels dug into the snow. His comrade hesitated in confusion. Reiko said, “Is this your brother?”

  The man gulped. “Yes.” He flung his weapon away.

  “The other one, too.”

  He obeyed. “Pleas
e don’t hurt him.”

  Reiko would have liked to kill them both, but she wasn’t so consumed by her anger that she didn’t realize they were worth more to her alive than dead. “Where is my son?” she demanded. When they looked dumbly at her, she said, “The little boy you kept in the cage. Where is he?”

  “We—we don’t know,” said the soldier on the ground.

  “Did he get out of the castle?”

  The brothers traded glances. A different fear shone in their eyes. The man standing said reluctantly, “I guess we have to tell her.”

  “Tell me what?” An awful idea stabbed Reiko. “That he didn’t get away? That you killed him?”

  As the arc of her hope plunged downward, Reiko sucked in a deep breath, ready to cleave the soldier’s throat.

  “No!” he cried, squirming desperately. “We let him go.”

  “What?” Reiko stared at him, then his brother.

  “We felt sorry for Masahiro,” said the brother. “He was a nice little boy. He was always polite to us, even though we locked him in the cage.

  Reiko drank in this news of her son. Her heart warmed because the soldier’s description of Masahiro was so in character. Masahiro was not only nice and polite, he was clever enough to have befriended his captors.

  “Lord Matsumae ordered us to put him to death,” said the soldier on the ground, “but we couldn’t bring ourselves to do it.”

  “So we told Masahiro we were going to set him free,” said his brother. “We took him out of the keep. He wanted to leave a message for you and his father. We gave him a knife and a piece of charcoal to write with.” The man pointed at the words on the wall. “I guess you found it.”

  Reiko’s jaw dropped in surprise that these soldiers she’d come to kill had helped Masahiro escape. If he was alive, she owed it to them. Hardly daring to breathe, she said, “When was this?”

  “About twenty days before you got here.”

  Reiko trembled as her hope soared anew. “Where did you take him?

  “Out the gate. After that, he was on his own,” the brother said.