The Snow Empress

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Help!” he shouted.

  Sano fell upon Lord Matsumae and seized him by the throat. “Where’s my son? What have you done to him?”

  Lord Matsumae gurgled and coughed while Sano choked him. His hands clawed at Sano’s. Soldiers exploded into the chamber. They pulled Sano off their master. Three wrestled Sano to the floor. So many more pinned down Hirata that he barely showed under them. Others held Marume and Fukida. Around the room lay the broken, dead bodies of eight guards that Sano and his men had killed with their bare hands.

  Sano panted, exhausted and bathed in sweat. The hot red tide of temper receded, stranding him in cold despair. His son must surely be gone forever. At this moment Sano didn’t care what happened to himself.

  “Take them outside,” Lord Matsumae told his men. “Execute them all.”

  “My pleasure.” Deer Antlers glared at Sano. His mouth was swollen and bloody. He told his friends, “Get the chamberlain’s wife. She dies, too.”

  The thought of Reiko aroused Sano’s survival instinct. Self-discipline returned. He had to act despite the terrible temptation to give up.

  “Go ahead and kill us, Lord Matsumae,” he called over his shoulder as the guards hauled him and his men away. “But don’t think you can get away with it.”

  Hirata and the others resisted fiercely. Sano saved his strength to push words out past the weight of misery on his heart. “If you know so much about me, then you know I’ve got an army back in Edo. When I don’t come home, they’ll come looking for me. And there’ll be too many of them for your army to hold off. They’ll kill you and your entire clan to avenge my death. So unless that’s what you want, we’d better talk.”

  He was almost out the door when Lord Matsumae said, “Wait. Bring them back.”

  Muttering curses, the guards hurled Sano and his comrades onto the floor in front of the dais.

  “Talk about what?” Lord Matsumae was apparently not so insane that he’d lost his entire sense of self-preservation.

  “You made some mistakes,” Sano said, “but it’s not too late to undo the damage.”

  Lord Matsumae crooked his neck. He again reminded Sano of a crow, this time uncertain whether to fly for cover or peck out his adversary’s eyes. “I’m in so much trouble that I don’t see any way out except to get rid of you and your people.”

  Sano nodded. Lord Matsumae realized that having witnesses to this situation would only make things worse for him with Lord Matsudaira and the shogun. He couldn’t hide from their wrath forever. They would wipe his clan off the map. He couldn’t afford to let Sano live, even if killing him would mean retaliation from Sano’s army.

  Improvising for dear life, Sano said, “There’s a way around every problem.”

  “Such as what?”

  “I propose a deal,” Sano said.

  Eyeing Sano with a mixture of hope and suspicion, Lord Matsumae said, “What kind?”

  “I’ll find out who killed Tekare for you,” Sano said.

  “Can you?” Distracted from his predicament, Lord Matsumae leaned forward and clasped his hands. He practically salivated with his hunger for truth and vengeance.

  “Yes,” Sano said, even though he didn’t think much of his chances of success investigating a murder that was already three months past, in unfamiliar territory.

  Doubt crept into Lord Matsumae’s expression. “What do you ask in return?”

  “That you let me, and everyone in my party, go free. That you stop breaking rules and killing people, and you bring things back to normal in Ezogashima.”

  “No.” Lord Matsumae was obstinate. “Even if I do that, I’ll still be in trouble for what I’ve done. You have to save me.”

  “I will,” Sano said. “I’ll talk to the shogun and Lord Matsudaira. I’ll convince them to excuse you.”

  Sano had no idea whether he could, but he would promise the Nihonbashi Bridge and jump off it when he came to it. As Lord Matsumae vacillated, Sano said, “Well? Do we have a bargain?”

  He hadn’t brought his son into the negotiation even though Masahiro was more important than his own life. Sano didn’t want to ask about the boy again and hear Lord Matsumae admit he’d killed Masahiro. He didn’t want to believe it. Sano meant to look for Masahiro while investigating the murder, and find him alive. He refused to consider any other outcome.

  “I don’t know.” Lord Matsumae’s gaze skittered between suspicion of trickery, desire for justice for his mistress, and fear of punishment.

  Sano saw that logic had inadequate sway over his madness. Impulses to wreak more havoc and violence were stronger. They seemed native to Ezogashima. Sano waited with an anxiety that he could barely conceal. He felt Hirata and his other men willing the balance to tip in their favor.

  “I’ll think about it,” Lord Matsumae said at last. He told the guards, “In the meantime, take the Honorable Chamberlain and his people to the guest quarters. Lock them in.”

  Reiko watched Lady Matsumae tiptoe across the room and fling open a sliding door hidden by woven mats. On the other side stood five women of such bizarre appearance that Reiko couldn’t hide her shock.

  They were as tall as men, clothed in brown, coarsely woven robes with geometric designs embroidered on the hems, sleeve edges, and collar bands. They wore fur leggings and slippers. Their black hair was long, loose, and wavy. Reiko realized they were Ezo women. Strands of blue beads and brass medallions hung around their necks. Gold hoops pierced their ears. But most startling were their tattoos, which looked like blue mustaches painted around their mouths.

  She barely had time to wonder what they were doing in the castle, where Ezo supposedly weren’t allowed. Lady Matsumae shouted at them, “Were you eavesdropping? How dare you!”

  She marched up to a woman who seemed younger than the rest, her features pretty in spite of the disfiguring tattoo. Lady Matsumae spat in the woman’s face. “Whore! Animal! Filthy barbarian!”

  Her fists swatted the young woman’s stomach and breasts. The woman raised her hands to protect herself, but although she looked strong enough to knock Lady Matsumae down, she didn’t fight back. She uttered muffled noises of pain while she took the beating. Nor did the four other Ezo women defend her. They looked on, unhappy but silent. The ladies-in-waiting sipped their tea as if their mistress’s behavior were nothing out of the ordinary. But Reiko was too appalled to stand by and watch.

  “Stop!” She hurried over to Lady Matsumae and pulled her away from the Ezo woman.

  Lady Matsumae shrieked, “Let go of me!”

  She turned on Reiko like a wildcat. She kicked Reiko, clawed at her. The Ezo women huddled together, hands over their mouths. So did the ladies-in-waiting. The maid ran out of the room. Reiko grabbed Lady Matsumae by her wrists. She said to the Ezo women, “You’d better go.”

  They fled. Lady Matsumae screamed and fought while Reiko struggled to control her. The maid hurried back with two guards, who dragged Reiko and Lady Matsumae apart.

  “Why were you so mean to her?” Reiko asked Lady Matsumae. “What’s your trouble?”

  Lady Matsumae’s eyes were red and crazed, her hair disheveled. “None of your business,” she said in a voice harsh with rage. “Don’t interfere with things you don’t understand.”

  She turned her back on Reiko and told the guards, “Get her away from me.”

  The Fukuyama Castle guest quarters were in a building connected to the palace by a covered corridor. Shaded from the sun by dark fir trees, with snowdrifts halfway up its walls, the building looked desolate and forbidding. The guards marched Sano and his men into a dank, cold set of rooms. Servants came to pad the walls with woven mats, to stoke and light the charcoal braziers.

  “Home away from home,” Detective Marume said.

  “Don’t try anything,” Deer Antlers warned Sano as he and the other guards left. “We’ll be watching you.”

  “Do they feed the prisoners in this jail?” Detective Fukida said. When more servants brought in trays of rice b
alls, smoked salmon, pickled radish, and tea, he said, “I don’t care much for Lord Matsumae’s manners, but he does right by his guests.”

  “After he’s decided to postpone killing them,” Marume said.

  As everyone ate, Sano worried about what had happened to Reiko, until two guards brought her.

  She ran to Sano, knelt by him. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  “Thank the gods you’re all right.” Sano held Reiko’s cold hands. “Where have you been? What happened?”

  “With Lady Matsumae.” Reiko described how she’d stopped Lady Matsumae from beating the Ezo woman, and how Lady Matsumae had then attacked her. “Isn’t that strange?”

  “It is.” Sano couldn’t help thinking that Reiko had been at the castle less than an hour and already gotten into a fight. He told himself he should be glad nothing worse had happened. At least so far.

  “What’s even stranger,” Reiko said, “is that Lady Matsumae and her attendants and maid absolutely refused to help me look for Masahiro. I think they know something, but they wouldn’t talk. They don’t care. I never met such cold-hearted women.” She said eagerly, “What happened with Lord Matsumae?”

  That was a topic Sano would rather not discuss. “He sent us food. There’s some left. Are you hungry?”

  “I’ve already eaten. Did you find out what the trouble is? Did you ask him about Masahiro?” She looked at the other men, who avoided her gaze. In the silence she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Sano couldn’t hide the facts from her no matter how much he wanted to protect her. He told her as gently as possible about how the murder of his mistress had driven Lord Matsumae mad, how he claimed Masahiro had never reached the castle but Sano didn’t think he was telling the truth.

  Reiko’s eyes went round with shock and horror as she understood that Lord Matsumae might have killed their son. But she only nodded; she didn’t fall apart. She never did during a crisis. Sano loved her for her bravery.

  “Masahiro is alive,” she said with quiet conviction. “If he weren’t, I would know.”

  If it helped her endure, Sano wouldn’t contradict what he feared was wishful thinking. He found himself heartened by her words in spite of himself. “We’ll keep looking for him.”

  “But how?” A note of discouragement crept into Reiko’s voice. “There are soldiers outside. They’ve locked us in. We’re prisoners.”

  “I’m hoping that will change,” Sano said, and told her about the deal he’d proposed to Lord Matsumae. “If I investigate the murder, I should have free run of this place.”

  His hope lit Reiko’s face like a ray of sunshine. “Do you think he’ll agree?”

  Who knew what a madman would do, Sano thought. But he said, “Oh, yes. We just have to be patient.”

  And wait until Lord Matsumae decided whether his desire for justice was stronger than his reason to kill them.

  Chapter Six

  They spent the rest of the day idle in the guest quarters, keeping warm by huddling under blankets or pacing the floors. They ate the meals brought to them and took turns bathing in a tub filled by servants lugging pails of hot water. The night was the longest and coldest Sano had ever known.

  Japanese architecture couldn’t match the Ezo huts in protecting humans against the weather. Drafts blew through the guest quarters. The charcoal braziers gave off inadequate whiffs of heat. Pressed close to Reiko under piled quilts, Sano couldn’t sleep even though she did, and his men snored across the hall. He missed the human noise of Edo Castle: the troops patrolling, music from parties, temple gongs ringing. Here he heard wolves howling in the forest. It was almost dawn before he fell asleep.

  A short time later he was jolted awake by the presence of a stranger. Sitting up, he blinked at the figure that stood in the doorway.

  “Honorable Chamberlain.” The voice was male, gritty. “Lord Matsumae wants to see you.”

  Sano hoped this meant good news. “Give me a moment to dress.”

  He told Hirata to come with him and the other men to stay with Reiko, who was still asleep. When he and Hirata stepped outside the building into another day of bright, eye-watering, bitter cold, the man greeted them and said, “I’m Matsumae Gizaemon. Lord Matsumae’s uncle.”

  About sixty years old, he looked like a cross between a Japanese and an Ezo. He wore a deerskin coat and mittens lined with fur, and fish-skin boots. His face was as weathered and lined as the barbarians’, his brows bushy; the eyes beneath them squinted as if from a lifetime spent looking at sun on snow. But his bare head had its crown shaved and its gray hair gathered in a topknot, samurai-style. At his waist hung the customary two swords.

  Sano introduced Hirata. As they walked along the covered corridor to the palace, three guards fell into step behind them. Gizaemon said, “Sorry I wasn’t around to meet you yesterday.” He had the quick, agile gait of a much younger man. “I was away on business for Lord Matsumae.”

  “What do you do for him?” Sano asked.

  “Help him manage his domain. I’m his chief aide.” Gizaemon reached in his coat, took out a toothpick, and chewed it vigorously. Sano smelled the sweet, spicy odor of sassafras bark. “I inspect the trading posts. Keep the Japanese merchants in line. The Ezo, too.”

  “You must know Lord Matsumae fairly well,” Sano said.

  “Known him since he was born. His father was my older brother. Left his education to me. I practically raised him. He’s like my own son.” Affection and concern crept into Gizaemon’s voice. He was clearly troubled by the turn Lord Matsumae had taken.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Sano asked. “Surely not just that the death of his mistress has upset him?”

  “No,” Gizaemon agreed. “He’s possessed by her spirit.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “Yes, I am.” Gizaemon laughed dryly. “It’s obvious that you think spirit possession is just a myth. Well, maybe that’s so in Edo. But not here. I’ve seen spirits take over people’s bodies, make them speak in tongues and jump off cliffs.” Seeing Sano’s skeptical look, he said, “Don’t believe me? Just wait till you’ve been in Ezogashima a while longer.”

  “Did Lord Matsumae tell you about our meeting?” Sano asked.

  “Some.” Gizaemon sounded angry, but not with his nephew. “Hell of a guest you are, coming in here and killing our men.”

  “Excuse me, but Lord Matsumae isn’t exactly blameless,” Sano said evenly. “Are you aware of what he’s done?”

  “Here we are,” Gizaemon said, dropping the subject of his nephew’s crimes.

  “Has Lord Matsumae made a decision about my offer?”

  “You’ll have to ask him yourself.” Gizaemon spat his toothpick into the snow below the corridor, then opened the palace door.

  Lord Matsumae received them in his private chamber. It was furnished with the same built-in cabinets, lacquer furniture, and study alcove as any samurai official’s, with no native décor except the wall mats. Sprawled amid quilts rumpled by a restless night, he looked like a man suffering from a malignant illness. In each of his cheeks burned a spot of fever.

  “Greetings, Honorable Chamberlain.” He lifted a bowl of herb tea; his hands shook as he drank. “I’ve thought about what you said yesterday. And I’ve decided to accept your offer.”

  “Good,” Sano said, relieved. “My men and I will begin investigating the murder right away.” And look for Masahiro.

  “Not so fast!”

  The voice that came out of Lord Matsumae was high-pitched, not his own. Sano felt every hair on his body rise in a shivering tingle. He was astounded to see Lord Matsumae’s face alter. It seemed to grow younger, female.

  “You can’t just go off wherever you want.” The voice had a strange accent, with inflections that Sano had heard in the Ezo language. “Why should we trust you? How do we know you can find out who killed me?”

  Shocked, Sano and Hirata looked at Gizaemon.

  Gizaemon’s dour smile said, I told you so. “Be
tter answer the question.”

  Sano said, “I was once the shogun’s detective.” He was so fascinated by the stranger looking at him through Lord Matsumae that he hardly knew what he was saying. “His Excellency trusted me to solve murders for him.” The presence of the spirit infected the atmosphere. Atavistic fear crept through him. “He was satisfied with my work.”

  Lord Matsumae’s face reverted to its own aspect; he spoke in his own voice: “You will tell me everything you’re going to do and get my permission in advance. You and your men won’t go anywhere without an escort.”

  “Those conditions weren’t part of the deal,” Sano said, disturbed not only because he now had two taskmasters, one a figment of the imagination or a real ghost. The constraints would allow him little freedom to search for his son as well as hinder his efforts to find the killer.

  “Take it or leave it!” Lord Matsumae said. Two intense lights burned in each of his eyes, from two souls.

  “Very well,” Sano said, astonished into conceding.

  Pacified, Lord Matsumae said, “What is your first step?”

  “I would usually examine the body of the murder victim,” Sano said. But so much time had passed; the corpse must be long cremated and buried. “Since that’s not possible, maybe you could just tell me what happened—”

  “It’s possible,” Lord Matsumae said, turning to his uncle. “Take them to see Tekare.”

  As Gizaemon gestured Sano and Hirata toward the door, his eyes glinted with sardonic humor at their surprise. “Right this way.”

  Alone in her room, Reiko climbed out of bed. It was so cold she could see her breath. She washed, dressed, and groomed herself as fast as possible and ate the meal that a servant brought her. She opened the window shutters, pushed aside the paper panel, and peeked outside.