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 her 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 balls, 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, now 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.
6
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.”