He took the front of the woman’s robe between his thumb and forefinger and gingerly pulled it open. Her flesh was grayish, her breast shriveled. Between her ribs was an ugly wound, the tissue blackened with blood and rot.
“A good, clean shot,” Gizaemon said.
The satisfaction in his voice repelled Sano. “Why does Lord Matsumae think Tekare was murdered? Couldn’t her death have been accidental? She walked into a trap set for deer?”
“Not a chance,” Gizaemon said scornfully. “Nobody hunts game on that path. There isn’t any so close to town. Make no mistake, this wasn’t an accident.”
He added, “It wasn’t just the arrow that killed her. The head was poisoned with surkuay”
“‘Surkuay’?” Sano frowned at the unfamiliar word.
“A native potion made from monkshood plant, tobacco, stingray spines, and other poisonous things. You hit a bear anywhere on his body with it, and he can walk only about two hundred paces before he dies. You follow him until he drops. There’s only one cure. Immediately cut away the poisoned flesh and wash out the wound. As you can see she tried to do.”
“With her bare hands,” Sano said as he and Hirata studied the claw marks around the wound.
“Little good it did,” Gizaemon said callously.
Sano thought his negative view of Tekare equaled fertile ground for the murder investigation. “Who do you think killed her?”
“Had to be an Ezo.” Gizaemon sounded certain.
“What makes you say that?”
“The spring-bow is an Ezo weapon. The poison is Ezo. One plus one equals two.”
“You sound as if you want the killer to be an Ezo,” Sano said. “Why?”
Amused condescension flickered across Gizaemon’s weathered face. “Let me explain the situation here in Ezogashima, Honorable Chamberlain. Relations between Ezo and Japanese have always been tense. They don’t like us keeping them confined in their own territory, controlling their trade with the outside. They’d rather come and go as they please.”
“If they sell their goods directly to customers in Japan, they can set their own prices and cut the Matsumae middlemen out of the deals,” Sano said. “I know. What’s your point?”
“So far we’ve had a compromise. The Ezo behave themselves. We let them choose their own leaders, rule their own villages, keep their traditions. But it doesn’t always work.”
“There have been Ezo uprisings.
“Right. Even though the Ezo will never drive us out, they’ll keep trying. Who needs the trouble? Much better to get them under our thumb for good.”
His words conjured up a vision of the Ezo subjugated by warfare, their territory annexed to Japan. Sano thought of the men who’d saved him and Reiko and their companions yesterday. Now he saw the murder case in the larger context of politics. It had dimensions far beyond the matter of justice for one dead woman. If an Ezo had killed Tekare, that would give Lord Matsumae an excuse to subjugate the barbarians, even though she’d been one of their own. The survival of an entire people hinged on the outcome of this investigation.
But Sano felt enormous pressure to solve the crime whatever way he could. His own fate, his wife’s, his son’s, and his dearest comrades’ depended on his success. He couldn’t shy away from incriminating the Ezo, and perhaps one of them was guilty.
“Why would an Ezo have murdered Tekare?” Sano asked.
“Who knows? Some squabble. Who cares?” Gizaemon’s tone said all personal relations between the barbarians were trivial.
“I promised Lord Matsumae I would find Tekare’s killer,” Sano said. “I doubt he would be satisfied with pinning the murder on her people in general. Knowing why she died might lead me to who did it.”
“Well, I’m not the person who can tell you why,” Gizaemon said. Better talk to the Ezo themselves.“
“I intend to,” Sano said, “but first I must talk to you, about my son.”
Resistance immediately hardened Gizaemon’s face.
“What happened to him?” Sano prodded. “Where is he?”
Gizaemon shook his head. Do you mean you don’t know or you won’t tell me?“
“I mean you can’t force me to say anything that can be used against my nephew,” Gizaemon said with the obstinacy of a samurai loyal to his master.
Sano’s anger at Lord Matsumae expanded to include Gizaemon, who he suspected did know Masahiro’s fate. “This is an innocent eight-year-old child who’s at stake. How can you do nothing?”
Offense drew together Gizaemon’s bushy eyebrows. “I’m trying with all my might to keep order in Ezogashima and minimize the damage that Tekare does through my nephew. Wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.” Imagine yourself in my place. One lost boy would be the least of your concerns.“
That logic didn’t diminish Sano’s need to find Masahiro or his determination to enlist the aid of Gizaemon, who seemed the only person here with any sense even if he was a good murder suspect. “You don’t have to betray your nephew. Just let me search for my son.”
“Can’t do. You’re supposed to be solving the crime. My orders are to help you with that and nothing else.”
“Lord Matsumae won’t have to know.”
Gizaemon chuckled harshly. “I’m not going to help you, and neither is anyone else here. You want to get off this island alive, you’d best forget your son, cut your losses‘, and march in step.”
Although Sano realized how even more serious the situation was than he’d thought at first, and how prudent was Gizaemon’s advice, he said, “In case you don’t realize it, your nephew has put you in a bad position. He’ll eventually be held accountable for his actions. Do you really want to go down with him?”
“It’s my duty to go wherever my lord goes.” Gizaemon sounded ardently pledged to that duty; he wasn’t just paying lip service to Bushido. “I gladly bow to his wishes.”
“Cooperate with me, and I’ll help you later,” Sano persisted.
“Forget it.”
“If my son is here, at least ask Lord Matsumae to give him to me. Use your influence to save him.”
Sadness in his gaze said that Gizaemon wasn’t as heartless as he seemed, but he shook his head. “I have no influence with Lord Matsumae anymore. Nobody does, except Tekare.”
Sano tasted the bitterness of defeat yet refused to swallow it. There was always more than one path to a goal. For now he said, “I’ll talk to the Ezo. Can you bring me the ones who were around town the night of the murder?”
“That I can do.”
Reiko darted around the corner of the guest quarters and crouched among some bushes. Her heart fluttered with exhilaration because she’d made her escape. But where should she go first? How long before the guards discovered she was gone?
Thankful for her fur-lined boots, Reiko trudged through a snowy garden. Fukuyama Castle seemed bigger than it had yesterday, with more buildings. Her heart sank at the amount of ground she had to search for Masahiro.
If he was here at all.
If he was still alive.
Reiko shut those thoughts out of her mind. As she skirted the palace, she heard male voices coming toward her. She ducked behind a tall stone lantern. Two guards passed her. She saw others patrolling everywhere. Security was even tighter here than in Edo Castle. Eventually she would run smack into someone who would realize she wasn’t one of the maids. She slipped through a gate and found herself in a compound of dingy outbuildings.
Some were storehouses with fireproof plaster walls, iron doors, and tile roofs. Smoke and food odors identified others as kitchens. Reiko heard voices shouting over a din of chopping, banging, and sizzling inside. Servants carried in coal, came out and dumped slops. Reiko hurried past them, face averted. She darted out another gate.
An uproar of barking startled her. Four huge, fierce dogs charged at her, their teeth bared. Reiko screamed and flung up her arms in self-defense.
A voice called a command in Ezo language. The dogs halted close to Reiko, their eyes glaring, hackles bristling, and growls thrumming, but didn’t attack. Reiko looked beyond them and saw an Ezo woman standing outside an open shed that contained sleds and harnesses. She was the concubine Reiko had tried to protect from Lady Matsumae.