“Was your marriage satisfactory before she was taken?” Sano asked.
“Yes. I loved her. I wanted her back. But now she’s gone. I’ll never see her again in this life.”
He emphasized his words by pounding on his heart, grasping the air with his hands, then letting them drop while his shoulders sagged in grief. The language barrier and his foreignness made gauging his truthfulness difficult. Hirata focused on the field of mental energy that surrounded him. It hummed with contradictory vibrations.
“Where were you the night Tekare died?” Sano asked.
Urahenka glared at Sano. “Do you mean, did I kill her?”
Gizaemon barked out a command in Ezo language, obviously ordering Urahenka to answer, not ask questions.
“I didn’t!” Urahenka balled his fists, more angry at the tacit accusation than fearful of punishment.
“That’s what he’s been saying all along,” Gizaemon muttered. “That’s what they’ve all been saying.”
“Maybe it’s true,” Sano said, his tone even. He addressed the young barbarian: “If you expect me to believe you’re innocent, then tell me where you were the night of the murder.”
“I was at the camp.”
When asked individually, each Ezo, including the chieftain, said they’d all been at their camp, together, the whole night.
“That alibi’s worth nothing,” Gizaemon said disdainfully. “The bastards always lie for each other.”
Chieftain Awetok raised his hand. Sano nodded permission for him to speak. “The Matsumae soldiers were guarding our camp. We couldn’t have left without them knowing. We were there. Ask them.”
Sano turned a questioning look on Gizaemon. Hard to keep track of the bastards. They move through the forest like ghosts, there one moment, gone the next,“ Gizaemon said. ”Could have sneaked out and back in, nobody the wiser.“
Urahenka shouted angry words. Gizaemon snapped at him.
“‘If you want to find out who killed Tekare, you’re looking at the wrong people,”“ the Rat interpreted. ”“Don’t speak until you’re spoken to.”“
Sano’s chest swelled with a breath of vexation. Hirata could tell how tired he was of Gizaemon getting between him and the suspects, how helpless he felt to do anything about it while a prisoner, and how desperate he was to look for his son instead of indulging a madman. But when Sano addressed Urahenka, his manner was patient, controlled.
“Which people do you suggest I look at?”
“Japanese!”
Nobody needed the Rat to translate that. Sano said, “But Tekare was shot with a spring-bow, an Ezo hunting weapon.”
“It was a trick by a Japanese. To make us look like we killed her.”
Urahenka let loose a stream of imprecations. Gizaemon stalked over to him and shouted at him.
“He’s insulting the Matsumae clan,” the Rat explained. His feral eyes shone with nervousness. “Gizaemon is telling him to watch his mouth.”
Chieftain Awetok spoke words of caution that Urahenka ignored. Urahenka sprang to his feet. He and Gizaemon yelled into each other’s faces.
“‘You Japanese want to stamp us out. You started by killing my wife, and you won’t stop until we’re all gone and you can take over our land,”“ the Rat interpreted. ”’Show some respect, you animal, or you’ll be the next to die.“”
The other men stood, rallying around Urahenka, their furious voices joining his. Hirata surmised that they belonged to a faction of Ezo that wanted to fight Japanese domination. As they argued with Gizaemon, he shoved them. They shoved back. The guards went rushing to support Gizaemon, swords drawn.
Dismay gripped Hirata because he realized that a war could start here, in this very room. Sano leaped up and shouted, “Stop! Everyone back off!” Hirata called upon the mystical power within himself. A strong, calming energy flowed from him over Gizaemon, the guards, and the barbarians. Chieftain Awetok uttered a warning. His lips kept moving after the sound from them stopped. He flexed his hand, as though casting a spell.
Later Hirata couldn’t have said which tactic had worked, or whether all of them together had. But the guards sheathed their weapons and retreated. Urahenka and the other Ezo men dropped to their knees. Gizaemon squatted, surly but tamed, near the dais. All the combatants looked relieved but confused; they didn’t know what had happened, either. But the tension had been diffused.
As Sano and Hirata resumed their seats, Hirata sent Chieftain Awetok a curious gaze. The chieftain sat silent and impassive, but Hirata detected a sly glint in his eye. Hirata felt more strongly than ever that the old Ezo man possessed abilities that he couldn’t fathom but were far beyond his own, and knew things Hirata needed to know.
“Just a few more questions,” Sano said. He fixed his solemn attention on the Ezo, measuring each man. “Did you kill Tekare?”
Each shook his head and said a word that clearly meant “No.” Their gazes met Sano’s as the chieftain spoke. “We are innocent.”
Sano gave no hint of whether he believed them, although Gizaemon snorted. “Then who do you think did?”
Chieftain Awetok answered. The other Ezo nodded. “If I were you, I would talk to a Japanese named Daigoro. He’s a gold merchant who lives in Fukuyama City. He’s known for mistreating our women.”
This wasn’t the first time Hirata had seen people point the finger toward others and shift suspicion away from themselves. But at least he and Sano had a new lead to follow. And Hirata was inclined to believe that the Ezo were innocent. He realized he’d chosen sides with the barbarians against his own Japanese countrymen.
Thank you for your assistance,“ Sano said, as courteous as if the Ezo had given it voluntarily.
Chieftain Awetok spoke a question. Gizaemon said, “Of all the nerve. The bastard is asking you for a favor, Honorable Chamberlain.”
With an obvious effort, Sano ignored Gizaemon. “What is it you want?”
“A proper funeral for Tekare, according to the traditions of our people. Without one, her spirit can’t cross over to the realm of the dead. It lingers in this world, haunting Lord Matsumae.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sano told the chieftain.
Awetok bowed in thanks. Once more Hirata felt the shape and texture of the chieftain’s mental energy. Now he knew what it meant. When Sano spoke to him, the chieftain understood. Awetok knew Japanese.
A group of guards rushed into the room. “Begging pardon for the interruption, but there’s bad news,” said the one with the deer antlers on his helmet.
“Well, what is it?” Gizaemon said.
“The honorable chamberlain’s wife is missing.”
9
“How come you know Japanese?” Reiko asked.
“I live in castle…” The Ezo woman raised three fingers.
“Three years?”
Nodding, she touched her ear. “I listen.”
They stood in the shed together. It was cold, dim, and smelled of the dogs, who sniffed and wagged their tails around Reiko. Reiko felt safe, hidden from Lord Matsumae’s troops.
“What’s your name?” Reiko asked.
“Wente.” She pointed at Reiko, shy and inquisitive.
“Reiko.”
They smiled at each other. Wente bowed, humble as any Japanese peasant, and said, “Many thanks.”
Reiko nodded, aware that Wente was expressing gratitude because Reiko had stepped in to protect her yesterday. “I’m sorry for how Lady Matsumae treats you.”
Wente made a gesture of resignation that said volumes about what the Ezo endured from the Japanese. She studied Reiko as if curious about this rare Japanese who wasn’t cruel. “Yesterday. In Lady Matsumae’s room. I heard.” She groped for words, then cradled her arms, the universal sign language of a mother holding a child, and pointed at Reiko. Pity darkened her eyes. “I sorry.”
This was the first sign of genuine caring about her kidnapped child that anyone in Ezogashima had shown Reiko. It broke down Reiko’s self-control. Tears burned down her cold cheeks. Wente stood by, awkward and embarrassed.
“I sorry. I sorry,” she repeated, almost as though she were personally to blame and asking forgiveness.