Offense darkened Gizaemon’s face. He rapped out an order to Awetok. The Rat said, “He told him, ”Watch your mouth. Any more criticism of Lord Matsumae, and you’ll be beaten.“”

“Tell him he has my permission to speak frankly,” Sano said. As the Rat conveyed his words, Sano turned to Gizaemon. “Whether or not you approve of my investigation, Lord Matsumae wants it. It may be his best chance of regaining his sanity. Your interfering won’t help him.” Sano paused for an instant. “Or maybe it’s not him that you’re trying to help?”

“Of course it is,” Gizaemon said, annoyed. “I’ve served him since he was born.”

But people didn’t stand in the way of justice unless they had something to lose, Hirata knew from years of detective experience. And Gizaemon had already given him and Sano enough reason to be suspicious of him. They should have a little talk with him later.

Tekare was only one of many Ezo women who were mistresses to Japanese men,“ Sano reminded the chieftain. ”Why did you want to rescue her in particular?“

She was the shamaness of our village.“

Sano leaned forward, intrigued by this new fact about the murder victim. Hirata’s own interest quickened at the introduction of Ezo spiritual tradition, which might relate to the mystic martial arts and his own quest. “What does a shamaness do?” Sano asked.

“She diagnoses and cures diseases with potions, rituals, and exorcisms. She’s our conduit between the spirit world and the human world. Without her, we cannot call upon the spirits to help us and protect us. So you can understand why we want her back.”

Apparently Lord Matsumae had worsened the hostilities between the Ezo and the Japanese by taking a most important person from her tribe as his sex slave.

“Aside from being important to the village,” Sano said, “what kind of person was Tekare?”

“She was a strong, capable woman.”

Even though Hirata didn’t know what Awetok was saying until it was translated, he sensed that Awetok was deliberately speaking of the dead in the most general, uncritical terms. He also perceived the mental energy that the chieftain gave off while Sano asked questions.

“What did you think of her?” Sano said.

“I thought very highly of her abilities. She was the most powerful shamaness I’ve seen in my lifetime.”

“And you?” Sano addressed the other men.

They echoed the chieftain’s opinion. Evasions all around, Hirata noted. Either they couldn’t think for themselves, they didn’t want to contradict their leader, or they hadn’t cared for the woman.

Sano then asked each man what relation he had to her. The chieftain was her uncle by marriage, one man her brother-in-law, another her cousin. The Ezo village evidently consisted of several interrelated families. Urahenka identified himself as her husband. Well, well, Hirata thought as the blue-beaded strongman rose to the top of the hierarchy of Ezo suspects.

“Were you on good terms with Tekare?” Sano asked him.

Urahenka spoke with bitter resentment. “We were on no terms at all. I hadn’t seen her in almost three years. Not since she was taken from me.”

Hirata imagined how would it be to have his own wife stolen and forced to be somebody else’s mistress. He felt a twinge of guilt because he’d neglected Midori while studying martial arts. He missed his sweet, loyal wife, and he sympathized with Urahenka in spite of himself.

“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.