“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.”

“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.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” Reiko’s tears froze as she wiped them away. A dog licked her hand. Its dumb, animal comfort jolted a sob from her. “Nobody will help me.”

“I help you.”

“How?” A glimmer of light pierced Reiko’s grief.

Eyes shining with gladness at being able to offer salvation, Wente said, “Boy here.”

Caution warred with the joy that leaped in Reiko. “But-but Lord Matsumae’s troops killed the men who brought my son. They must have killed Masahiro, too.”

“No, no.” Wente shook her head, adamant.

“How do you know?” Reiko said, desperate to believe.

“I listen. I see.” Wente beckoned Reiko to the door of the shed and pointed upward, at the white tower of the keep, which rose beyond and above the palace. “He there.”

“How did Lady Reiko get out?” Gizaemon demanded.

“I don’t know,” Deer Antlers said. “One moment she was in her room. The next time we checked on her…” He spread his empty hands.

“You idiot, Captain Okimoto! Letting a woman trick you!” Gizaemon turned in one direction, then another, so upset he was almost literally beside himself.

Sano was alarmed that Reiko had escaped, but not exactly surprised. He knew how determined she was to find Masahiro, and how clever about finding ways to go places she shouldn’t. “Does Lord Matsumae know?” Gizaemon asked.

“No,” said Okimoto. “We haven’t told him.”

“If he finds out, there’s no telling what she’ll put him up to.” Gizaemon was much less concerned about Reiko than about protecting Lord Matsumae from the evil spirit of Tekare. He mumbled to himself, “I’ve been trying to save him day and night, for three months. How much longer can this go on?”

He told Captain Okimoto, “I’m joining in the hunt. You fools take the barbarians back to their camp.” Pointing at Sano and Hirata, he added, “Lock them up.”

“No!” Fear for Reiko stabbed Sano. He leaped off the dais. “I’m going with you.”

When Gizaemon started to object, Sano said, “I can help you find my wife.”

“The last thing I need is you running around loose.” But Gizaemon hesitated, torn between his fear for his mad nephew, his distrust of Sano, and his wish to catch Reiko.

“I know how she thinks, the kind of places she would go,” Sano said. “She’ll hide from you, but she’ll come out for me.”

“Very well,” Gizaemon said reluctantly on his way out the door. “But Okimoto will keep a tight leash on you.”

Sano suddenly understood why Gizaemon was anxious to control him: He had secrets to hide. Did they have to do with Masahiro, the murder, or both?

Captain Okimoto scowled, but said, “Yes, master.” As he led Sano from the room, Hirata followed. “Hey. Where do you think you’re doing?”

“With you,” Hirata said.

“Oh no, you’re not.”

“I need you to talk to the gold merchant,” Sano told Hirata. They mustn’t delay the investigation. If they didn’t produce results for Lord Matsumae, the gods help them.

“Well, he can’t do that, either,” Okimoto retorted. “He’s not supposed to wander around by himself. Lord Matsumae’s orders.”

Then send somebody with him,“ Sano said. ”Lord Matsumae gave his permission to investigate the murder where we need to as long as we’re escorted.“

“Lord Matsumae also said everything you do has to be cleared with him in advance.”

“Fine,” Sano said. “Ask him if it’s all right for Hirata-san to go into town and interview a suspect.” Impatient because he must find Reiko before anyone else got to her, Sano added, “Come on, stop wasting time!”

“All right, all right.” Okimoto told two men to take Hirata to Lord Matsumae and the others to accompany him and Sano. “But don’t let Lord Matsumae know that the woman’s escaped or that Chamberlain Sano is looking for her instead of the killer.”

Sano realized that Lord Matsumae’s men were terrified of him even though they carried out his insane, cruel orders. Rarely had samurai duty seemed so perverted, so destructive.

“As for you,” Okimoto said to Sano and Hirata, “you’d better not try anything funny.”

As Reiko gazed up at the keep, memory cast her back to a time when a different madman, who’d called himself the Dragon King, had imprisoned her in a tower on another remote island. A sense of deja vu sickened Reiko. Now her son was the captive.

“I must rescue him!”

She started outside, but Wente ran after her. “No can go! Dangerous!”

“I don’t care!”

Wente blocked her path. “Soldiers there.” Her pretty face was stricken with alarm. “They catch you. Hurt you.”