This description of Tekare challenged Hirata’s view of the murder victim. At least according to Daigoro, she hadn’t been a downtrodden sex slave to the Japanese, but an ambitious climber out for herself. Daigoro’s version of her jibed with the vindictive spirit that inhabited Lord Matsumae.

After a while she wasn’t satisfied with porcelain tea sets, lacquer boxes, and jade figurines. What good did they do her, when she was stuck in the middle of nowhere? She wanted to live like a fine Japanese lady. She started looking for someone who could take her away from her village.“ Daigoro pointed at his chest. ”That sucker was me.“

Hirata thought of the courtesans in Edo’s Yoshiwara pleasure quarter. They were usually poor peasant girls sold into prostitution or sentenced to it as punishment for petty crimes. Some managed to use the men who used them to win fame, wealth, and independence. Tekare must have been their sister under the skin.

“She hung around my camp. She flirted with me, drove me wild. One night, when she walked back to her village, I went after her, but that was what she wanted. She rode me like a horse. She was the most exciting woman I’ve ever known.” The memory of passion suffused Daigoro’s eyes. “I couldn’t get enough of her. I fell in love. When I came back to Fukuyama City, I brought her with me.”

“So Lord Matsumae didn’t steal her from her village,” Hirata said. It was you.

Daigoro laughed, bitterly this time. “Nobody stole Tekare. I was her passage to civilization. I put her up in my house, gave her servants, Japanese clothes, whatever she wanted. But pretty soon she realized that even though I’m rich, I’m not the biggest man around. That’s when Lord Matsumae came into the picture.”

“Who introduced her to him?” Hirata said.

“Me, fool that I was.” Daigoro grimaced. “I loved her, I was proud of her, I wanted to show her off. I invited Lord Matsumae to a banquet at my house. He took one look at Tekare, and he was smitten. She took one look at him and saw her fortune. The next day he sent for her. She moved out of my house and into the castle. She didn’t even thank me.”

Indignation swelled Daigoro. “After all I’d done for her!”

“So you were angry at Tekare,” Hirata said.

“You bet I was.”

“You wanted to punish her.” Hirata thought Daigoro had much more cause for murder than did the Ezo men, who’d wanted to rescue their shamaness even if she didn’t want rescuing.

“What are you getting at?” Daigoro regarded Hirata with narrowed eyes.

“Where were you the night she was killed?”

“At home, asleep in bed. Ask my servants.”

Hirata figured they would lie for their master, upon whom their livelihood depended. He didn’t think much of Daigoro’s alibi. “You’d have liked a little revenge on Tekare, wouldn’t you?”

“If you’re asking me if I murdered her, no, I didn’t,” Daigoro said. “I didn’t need to. Someone else did it for me.”

He smiled, a dirty smile of private, satisfied reminiscence. “Do you want to know what I think happened?”

Hirata’s distaste toward the man grew as he saw that here came Daigoro’s attempt to divert suspicion away from himself onto somebody else. “I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

“I wasn’t the only one with a grudge against Tekare. She was a troublemaker, caused bad feelings wherever she went. You should be looking among her own people.”

“Which ones?” Hirata was dismayed to see the wind of suspicion blown back at the Ezo.

“Her husband, for a start. He knew exactly what Tekare was doing, and he hates the Japanese. He didn’t like being married to a whore who sold herself to them.”

I loved her. I wanted her back, Urahenka had said. Hirata wondered against his will if the man had been lying.

“The day before Tekare left the village with me, he ordered her to stay and threatened to kill her if she didn’t. She disobeyed. He shows up here, and a few days later she’s dead.” Daigoro raised an insinuating eyebrow.

Hirata thought how easy it was to visualize Urahenka setting the spring-bow for his wife, then chasing her along the path until she triggered it. It was as easy as imagining Daigoro doing it, wishing he could mount Tekare on the wall beside his other trophies. Who was the more likely killer, the exiled criminal or the cuckolded husband?

“But don’t stop with her husband,” Daigoro said. “Nobody in that village liked Tekare. Maybe they thought she was a disgrace to their tribe. Or maybe they were just jealous.” He grinned, showing jagged teeth that looked strong enough to dig gold out of riverbeds. “And what do you know? There were other Ezo who came into town with Tekare’s husband. If he didn’t do it, one of them could have.”

And they included Chieftain Awetok, whom Hirata had marked as the man who could lead him to his enlightenment. A man whom Hirata must not balk at incriminating if he must, to solve the crime and save Sano, Reiko, and his comrades.

“If you’re in there, come out!” Captain Okimoto banged his gloved fist against the door of the stable.

“Keep your voice down,” Sano said angrily. “Shouting like that will only scare her off.” He called, “Reiko-san, it’s me.”

The hunt for Reiko had gone on all day. Now the early winter dusk descended upon Fukuyama Castle. The western sky glowed with the cold orange flames of sunset, the trees and buildings black against them, the snowdrifts colored deep blue by the encroaching night. The temperature had dropped from cold to lethally cold. And still Reiko was missing.

Standing with his guards outside the stable, Sano heard other search parties crunching through the snow and calling to one another. Their lanterns flickered in the distance. Their desperation to capture Reiko vibrated the air like drumbeats. Earlier, Lord Matsumae had noticed his men rushing about the castle and demanded to know what was going on. He’d forced them to admit that one of his prisoners had escaped, then he’d announced that if she wasn’t found by dark, he would pick a soldier at random and burn out his eyes with a hot poker. Sano feared that if Lord Matsumae made good on his threat, the friends of the unlucky scapegoat would take out their anger on Reiko when they found her.

If she didn’t freeze to death first.

Okimoto flung open the stable door and stalked inside. His two comrades followed, pushing Sano in front of them, holding up their lanterns. Horses neighed in the stalls. The smell of manure filled air warmed by coal braziers. Okimoto hurried along the stalls, opening them and looking inside, as if Reiko were stupid enough to hide behind a horse that could trample her, as if they hadn’t already searched the whole castle.

The guards at the gates swore that Reiko hadn’t gotten out, and the walls were too high for her to climb. She must be still inside, running from one hiding place to the next, a few steps ahead of her pursuers. Sano could feel her fright even though he couldn’t see her.

At the end of the stable stood a huge pile of hay. Okimoto drew his sword and began hacking at the hay, shouting, “Come out from under there! You can’t hide!” His men joined in. “I’m going to get you!”

“Stop!” Sano yelled, horrified because if Reiko was under the hay, they would stab her. They were all so young, so cruel in their thoughtlessness.

He grabbed Okimoto, restraining his arm that wielded the sword. The other guards fell upon Sano. In the tussle, one dropped his lantern. It set fire to the hay. Flames leaped, crackled, and spread.

“Fire!” cried Okimoto as smoke filled the stables. The horses whinnied, reared, and pounded their hooves on the doors of their stalls. “Put it out!”

As he and his men stamped on the flames, they forgot to watch Sano. Sano knew that if Reiko were hiding in the stable, she would have come out by now rather than risk burning to death. She wasn’t here. Sano slipped out the door.