Uesugi did not look the eager soldier, nor the doting son, but Akitada said, “I am sorry to hear his condition is so serious. Can nothing be done?”

“My father is in his eightieth year. At his age decline must be expected.”

A brief silence fell. Then Oyoshi said, “I shall be more than happy to look in on your honorable father now, if you wish, sir. Luckily I have brought my medicines with me.”

“Under no circumstance,” Uesugi snapped. “My father is already asleep.” Seeing Akitada’s astonishment at this rudeness, he flushed and added more quietly, “Besides, you are my guest tonight, Oyoshi. Enjoy your food and wine!”

Oyoshi bowed and turned his attention back to his tray.

They had done justice to three courses already, broiled salmon, stewed abalone, and a vegetable dish containing slices of bean curd, all of it highly spiced, when Akitada became aware of a peculiar gurgling discomfort in his belly. Recalling Seimei’s questions, he wondered if he would finish his dinner without disgracing himself. He dabbed at his streaming face with a sleeve and sighed inwardly. He had rarely been this uncomfortable.

His host leaned toward him. “Will your Excellency be sending any dispatches to the capital before the snows close the roads?” he asked.

“Certainly. I report on a regular basis,” Akitada said, momentarily distracted from his troubles by the intense interest in Uesugi’s face.

Uesugi laughed and some of the others joined in. “Oh, my dear sir. Nothing happens here on a regular basis once the snows come, least of all dispatches or mail. The roads will be impassable until the beginning of summer. We will be completely cut off from the capital. If your Excellency plans to send a messenger, it had better be soon. Takesuke has some good men. I ask because the matter of my confirmation as high constable of the province is overdue.”

So that was it! The real reason for this invitation: Makio Uesugi wanted that appointment shifted from his ailing father to himself. To save the expense of large standing armies in distant and unsafe provinces, the government had taken to appointing high constables from among local noblemen and landowners, and had given them the power to collect taxes and enforce laws by using their own retainers. Makio Uesugi’s father had held this position, and now his son aspired to it. It conveyed upon the holder not only power, but almost certain wealth, as a good portion of the collected taxes found its way, legally or otherwise, into a high constable’s coffers.

Akitada was on principle opposed to the practice because it gave too much power to local men and diminished the authority of the governors. He certainly had no intention of acceding in the present case. Now he said evasively, “I shall give your request serious thought. If the weather conditions are indeed as you say, I must make my recommendations as soon as possible. Still, the province seems very peaceable. There has been amazingly little legal business since I arrived.”

A flash of anger passed over the other man’s face, but he merely bowed.

Takesuke said, “A person like yourself, Excellency, newly arrived from the capital, will not yet have an idea of local conditions. I am certain that I speak for General Uesugi as well as myself when I offer your Excellency my full assistance in military matters.”

Before Akitada could ruminate on Takesuke’s insistence of pushing his guard on him, Uesugi returned to his own topic. “The office of high constable has been in Uesugi hands for generations,” he pointed out. “Without assigning blame to the many talented gentlemen from the capital who have served as governors here, serious matters have, as a rule, had to be resolved by the high constable. Our honorable governors from the capital have been most grateful to be relieved of onerous and dangerous duties.”

Kaibara, flushed with wine, gave a short bark of laughter. “And how! Most of them saw no need to spend the long winters here. They paid extended visits to friends and relatives in more temperate provinces. Some never came back.”

Perhaps this was the official version of what had happened to at least two previous governors who seemed to have disappeared in the middle of their tenure here. The thinly veiled suggestion that he, too, belonged to this type of corrupt official made Akitada angry. And the exchange had reminded him of the state of the provincial granary.

“I meant to ask you about recent rice harvests,” he said to his host. “I am told they were good, yet the granary seems nearly empty.”

Uesugi raised his brows. “Don’t tell me you have not been informed. The granary, as I am sure you noticed, is in very poor condition. We have been storing the provincial rice privately for a number of years now. As custodians of provincial taxes, we have borne the expense ourselves. Kaibara, make a note to send a full accounting to the tribunal.”

It was a very undesirable state of affairs, but Akitada had to accept it and thank Uesugi.

A sudden, painful cramping in his belly brought new perspiration to his face. Then the nausea was back, and he felt violently ill. With a muttered excuse, he stumbled up.

A servant came quickly and led him out into the gallery. Cold air blew in through the latticed openings and cooled Akitada’s moist face, but he silently cursed his treacherous stomach, the slowness of the servant, and the long way to the privy.

There he purged his body of everything he had eaten and drunk and emerged shivering and weak-kneed into a blast of air from an open shutter. The servant was waiting patiently, but Akitada needed to clear his head and drive away the remnants of sickness. He stepped up to the opening and looked out over the rocky and wooded terrain below the residence. Snow had already turned the world into an ink painting. Bluish black, the night brooded over broad sweeps of white. In the distance, where the drifting snow obscured hills and forests, light and darkness faded into mysterious grays. Carried by gusts of wind, thin flakes danced past Akitada’s eyes, and a thick coating of white covered the sill. There was a terrible, deathly beauty about the scene.

With an effort, Akitada shook off his morbid mood and breathed in deeply. He gathered a little snow to cool his face, and when he felt better, he leaned out to get an idea of where he was.

To his right, the building ended at a corner and he saw a part of a courtyard below. To his left, the gallery continued, its dark wood sharply traced against the snowy roofline. It terminated in a pavilion, its curving roof white against the night sky. Golden lamplight escaped from the pavilion’s shutters, making it seem to float in the blue darkness like a magical lantern. The picture was unexpectedly romantic, and Akitada imagined for a moment that Uesugi kept a lover there.

Behind him the servant cleared his throat. Poor man. No doubt he was freezing. Akitada closed the shutter and returned to the gathering, determined to assert his authority. He found that the conversation had turned to magic.