Kaoru looked uncomfortable. “It has been known to happen. Would your Excellency like to inspect the cells? We have a new prisoner.”

“Ah, yes. The fishmonger Goto.” Akitada glanced at Takagi, Umehara, and Okano, who were watching him nervously, and wondered why they had special privileges but decided not to ask. Instead he said, “No, Sergeant. I came to speak with the doctor, but will have a word with you also before I leave. I have an assignment for you.”

Kaoru bowed and turned to the three prisoners. “Come, you fellows. To the kitchen with you. It’s time to start the evening rice.”

The three odd characters brightened instantly and jumped up to scramble after Kaoru.

Oyoshi chuckled. “Umehara makes a superb fish stew with cabbage and Okano has his mother’s touch when it comes to tofu. It melts on your tongue. Takagi keeps the fire going.”

Akitada hid his astonishment. “I see. They look well and contented. I had not expected such a change.”

“No?” Oyoshi regarded him with a twinkle in his eyes. “You thought they were languishing in chains in freezing cells and blamed yourself for not having proved their innocence yet? Do not worry. Your new sergeant is a kind man, and I, too, am grateful. I know of no better place to relax and share an occasional meal.”

Akitada smiled, but he disliked having his mind read so easily. “Have you had a look at the body from the market?”

Oyoshi nodded. “You keep your coroner busy. The person, a male about thirty years old, was healthy except for numerous old flogging scars on his back and legs.”

“I am told he was a small-time crook called Koichi. He has been arrested for assorted crimes and usually punished with the customary number of lashes.”

“I see. The calluses on his hands and shoulders suggest that he may have worked as a porter.”

“You are right again. When he was not robbing people, that is. What about the cause of death?”

Oyoshi placed a finger on the left side of his chest. “A single stab wound here. Lieutenant Hitomaro showed me a silver-hilted knife. The blade is consistent with the wound. I understand Sunada did it in self-defense?”

“So he claims.”

Oyoshi pondered this, then asked, “Any news about the boy?”

“No. I meant to speak to you about something else. Yesterday, in Lord Maro’s room, you asked Kaibara about the old lord’s symptoms before he died. Why?”

Oyoshi met Akitada’s eyes and looked away. “Just professional curiosity,” he said blandly. “Why?”

“I have an extraordinary favor to ask of you. You may wish to decline. I want you to accompany me to Takata after dark. The trip is likely to be uncomfortable in this weather, but there is another reason why you may decide to refuse.” He hesitated. “You will need your instruments.”

The older man tensed. “An unpleasant business involving sacrilege, I take it? I am at your service.”

Akitada released his breath. “Thank you.”

A door slammed and firm footsteps brought Kaoru back. “Will you stay for the evening meal, Doctor?” he asked. “A soup of rice, red beans, vegetables, and eggs, I’m told. Umehara says it’s a specialty of the mountain villages in Shimosa province.” He gave Akitada an uncertain look. “Perhaps your Excellency would also like to sample it?”

Akitada was hungry. “Thank you, Sergeant. Soup sounds excellent in this weather. I accept with gratitude.”

“Oh.” Kaoru looked both pleased and embarrassed. “It will take another hour or two. Will you eat here or . .. ?”

“Here. It’s warmer. I will come back and tell you about your assignment. I’m afraid it will mean riding back to your village tonight to make an arrest.”

Kaoru stiffened. “Sir?”

Akitada sighed, then said, “I am aware that your people have given shelter to fugitives and I do not approve. Still I am willing to overlook the matter for now, but this particular man has committed another crime against your people since you took him in, and his testimony is needed in tomorrow’s hearing. Can I rely on you in this?”

Kaoru bowed. “I know the man, sir, and he shall be here.”

♦

The darkness in the woods was so dense that the three men rode close together, trusting to the sure-footedness of Oyoshi’s donkey to keep them on the narrow path. It was not safe to light lanterns, for even though the woods offered cover, there was always the chance that someone might be looking out across the landscape from the galleries, as Akitada had done on his first, ill-omened visit to the manor.

They emerged into a clearing. Fitful clouds scurried across the nearly full moon, which cast a gray light on the scene. The icy wind tore at their straw capes; the horses snorted, and the breaths of men and beasts hung in the air like ghostly exhalations. Akitada pulled back on his reins and stared at the wooded hillside ahead. The shapes of grave markers marched up among the trees like lines of ghostly soldiers. In their midst, he had been told, was the entrance to the tomb of the Uesugi chieftains.

“There it is,” he said, controlling a shiver of nervousness. “Tora and I could not have found the place without you, Doctor.”

“I gather ginseng root on top of the burial hill,” replied Oyoshi. “It grows particularly well in these parts, with large, fleshy roots. My patients claim it helps them.” They kept their voices low even though the graveyard was deserted.

Akitada glanced curiously at the huddled figure on the donkey. “Don’t you believe in the curative powers of ginseng?”

Oyoshi chuckled. “It’s enough if they do. If a sick person has faith in its efficacy, then that person will feel better shortly.”

“I wish I had some of that special ginseng from China that makes you live forever,” Tora muttered. “What if the old lord’s ghost comes after us?”

“If he does, he’ll save you a lot of hard work,” Akitada said dryly.

Tora reached for his amulet inside the shaggy bearskin.

Oyoshi said with a sigh, “Living forever is a curse, not a blessing.”

Tora shuddered visibly, and Akitada snapped, “Pull yourself together.”

“Only the spirits of the dead make me nervous,” Tora said defensively.

“Ssh!” Akitada raised his hand. He thought he heard sounds: dry branches cracking and small creaks. They held their breaths and calmed their mounts, but there was only the wind in the trees.

Akitada felt as tense as Tora, but for different reasons. In the murky grayness, the dim shapes of the grave markers stood in their patches of snow like a frozen army watching over the tomb in their midst. The image reminded him of their danger as they trespassed on the sacred land of ancient warlords. He took some consolation from the fact that the snow had been trampled by those who had attended the funeral. Their tracks would be lost among the old ones.