Tora gave a shudder. “Angry ghosts will drive a man mad.”

The old man nodded. “Mind you, there’ll be more trouble soon. It’s the new governor. Makio will get rid of him, just like his father did the last one.”

“What?” Tora and Hitomaro asked together.

“Hah! You don’t believe me? Name of Oda. Came from the capital just like this one and wanted to run things. Broke his neck falling off a horse. They called it an accident.” He snorted.

Hitomaro said, “It wasn’t an accident?”

“His horse came home with an arrow in its ass.”

Tora and Hitomaro exchanged glances, then Hitomaro got up and tossed some coins down. “That’s foolish talk,” he said harshly. “If someone raises a hand against a governor, the emperor sends an army to teach them proper respect.”

“Well,” the old man swept up the coins, “it’ll make trouble all right. That’s always the way in the end.’“

Outside, Tora asked, “You think there was any truth to that?”

“To what? The murdered governor? Or this Makio’s plans for us?”

“Both.”

“No idea. He had no reason to lie and he seemed rational enough—except for that ghost business. They say rumors are more honest than official welcomes. We’d better report it to the master.”

But when they got back to the inn yard, Tora burst into a string of curses. His catch of birds had disappeared—all but one skinny dove which had been nailed to a pole with a knife. Stuck to the knife was a piece of paper with the words, “This will be you next time.”

* * * *

TWO

FIRST SNOW

T

he capital of Echigo province was not a planned city like Heian-kyo but had sprung up around an old fort that once guarded the northern highway along the shore of the Sea of Japan. The fort had long since been abandoned as the emperor’s armies and independent warlords pushed the hostile Ezo people farther north into remote parts of neighboring Dewa province.

The remnants of the fort were now the tribunal and seat of the provincial government. It consisted mostly of a collection of dilapidated buildings, once barracks and stables for horses, which huddled inside a broken-down palisade.

The main hall occupied the center of the compound. It was the only raised timber building and contained the official reception areas and offices of the governor’s staff. It also served as living quarters for the new deputy governor, Sugawara Akitada, and his young wife.

When Hitomaro and Tora returned, Akitada was sweeping leaves and dirt from the floor of the reception hall. Before anyone could say anything, Hitomaro crossed the room to take the broom from his young master’s hand. “Allow me, sir,” he said and set about the chore efficiently.

“Thank you, Hito,” said Akitada, “but I was almost done. It looks much better, doesn’t it?” He was trying to convince himself but, judging by their faces, his lieutenants suppressed dismay.

“Looks fine, sir,” said Tora stoutly. “A bit of oil will polish the floor nicely and we can always drape some hangings over that back wall.” The back wall had lost half its boards to vandals. Gaping holes revealed the room beyond.

Akitada nodded. “Excellent idea. Seimei is in the archives, organizing the documents. It’s very dusty work.” He smiled a little. “He sent me away because I was wasting time reading everything I picked up. Did you have any luck?”

Tora grimaced. “We shot enough to feed us all for a week, but some bastard stole our birds.”

“Ah, I expect people are hungry. From what I have seen, there is a lot of hardship here. The granaries are nearly empty.”

“And now there’s murder, as well,” said Hitomaro. “We ran into some trouble on the outskirts. An innkeeper. Killed by his guests, it seems.” He opened the door and swept the pile of dirt out onto the veranda and from there into the courtyard below. A cold wind caught part of it and blew it back. He muttered under his breath.

Akitada closed the door while Hitomaro wielded his broom again. “Did you investigate?” Akitada asked.

“Couldn’t. Chobei and the judge wouldn’t have it. Their jurisdiction, they said.”

Akitada opened the door again, and this time Hitomaro managed to dispose of the dirt without mishap. He returned quickly. It was as cold inside the hall as in the open but at least there was no wind. He and Tora looked at each other.

“You were polite, I hope,” Akitada said to Tora.

Tora flushed. “They’re bastards, sir, and they’re out to get us.” He told Akitada what the old man in the wineshop had said and showed him the crudely written note that had been attached to the dove. He added, “And I don’t like the way they’re handling the murder. They’re going after three men—an actor, a peddler, and a farmer. I got the notion that they were convenient scapegoats. Can they get away with that?”

“Of course not,” Akitada said firmly. “They may arrest suspects if the circumstances warrant it, but there is the judge, after all. He will investigate the evidence. If he is not satisfied, he will have the suspects released. In any case, trials are public. You can’t simply find people guilty of murder without having convincing proof.”

“I don’t like that Judge Hisamatsu, sir. Can’t you check into it? Or let me and Hito do it?”

“No. Let the proper authorities do their work.”

Hitomaro and Tora exchanged glances again. Hitomaro said, “It looks like people here don’t like their governors, and our constables are poorly trained and uncooperative. They claim to be busy with other chores every time I ask them to assemble for drill.”

“And,” added Tora, “the lazy bastards refuse to help us clean up the place..We even have to feed our own horses. Is it true that one of the governors got murdered?”

Akitada frowned. “A foolish tale. Do the best you can with the constables. We should be able to get more done very soon. I am to meet some of the local dignitaries at Takata.”

“Oh,” cried Tora, “you haven’t heard then? There’s talk in town that the old lord is dying.”

Akitada raised his brows. “It must be more rumor. His son would have canceled the banquet if it were true. No, I must go, but you can come with me, Tora, so get ready.”

As Akitada walked down a narrow, dark corridor, he had to pause for another wave of nausea to pass before entering their private room. He reflected bitterly that the long-awaited invitation from the younger Uesugi was spoiled by this cursed bout of illness, caused, he suspected, by the tribunal cook, either through ineptitude or by intent. Though he had managed to hide his fears from the others, he knew that the local people looked upon him as their enemy. Poison? No, not that. They would not dare raise a hand against a duly appointed official from the capital. With a shiver, he pushed open the door.