“Thank you, Captain. You have done exceptionally well so far, and I have no doubt that you will hold the tribunal in spite of the lack of fortifications.”

Takesuke flushed and bowed snappily.

Tora said with a grin, “The cowardly bastards will turn tail when they see your flags flying over the tribunal, Captain. And if not, we’ll give Uesugi something to think about.”

“Those banners,” Akitada mused. “The dragon is a symbol of imperial power in China. I suppose the judge must have suggested it to Uesugi as appropriate to the status of a ruler of the northern empire. But what is the other crest? Did you get a description, Captain?”

Takesuke handed over a scrap of paper. “It’s not very good, I’m afraid. My man was some distance away and it’s snowing.”

Akitada spread out the scrap and looked at it. The brush strokes looked like something a very small child might make for a tree, a heavy vertical central stroke which sprouted three or four dashes angling upward on each side. “What is it, do you suppose?”

“A tree?” suggested Takesuke. “That’s what my man thought it was.”

Hitomaro came in with a steaming teapot. He and Tora both peered at the strange symbol.

“Some plant,” Tora said. “Seimei might know it.”

“If the lines were neater, I’d say a feather,” Hitomaro offered, pouring Akitada’s tea.

“A feather? Part of an arrow?” Staring at the sketch, Akitada raised the cup to his mouth, then remembered his manners. “Some tea, gentlemen?”

They shook their heads. Tea was bitter medicine to most people.

Akitada clapped his hands for Hamaya and woke up Genba, who yawned, blinked at them, and went back to sleep. Hamaya came in, but shook his head when he was shown the sketch. “If you will wait just a moment...” he muttered, and scurried from the room. When he returned, he carried a document box which contained carefully drawn lists of family crests for all recorded landowners in Echigo and its neighboring provinces. None matched the unknown crest.

“It means nothing,” snorted Hitomaro. “The sketch must be wrong.”

Takesuke protested, “He’s a good man, sir. And he swore that it looked like that.”

Akitada nodded. “Curious. Perhaps, like the dragon symbol, it is a new crest. Clearly Uesugi has someone’s support, and it is not one of the registered families. Thank you, Hamaya.” He watched as the elderly man gathered the documents and left. Hamaya had proved another staunch supporter during this trying time, refusing to return to the safety of his house in town. With a sigh, Akitada said to the others, “Well, we have two hours to find out if Uesugi will attack or withdraw. If he withdraws, tomorrow will be a day like any other. For the sake of reassuring the people, matters must appear as nearly normal as possible. Your soldiers, Captain, had best conduct a military exercise outside the city within view of the road to Takata. It will allow you to keep an eye on things.”

Takesuke nodded. “Yes, sir. Tomorrow, sir. But now, if you don’t need me, I shall prepare for battle. In case there’s an attack tonight.”

When the door had closed after him, Akitada said, “A surprisingly good man. He wasted no words. But I am afraid he hopes for hostilities tonight.”

“Well, I’d rather have some action myself,” snorted Tora. “This sitting around on our haunches is hard on an old campaigner like me. Why don’t the three of us get up some plan to defend this hall? With the help of Kaoru and his constables, we could hold this building for days even if Takesuke fails.”

Akitada suppressed a shudder. Should the enemy reach the hall, they would set fire to it. That would leave those inside the choice of being burned alive or falling to the swords and arrows of the waiting Uesugi warriors. He said, “No. Unlike you and the captain, I’m betting on a withdrawal. Meanwhile there is unfinished business.” When Hitomaro and Tora looked blank, he reminded them, “We still have three prisoners, Umehara, Okano, and Takagi, and the unsolved murder of the innkeeper Sato to take care of.”

“We shouldn’t be wasting time on that now,” protested Tora.

Hitomaro added, “Those three are happy in jail. They are warm and get three fine meals a day. Besides, they’ve made friends with the sergeant and the constables. Umehara has them running for new ingredients for his soups and stews. The farmer’s boy does their cleaning chores in return for a game of dice. And Okano puts on a show every night. Our jail seems like paradise to them, and the constables treat them like their pets.”

“Good heavens.” Akitada shook his head in wonder. Then he said dryly, “Nevertheless. Winter is coming and their families are waiting. Once the heavy snows start, they will have to stay in Naoetsu till summer. I must remind you that the tribunal budget does not allow us to provide comfortable lodging for extended periods.”

“But what can be done when that Mrs. Sato has disappeared?” asked Tora. “Her people haven’t seen her, and her parents are worried sick. For all we know, she’s been killed, too, and lies buried somewhere. We may never find her.”

“Hmm.” Akitada frowned and tugged on one of the armor’s silk cords that pressed on his injured shoulder. “There is another matter that has been worrying me. I noticed a very peculiar reaction by Oyoshi when he misunderstood something you said. It almost looked as if he thought he was suspected of murder. Perhaps we should have asked some questions about his background. He visited the Satos frequently to care for the husband. And it was curious that he did not recognize his own patient.”

“You can’t suspect the doctor,” cried Hitomaro after a moment’s stunned silence. “Why, if we cannot trust him, whom can we trust?”

“That is true.” Akitada sighed. He pulled a brocade-wrapped bundle closer and untied the silk cord. Inside was the lacquer box he had bought from the curio dealer. He opened it and poured a pile of shells onto the desk. Akitada stirred them idly with a long, slender finger, then picked out two, holding them up. “In the shell-matching game,” he said, “you may pick a shell from the pile and, at first glance, it is a perfect match to one of yours, like these two zither players. But when you look more closely, you see a slight difference. The pictures are identical except for one small detail. One lady is performing on the thirteen-string zither, the other on an older type with only six strings. A careless player may forfeit the whole game by jumping to conclusions.”

“I don’t like such tricky games,” muttered Tora.

Hitomaro picked up the picture of a woman playing a lute and stared at it before laying it back down. He cleared his throat nervously. “Sir?”

Akitada looked up.

“I, er, met someone. Er, a female.” Hitomaro stopped, flushing to the roots of his hair.