Read Online The Snow Empress: A Thriller by Laura Joh Rowland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Joh Rowland
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did during a crisis. Sano loved her for her bravery.
“Masahiro is alive,” she said with quiet conviction. “If he weren’t, I would know.”
If it helped her endure, Sano wouldn’t contradict what he feared was wishful thinking. He found himself heartened by her words in spite of himself. “We’ll keep looking for him.”
“But how?” A note of discouragement crept into Reiko’s voice. “There are soldiers outside. They’ve locked us in. We’re prisoners.”
“I’m hoping that will change,” Sano said, and told her about the deal he’d proposed to Lord Matsumae. “If I investigate the murder, I should have free run of this place.”
His hope lit Reiko’s face like a ray of sunshine. “Do you think he’ll agree?”
Who knew what a madman would do,
Sano thought. But he said, “Oh, yes. We just have to be patient.”
And wait until Lord Matsumae decided whether his desire for justice was stronger than his reason to kill them.
6
They spent the rest of the day idle in the guest quarters, keeping warm by huddling under blankets or pacing the floors. They ate the meals brought to them and took turns bathing in a tub filled by servants lugging pails of hot water. The night was the longest and coldest Sano had ever known.
Japanese architecture couldn’t match the Ezo huts in protecting humans against the weather. Drafts blew through the guest quarters. The charcoal braziers gave off inadequate whiffs of heat. Pressed close to Reiko under piled quilts, Sano couldn’t sleep even though she did, and his men snored across the hall. He missed the human noise of Edo Castle: the troops patrolling, music from parties, temple gongs ringing. Here he heard wolves howling in the forest. It was almost dawn before he fell asleep.
A short time later he was jolted awake by the presence of a stranger. Sitting up, he blinked at the figure that stood in the doorway.
“Honorable Chamberlain.” The voice was male, gritty. “Lord Matsumae wants to see you.”
Sano hoped this meant good news. “Give me a moment to dress.”
He told Hirata to come with him and the other men to stay with Reiko, who was still asleep. When he and Hirata stepped outside the building into another day of bright, eye-watering, bitter cold, the man greeted them and said, “I’m Matsumae Gizaemon. Lord Matsumae’s uncle.”
About sixty years old, he looked like a cross between a Japanese and an Ezo. He wore a deerskin coat and mittens lined with fur, and fish-skin boots. His face was as weathered and lined as the barbarians‘, his brows bushy; the eyes beneath them squinted as if from a lifetime spent looking at sun on snow. But his bare head had its crown shaved and its gray hair gathered in a topknot, samurai-style. At his waist hung the customary two swords.
Sano introduced Hirata. As they walked along the covered corridor to the palace, three guards fell into step behind them. Gizaemon said, “Sorry I wasn’t around to meet you yesterday.” He had the quick, agile gait of a much younger man. “I was away on business for Lord Matsumae.”
“What do you do for him?” Sano asked.
“Help him manage his domain. I’m his chief aide.” Gizaemon reached in his coat, took out a toothpick, and chewed it vigorously. Sano smelled the sweet, spicy odor of sassafras bark. “I inspect the trading posts. Keep the Japanese merchants in line. The Ezo, too.”
“You must know Lord Matsumae fairly well,” Sano said.
“Known him since he was born. His father was my older brother. Left his education to me. I practically raised him. He’s like my own son.” Affection and concern crept into Gizaemon’s voice. He was clearly troubled by the turn Lord Matsumae had taken.
“What’s the matter with him?” Sano asked. “Surely not just that the death of his mistress has upset him?”
“No,” Gizaemon agreed. “He’s possessed by her spirit.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Yes, I am.” Gizaemon laughed dryly. “It’s obvious
“Masahiro is alive,” she said with quiet conviction. “If he weren’t, I would know.”
If it helped her endure, Sano wouldn’t contradict what he feared was wishful thinking. He found himself heartened by her words in spite of himself. “We’ll keep looking for him.”
“But how?” A note of discouragement crept into Reiko’s voice. “There are soldiers outside. They’ve locked us in. We’re prisoners.”
“I’m hoping that will change,” Sano said, and told her about the deal he’d proposed to Lord Matsumae. “If I investigate the murder, I should have free run of this place.”
His hope lit Reiko’s face like a ray of sunshine. “Do you think he’ll agree?”
Who knew what a madman would do,
Sano thought. But he said, “Oh, yes. We just have to be patient.”
And wait until Lord Matsumae decided whether his desire for justice was stronger than his reason to kill them.
6
They spent the rest of the day idle in the guest quarters, keeping warm by huddling under blankets or pacing the floors. They ate the meals brought to them and took turns bathing in a tub filled by servants lugging pails of hot water. The night was the longest and coldest Sano had ever known.
Japanese architecture couldn’t match the Ezo huts in protecting humans against the weather. Drafts blew through the guest quarters. The charcoal braziers gave off inadequate whiffs of heat. Pressed close to Reiko under piled quilts, Sano couldn’t sleep even though she did, and his men snored across the hall. He missed the human noise of Edo Castle: the troops patrolling, music from parties, temple gongs ringing. Here he heard wolves howling in the forest. It was almost dawn before he fell asleep.
A short time later he was jolted awake by the presence of a stranger. Sitting up, he blinked at the figure that stood in the doorway.
“Honorable Chamberlain.” The voice was male, gritty. “Lord Matsumae wants to see you.”
Sano hoped this meant good news. “Give me a moment to dress.”
He told Hirata to come with him and the other men to stay with Reiko, who was still asleep. When he and Hirata stepped outside the building into another day of bright, eye-watering, bitter cold, the man greeted them and said, “I’m Matsumae Gizaemon. Lord Matsumae’s uncle.”
About sixty years old, he looked like a cross between a Japanese and an Ezo. He wore a deerskin coat and mittens lined with fur, and fish-skin boots. His face was as weathered and lined as the barbarians‘, his brows bushy; the eyes beneath them squinted as if from a lifetime spent looking at sun on snow. But his bare head had its crown shaved and its gray hair gathered in a topknot, samurai-style. At his waist hung the customary two swords.
Sano introduced Hirata. As they walked along the covered corridor to the palace, three guards fell into step behind them. Gizaemon said, “Sorry I wasn’t around to meet you yesterday.” He had the quick, agile gait of a much younger man. “I was away on business for Lord Matsumae.”
“What do you do for him?” Sano asked.
“Help him manage his domain. I’m his chief aide.” Gizaemon reached in his coat, took out a toothpick, and chewed it vigorously. Sano smelled the sweet, spicy odor of sassafras bark. “I inspect the trading posts. Keep the Japanese merchants in line. The Ezo, too.”
“You must know Lord Matsumae fairly well,” Sano said.
“Known him since he was born. His father was my older brother. Left his education to me. I practically raised him. He’s like my own son.” Affection and concern crept into Gizaemon’s voice. He was clearly troubled by the turn Lord Matsumae had taken.
“What’s the matter with him?” Sano asked. “Surely not just that the death of his mistress has upset him?”
“No,” Gizaemon agreed. “He’s possessed by her spirit.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Yes, I am.” Gizaemon laughed dryly. “It’s obvious
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