Wente ran to the hut.
“What is this place?” Reiko could hardly believe that a man-made structure existed here.
“Men come here when hunt,” Wente said.
The hunting cabin was padded with thatch and blanketed with snow, a shelter from the cold. All day Reiko had refused to acknowledge the probability that the dogs would find Masahiro’s dead, frozen body. Now relief rushed through her. She staggered toward the hut, calling, “Masahiro! Masahiro!”
Wente lifted a mat of thatch from the wall. The dogs, still tethered to the sled, lunged at the doorway she uncovered, frantic to reach the quarry they’d tracked all day. Wente looked inside, then turned a somber face to Reiko.
“Not here,” Wente said.
Disappointment wounded Reiko even as she refused to believe. “He must be! He has to be! Masahiro!” She scrambled into the hut. In the dim moonlight that shone through the doorway she saw dirt mounded against mat- covered walls, a fire pit filled with cold ashes. The hut was vacant. Reiko sagged to her knees, too anguished to cry.
Wente brought the dogs into the cabin, and they eagerly sniffed around. Kneeling by the fire pit, she sifted ashes through her fingers and smelled them. “Hunters not gone long.”
Reiko supposed she could tell how recently they’d burned their fire, but what did it matter? Masahiro wasn’t here. The dogs barked and growled, worrying at something they’d found in a corner. It was a stack of floor mats.
“They smell boy,” Wente said. “He sit there, sleep there.”
That didn’t comfort Reiko. “But where is he now?” she cried. Against her will, she pictured him lying in a snowdrift, eyes closed, motionless. Yet she imagined his chest rising in slow breaths. The stubborn hope of saving him refused to die.
Wente left the cabin, and Reiko hurried after her. “We have to keep looking. Let’s go!”
But Wente untied the bundle of provisions on the sled and carried it into the cabin. “We stay here tonight. Morning come, we go.”
“We can’t wait that long,” Reiko said, aghast.
“Night cold, dangerous.” Wente unpacked the food, the bedroll. “We need warm, eat, sleep.”
“I don’t care!” Although chilled to the bone, Reiko said, “I must find my son before it’s too late!”
“Tomorrow.” Wente’s manner was sympathetic but firm. “Dogs need rest.”
The dogs lay on the cabin floor, huddled together, exhausted. Reiko gave up because her life depended on their good health. She helped Wente fetch sticks from the forest to build a fire. Wente struck an iron fragment against a quartz stone. Sparks ignited wood dust. She lit a wick in a ceramic oil lamp and set the lamp on the edge of the fire pit. Desolate, Reiko stared at the floor. The lamp’s flame illuminated grimy black patterns on the mat, from spilled ashes. They looked almost like written characters…
Wente started to walk across them. Reiko cried “Wait! Don’t!” and pointed at the floor. “It’s another message from my son. He wrote it in ashes.” She read: “Mama, Papa, I met some nice native hunters. I’m going home with them to their village. Masahiro.”
A huge, blissful relief overwhelmed Reiko. Her nightmarish picture of Masahiro dying in the snow changed to a happy scene of him fed, protected, and accompanied to a safe place by natives. He’d cheated death again!
“Village not far,” Wente said. “We get there tomorrow.”
She built a little fire and fed the dogs, who soon fell asleep. Reiko and Wente drank hot herb tea and ate soup made from lily-root starch dumplings and dried salmon. The food, the bright, crackling fire, and the snoring dogs soothed Reiko, as did the certainty of seeing Masahiro tomorrow. Although the cabin was far from warm enough, she fell into a snug, contented doze. But Wente was restless; she kept going to the door and peeking at the night.
“What’s the matter?” A danger that hadn’t previously occurred to Reiko now scared her fully awake. “Are there bears outside?”
Wente shook her head and sat down, but she had a tense, listening air. A moment later she was up again for another peek.
“Something is wrong,” Reiko said. “Tell me what.”
Sano, Hirata, Marume, Fukida, and the Rat lay in a row under the palace, peering through the lattice. Nightfall had diminished the activity inside Fukuyama Castle, and the grounds were empty except for two soldiers walking up the path to the front entrance. Fukida whispered, “How about these?”
“Too low in rank for our purposes,” Sano said.
“Pretty soon it’ll be too late to get anybody,” Marume warned, but in a few moments along came Captain Okimoto. “Aha, that’s more like it.”
Marume burst through the lattice. Sano and the other men followed, swords drawn, and charged at Okimoto. “Hey, what-,” Okimoto said, as he halted in surprise.
Sano and his men surrounded Okimoto. Hirata seized him from behind, stripped off his swords, and pressed an arm tight across his throat.
“Let me go!” Wheezing, Okimoto grappled with Hirata’s arm; he kicked the air while Hirata held him effortlessly. The sentries at the palace door came running to his aid.
“Everybody drop your swords or he dies,” Sano said. Weapons hit the snow: The men were friends of Okimoto’s. “Good. Now open the door.”
The sentries reluctantly but promptly obeyed. Marume and Fukida ran up the steps. Hirata propelled Okimoto, who dragged his feet and choked out, “What do you want?”
“To speak with Lord Matsumae,” Sano said. “You’re going to help us get to him.” Backing through the door, he called to the sentries, “Don’t even think of following us.”
He and his men marched Okimoto through the palace. They met soldiers who exclaimed, drew weapons, and blocked their way until Sano shouted, “Stand back! We’ve got your captain.” Hirata squeezed Okimoto’s throat harder. Okimoto made strangling sounds. “Let us pass, or we’ll kill him.”
They breached the chamber where Lord Matsumae howled in his bed, still wrapped in the quilt and rope. Two male servants held his head. His face was covered with blood that ran from his mouth in red trickles. He snarled and growled at the servants as they pried his jaws apart. The doctor stood by, holding a ceramic cup.
“What’s going on?” Marume said.
The doctor looked more worried about his patient than frightened by the sudden arrival of the escaped prisoners. “Lord Matsumae tried to bite himself to death. We’re trying to give him a sedative potion.”
He poured liquid from the cup into Lord Matsumae’s mouth. Lord Matsumae roared and spat out the potion. His lips and tongue were cut. Tekare obviously hadn’t given up trying to kill him.
Okimoto cried out, “My lord!” Hirata released him, and he knelt by Lord Matsumae and broke down in tears. Sano saw that this mean, tough man truly cared for his lord, whose dire condition had shocked him. He said to the doctor, “Can’t you cure him?”
The doctor shook his head regretfully. Sano said, “Let me try.” He motioned everyone else away from the bed and crouched by Lord Matsumae. “Tekare, listen. I’ve found out who killed you.”
She snarled, baring bloody teeth at Sano. “I already know. It’s him!” She chomped on Lord Matsumae’s lip. His voice screamed as more blood flowed.
“No,” Sano said. “He’s innocent of everything except punishing other people for your death. It was your sister who murdered you.
“Wente?” Scorn laced Tekare’s voice. “She’s too weak and timid. She’d never have dared lift a finger against me.”
Sano had at least distracted her from her attack on Lord Matsumae; now he had to convince her. “She was with you the night you died. She ran into the forest and you chased her.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Your old friend Daigoro told me. He was there. He saw. Do you want to know why Wente ran?”
Tekare frowned, confused. “Because she was upset. Because she wanted to get away from me.”
“That’s what she wanted you to think, but it’s not the reason. She was luring you to your death.”
Even though Sano could see that he’d shaken her, Tekare said, “That’s ridiculous. Wente isn’t smart enough to think of using a spring-bow.”
