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children lived. That’s Makio. But Makio’s wife died young. They say she jumped off the upper gallery a few weeks after the wedding. He never married again. Then Lord Maro went out hunting and lost his mind. Came back raving mad. Locked himself away and never came out of his room again. They say there’s crying and wailing day and night in that room. It’ll be a blessing if he finally dies.”
     
    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