“There’s disease in the castle,” the official said.

“What kind?” Gizaemon sounded concerned.

“Fever, chills. Aching head and muscles. Weakness.”

Sano knelt and opened the trunk’s clasp, which was fashioned from an iron loop and the fang of a wild animal. He lifted the lid. Inside the trunk he found a ceramic jug sealed with a cork; cloth drawstring pouches; a silver tobacco pipe; a writing set with brush, ink-stone, and water jar; strips of willow wood bound together with a leather lace; a knife with a carved wooden hilt and sheath, such as the Ezo men carried; and iron fishhooks strung on cords. The ends were tipped with what looked like dried blood.

“Sounds like northern plague. How many have taken ill?”

“Eight last night, seven this morning. All soldiers, except for two servants who work in the barracks. It broke out there.”

Sano picked up the jug and shook it. Liquid sloshed inside. He removed the cork and sniffed bittersweet, alcoholic fumes. He resealed the jug and opened the pouches. They contained dried leaves, roots, and seeds. On the bottom of the trunk, under the other items, lay two books-one large and square, the other a small, slim rectangle-bound in coarse taupe fabric and tied with frayed reeds.

“Has the physician been called?” Gizaemon asked. Yes. He’s with the patients now.“

Sano barely heard the conversation. His heart pounded with excitement because he sensed he’d made an important discovery. He opened the larger book and turned the pages. They were paintings done in ink, crudely executed, featuring a samurai engaged in sex with a tattooed Ezo woman. They coupled in contorted positions that exposed their naked genitalia. Each was stamped with Lord Matsumae’s signature seal. He’d chronicled his intimate relations with Tekare in a “spring book,” a collection of erotic art.

The pages of the smaller book were covered with calligraphy that was precise and elegant in the beginning, then deteriorated into scrawls. Flipping through them, Sano noticed one set of characters repeated over and over. They were syllables in phonetic writing. Tekare. This book appeared to be Lord Matsumae’s diary, a series of entries without dates, separated by lines, about his mistress.

“Have you quarantined the sick men?” Gizaemon asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, when the physician is done with them, have him examine everybody else in the castle.”

“Right away.”

Instinct warned Sano not to let Gizaemon know what he’d found. He tucked the diary under his coat, closed the trunk, and shoved it back in the cabinet. He stood and turned just as Gizaemon entered the room and said, “Well? Find anything interesting?”

“No,” Detective Fukida said.

“No,” Sano lied.

Gizaemon gave them an I told you so look. “Still want to search the rest of the palace?”

“Yes.” Anxious to read the diary, Sano thought of the one place where he could have some privacy. “But first I need to visit the Place of Relief.”

The Place of Relief was a privy shed attached to the palace by an enclosed corridor. Inside, Sano stood in the corner, as far as possible from the malodorous hole cut in the floor. The privy was freezing cold, but he opened the window to admit light and fresh air. Snowflakes drifted in. Conscious of Gizaemon waiting nearby, Sano began reading the diary.

From the time I was a young boy, it was my dream to experience true, eternal love. But as years passed, I grew certain I never would. I didn’t lack for women-a man of my position can have as many as he wants. But each affair ended in boredom. Women provided me nothing more than momentary physical release. Some essential ingredient was missing. I resigned myself to yearn forever for a woman with whom I could share a deep, spiritual affinity.

But tonight, a wondrous miracle happened. I went to a banquet given by Daigoro the gold merchant, one of his usual ornate, vulgar affairs designed to show off his wealth and ingratiate himself with his betters. In the midst of the music and feasting, I went outside on the veranda. The spring night was lovely, the flowers fragrant, the moon full. I composed some lines of poetry and spoke them aloud. Then I realized I was not alone.

An Ezo woman stood at the far end of the veranda. That was the first time I saw Tekare. She looked like an apparition from another world. I was stunned by her beauty. I desired her at once. But as our gazes met, I felt more than physical attraction. Something in her reached out to the yearning, lonely part of me. Then she smiled, such a sweet smile. And I knew she was the woman I’d been searching for all my life.

I have taken Tekare from the gold merchant and brought her to the castle. At first I thought I must bed her at once. But she is so shy, so nervous. When I come near her, she trembles, and she speaks only in soft, polite whispers. She seems like a bird wounded by too many men, who would die if I laid a hand on her. Thus, I have forced myself to be patient. I write and read poetry to her. I have given her the f nest clothes, the f nest rooms in the castle, everything she could want. I must court her until she falls in love with me, as I already have with her. Yet how can I bear to wait? Oh, the longing, the torment!

At last my patience is rewarded, and oh, the joy! Yesterday Tekare said to me, “Master, will you please come to my room tonight?” All day I could hardly keep my mind on my work. When finally the sun set, I went to Tekare. Her room was lit by a hundred lamps made of scallop shells and whale oil. She sat, dressed in the silk robes I’d given her, on a bed covered with a bear pelt. She looked like a native goddess.

“Master, I have been waiting so many nights for you,” she said in a voice filled with the same longing that I felt. “I love you so much.”

Overwhelmed by gladness, I sank to my knees before her like a worshipper. This was what I’d dreamed of, yet I was too in awe to touch her. It was Tekare who led the way to my heart’s desire.

“Please let me show you the Ezo wedding night ceremony,” she said.

She gave me wine to drink, and a silver pipe to smoke. Soon my head was light, my senses dizzied. Weird music echoed around me. Tekare seemed to float amid the lampflames. Chanting spells, she undressed me and wrote mysterious symbols on my naked flesh. The brush caressed my manhood. I almost swooned with pleasure. When finally I entered her, I felt our spirits touch. Mine melted into hers in such radiant warmth as I had never before experienced. Tekare and I were truly one.

In the past, my feelings for a woman would always cool after I made love to her. Familiarity would set in. I would have my fill of her and seek excitement elsewhere. But that didn’t happen with Tekare. She was always as much a mystery as when we’d first met. The day after the wedding ritual, she was again shy, aloof. I had to begin courting her all over again, plying her with more gifts, more love poetry. At last she relented, smiled, and welcomed me into her chamber. This happened many times. I was always uncertain of her feelings for me, always her suitor rather than her lord. My love and need for her only increased.

And no matter how often we coupled, I could never get enough of Tekare. We always began with the wine and the pipe filled with native herbs, but each time brought some new, thrilling ritual. One night she tied me up and whipped me with a flail made of willow boughs. Another night she inserted fishhooks in my nipples and pulled on cords attached to them. She taught me that pain intensifies sexual excitement. As I bled and cried, my release was pure ecstasy. I learned the pleasure of submitting to my beloved.

I can think of nothing except Tekare. When I’m not with her, I day-dream about her. The wine and smoke leave me in a constant stupor. When I should be working, instead I paint pictures of myself and Tekare together. I hardly listen to what anyone says to me, because her voice is inside my head, chanting her love spells. I neglect my duties, my appearance, and my health while I live in a dream-world. This obsession is not normal. But how can something that feels so wonderful be wrong? I am truly in love for the first time in my life. Everything I do with her seems sacred. As long as Tekare is mine, I will be content.