Black Arrow Shamus-winner Parker’s fourth historical Sugawara Akitada novel (after 2006’s Rashomon Gate) deftly combines an action-packed plot with convincing period detail to bring 11th-century Japan to life. When Akitada is dispatched to a remote northern province to serve as its provisional governor, he encounters fierce opposition from the local authorities, who have driven off previous emissaries from the capital in an effort to preserve their corrupt self- governance. The murder of a local innkeeper and the apparent effort to frame three travelers for the crime give Akitada an opening to exert some power by beginning his own independent investigation. Fans of quality traditional mysteries, as well as those with a special interest in Japan, will savor this outing and look forward to the next entry in the series. BLACK ARROW A Novel by I. J. Parker Book 4 of the Sugawara Akitada Series Copyright © 2006 by I. J. Parker Dedication: To my daughter Karin Acknowledgments I am indebted to my readers, all writers themselves, who have offered advice, suggestions, and editorial comment on the early drafts of this novel. They are Jacqueline Falkenhan, John Rosenman, Richard Rowand, and Bob Stein. And, of course, my gratitude also extends to my editor, Ali Bothwell-Mancini, who saves me from embarrassing errors. Finally, as always, I’m deeply grateful to my agents, Jean Naggar and Jennifer Weltz, whose faith in me and whose tireless work and support mean everything. Prologue THE FATAL ARROW ECHIGO PROVINCE, JAPAN: LEAF-TURNING MONTH (SEPTEMBER), A.D. 981 The evening sun slanted through the branches of tall cedars and splashed across a bloodred maple on the other side of the clearing. From the valley below came sounds of horses and shouts of men. A young woman emerged from the trees, leading a child—a boy, no more than three years old, in bright blue silk and with his hair childishly parted and tied into loops over his ears. The young woman was slender and beautiful, and dressed in a costly white silk gown embroidered about the hem and full sleeves with nodding golden grasses and purple chrysanthemums. Her long hair, which almost reached the hem of her dress, was fastened with a broad white silk ribbon below her shoulders. In the middle of the clearing the child pulled free to chase a butterfly. The young woman called out anxiously, then laughed and ran after him. From the thicket, Death watched the two with hot eyes, clasping the large bow with his left hand, while the right slowly reached over his shoulder to pull the long, black-feathered arrow from the quiver slung across his back. The boy lost the butterfly and turned toward the woman, who sank to her knees and spread her arms wide to receive the child. Death bared his teeth. He was close, his bow powerful, the arrow special. With luck it might take only the one shot. He placed it into its groove, pulled back firmly, and aimed. With a shout of laughter the boy hurled himself into the waiting arms, and Death released the long steel-tipped missile. He watched as it found its mark just below the silken ribbon in the woman’s black hair, heard the muffled blow clearly in the sudden silence, and watched as she fell forward, slowly, burying the small figure of the child beneath her. Heavy silken hair slipped aside, and a large red stain appeared on her white silk gown, spreading gradually from the black-feathered arrow like a crimson peony opening its petals in the snow. Even the birds had fallen silent. Death remained frozen for a few moments, watching, listening. But there was neither cry nor movement under the white silk, and he slowly lowered the bow. The silence was broken by a small bird’s voice, then by the humming of insects and distant shouts of the hunting party in the valley. Death quickly left the clearing. ONE THE OUTPOST ECHIGO PROVINCE, JAPAN GODS-ABSENT MONTH (NOVEMBER), A.D. 1015 Two men armed with hunting bows rode single file down the steeply sloping track toward the dark huddle of buildings on the plain below. They hunched into heavy clothing against a sharp wind that swept across the black-and-gray landscape of rock, evergreens, and sere grasses. Below them the black roofs of the town were a blot in a wintry plain, and beyond the plain a pewter ocean stretched toward a distant line where it melted into the murky grayness of low clouds. A highway ran along the shore. Behind the horsemen rose mountains, their tops hidden in gray vapor. The prospect was dismal. Most of the town straggled along the black line of the highway, which looked not unlike a dead snake with a large rat bulging its middle. The rat bulge contained the tribunal and a small temple, surrounded by low, steep-roofed houses—the center of Naoetsu, capital of Echigo province. This was the rough north country, won only recently from its barbaric inhabitants and not yet fully civilized. In the short summers, the plain between the mountains and the ocean was green with fields of rice, ramie, and beans, and the ocean dotted with fishing boats. Echigo was a fertile province, but now it prepared for the long winter, when a thick blanket of snow covered the land, and men and beasts lived like bears inside their homes until the snow melted in the spring. The rider in front, a muscular man with a neatly trimmed graying beard and the sadness in his eyes that attracts women, looked out at the choppy sea and up