by Susan Spann
“Maybe if we talked with her, alone or with Noboru—”
Hiro shook his head. “She will claim I made the whole thing up, and her husband will believe her. After all, I didn’t actually hear them confess to anything specific.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Since Ana is no longer in imminent danger, we stay here long enough to attend that midnight meeting at the burial yard and catch a thief, a killer, or possibly both. But before that, we visit Hanako and try to confirm the identity of your ghostly visitor. While we’re there, I also want to ask a couple of questions about Emiko.” Hiro looked at his bowl. “I suspect, as I think you do as well, that she is the missing kunoichi.”
“I don’t know. . .” Father Mateo hesitated. “This all seems too simple. Something feels wrong.”
“Everything about this village feels wrong. But the investigation is finally going right.”
When they finished with their meal, Hiro went to the door of the guest room and called for Noboru.
Footsteps hurried down the stairs from the second floor and along the hallway. A moment later, Noboru came into view. He bowed. “Good morning, Matsui-san.”
“Good morning,” Hiro said.
“Will you honor us with your presence for another night?” Noboru asked.
“Have you not spoken with your wife?” Hiro asked.
Noboru’s smile grew strained. “With apologies, Kane should not have discussed the matter with you before she spoke with me. Surely, you understand. . .”
Hiro saw the opportunity he needed. “I understand that you cannot hold two men of samurai rank against their will, with no evidence but the words of a woman who now acknowledges those words were false.”
Noboru turned pale.
“However,” Hiro softened his tone, “under the circumstances, I will consider persuading the foreigner to remain here one more night, on one condition.”
Noboru waited expectantly.
“The meals your wife prepares are inedible, and the foreigner’s housekeeper claims the food in your storehouse is mostly rotten.”
Noboru drew back. “My mother always managed the food. I did not know—”
Hiro ignored him. “If you wish us to remain another night, you will arrange for us to eat our meals at the teahouse across the road.”
“While I deeply apologize for the insufficient fare“—Noboru bowed—”Hanako-san believes your presence angers the yūrei. If I may suggest—”
“You may not. Either we eat at the teahouse or I take the priest and go.” Hiro turned on his heel and retreated into the guest room.
A few seconds later, he heard the front door shut as Noboru left the ryokan.
Father Mateo raised his head from his Bible. “Did it work?”
“I think so. And I don’t believe Noboru knows what his wife is doing. He seemed as confused by her withdrawal of the claim against Ana as I would have been if I hadn’t heard her talking in the kitchen.”
Gato lay on her side near the priest. She stretched full length and waggled her paws at Father Mateo, inviting him to play. When he ignored her, she thumped her tail on the tatami.
Taking the cue, Hiro approached the cat and extended his hand. When she saw him, he hooked his fingers in imitation of a claw.
Gato rolled onto her back and raised her paws, toes spread and claws extended.
Hiro jabbed his hand like a striking snake. The cat attacked. Dodging her claws, Hiro touched Gato’s forehead gently with a finger and withdrew his hand so quickly that her black and orange paws grasped only air.
Gato’s pupils dilated until the color almost disappeared. Her tail thumped the tatami harder. She tensed, paws open, waiting.
Once more, Hiro touched her head.
Again she lunged and missed.
Gato laid her ears against her head and opened her mouth, revealing tiny fangs. She raised a paw expectantly.
Hiro reached for her head again, but this time she moved faster.
Gato wrapped her paws around his wrist and pulled it toward her mouth. Her claws dug into Hiro’s wrist. He winced.
Her teeth clamped down on the heel of his hand, and her hind legs punched the sleeve of his kimono.
Gato’s purring filled the room.
“All right, you win.” Hiro tried to extricate himself, but Gato gnawed on his wrist for several seconds before surrendering her grip.
She jumped to her feet, ears back and tail lashing. When Hiro ignored her, she arched her back and meowed, as if inviting another round.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Father Mateo indicated Hiro’s wrist, which bore the indentations of Gato’s teeth.
He shrugged. “Not really. She likes to play.”
“That doesn’t look like play to me.” Father Mateo pulled the cloth from his sleeve and wiped his nose.
“It’s all she has, now that we’re traveling and the cold keeps her mostly inside.” Hiro looked from the Jesuit to the cat. “One way or another, a predator needs to hunt.”
Chapter 39
As the Jesuit returned to his prayers, Hiro knelt, closed his eyes, and reviewed the evidence for and against Kane and Mume’s guilt. Like Father Mateo, he could not shake the feeling that the facts did not add up. Kane’s fear of the yūrei had seemed real. Mume seemed incapable of plotting a theft, let alone a murder. And although both women had motives to kill Ishiko, neither one had any grudge against Masako.
Not that he knew about, anyway.
He let his thoughts drift to the list of names he had memorized before leaving Iga, and to the assassins they represented. For reasons Hiro failed to understand, Hattori Hanzo seemed to believe the city of Edo would grow in influence in the years to come. Several of the agents on Hiro’s list were stationed within the precincts of the northern city.
It bothered him that he did not know, definitively, if the missing Emiri was also the woman lost in last year’s landslide. He suspected it, but could not allow himself to make assumptions.
“Because the last one always kills you.”
Hiro’s eyes popped open at the sound of Neko’s voice. Father Mateo remained bent over his Bible. Gato dozed on the floor nearby. Neither one had heard the voice. And neither had he, except inside his head.
The only place he would ever hear her now, because Neko was dead. And Hiro, to his momentary sorrow, did not believe in ghosts.
Several hours later Noboru knocked on the guest room door. When Hiro answered, the innkeeper bowed.
“I have made arrangements for us to eat a meal at the teahouse across the road. Would you care to join me?”
“Now?” Hiro asked. “It won’t be dark for almost three hours.”
“Hanako-san has agreed to prepare a meal but, with apologies, she insists on serving it during daylight hours. She is afraid that, after dark, you will draw the yūrei.”
“We are happy to accommodate her wishes,” Father Mateo rose to his feet. “I am certainly hungry enough to eat.”
Hiro agreed. “We accept your invitation.”
The pale winter sun shone feebly in the afternoon sky, strong enough to burn away the worst of the mist but not enough to clear the hazy sky. The temperature remained near freezing.
Hanako opened the teahouse door as the men approached. She bowed and forced a smile. “Please come inside.”
She escorted Hiro and the others to the overdecorated room where they ate on their first night in the village. As before, the painted stalks made the room feel suffocating.
Hiro knelt beside Father Mateo, across the table from Noboru. Hanako disappeared and returned with a tray that held a steaming teapot and three cups.
“I have prepared a humble meal.” She set the tray on the table. “Please understand that I cannot offer as many courses, or as elaborate an offering, as. . .before.”
“We appreciate your courtesy,” Father Mateo answered, “and apologize for intruding upon your mourning.”
“Samurai do not apologize to teahouse women,” Hir
o murmured in Portuguese, with a smile on his face to disguise his real meaning.
“Fortunately, I am not samurai,” Father Mateo murmured back, with a smile of his own.
Hanako looked from one man to the other. When neither offered an explanation, she poured the tea, withdrew, and closed the door.
“Have you made any progress in your investigation?” Noboru asked.
“With regard to the killings or the silver?” Hiro raised his cup and inhaled the steam.
“You are the only ones who think the recent deaths a mystery.” Noboru held his teacup but did not drink. “Now that my wife no longer blames your servant, I find myself in a difficult position. Without my silver, I will lose my ryokan. Otomuro-san will confiscate it if I cannot pay the priest to exorcise the ghost. He told me so, the day I learned about the theft.”
“Is that what you were doing at his house?” Father Mateo asked.
“I hoped he would show mercy, but he refused.” Noboru set his teacup on the table, still untouched. “I have heard you carry a significant sum, far more than enough to repay what I have lost. Perhaps, if I persuaded Otomuro-san to drop the claims against your servant...”
An awkward silence fell.
“Are you asking for a bribe?” Father Mateo asked.
“How much did you lose?” Hiro asked simultaneously.
“My money box held the equivalent of one hundred gold koban.”
The same amount Otomuro named at first. It could not be coincidence, though the manner in which the two men planned to split the sum remained a mystery.
Hiro doubted Noboru’s ryokan made ten percent of that amount in an entire year.
After a quick, short knock the door slid open.
Hanako entered, carrying a tray of sashimi arranged on three small plates. She knelt beside the table and served Noboru first, a social slight that did not escape Hiro’s notice. However, at the moment, he cared more about the contents of his plate than how it got there.
The four thin slices of uncooked fish fanned out across a bamboo leaf. Their uniform size and delicacy revealed a skill that Hiro found surprising. Most women did not handle a knife that well, unless they had been trained as kunoichi.
“I am sorry about Masako’s death,” Father Mateo said.
“The fault is mine.” Hanako filled the Jesuit’s empty teacup. “I should have guessed that. . .she. . .would come for vengeance against Masako-san. And your disbelief did not help.”
“If we made her angry, why did she kill Masako and not one of us?” Hiro asked. “And why did she not come for you?”
“When. . .she. . .lay dying, Masako-san refused to help me care for her. The girl refused to enter the room where she lay, because of a foolish superstition.”
Father Mateo glanced at Hiro, who hoped Hanako would not notice the Jesuit’s reaction to her lie.
Fortunately, the woman had not stopped talking.
“Not even Yuko-san could change her mind. Clearly, she remembers Masako-san’s refusal as an insult.” Hanako dipped her head politely. “Please excuse me. I must prepare the second course.”
After the woman left, Father Mateo bowed his head and said a silent blessing for the food. When the Jesuit finished, Hiro sampled the sashimi. To his immense relief, it tasted fresh and clean.
Hanako had not stayed long enough for Hiro to ask his questions about Emiko, so he decided to find out what Noboru knew. “Four entertainers seems a large number for such a remote location.”
“Four?” The innkeeper echoed.
Hiro swallowed another piece sashimi. “By my count, Yuko had four apprentices: Riko, Hanako, Masako, and Emiko.”
“We had more visitors before the landslide,” Noboru said. “Now most of the traffic takes the detour route, but this road—the original road—will recover in the spring. It’s steeper than the detour, and a little longer, but even so, this is the travel road. The detour was only temporary. Our guests will return. We merely need to wait.”
Hiro thought of the straining laborers and oxen carrying goods and samurai palanquins along the travel road. Somehow, he doubted people would return to a steeper course if an easier route existed. However, he had more important things to discuss than the relative merits of the travel roads. “So the teahouse made a healthy profit.”
“Yuko-san had earned a reputation in Kyoto, before she returned,” Noboru said. “She was quite famous. Many travelers came to the village because of her.”
“She was not young when she returned, then.” Hiro ate his last slice of sashimi.
Noboru shrugged. “Teahouse women don’t reveal their ages.” Once again, there was a knock and the door slid open.
Chapter 40
Hanako returned with plates of winter vegetables steamed in a savory soy-based sauce.
Hiro’s mouth watered at the delicate, yet earthy, scent.
“This looks delicious,” Father Mateo said as Hanako replaced his empty sashimi plate with a dish of vegetables.
“The best I could manage on such short notice.”
“Will you run the teahouse alone now?” the Jesuit asked. “Or will you find an apprentice to assist you?”
“Apprentices cost money to acquire and train.” Hanako looked pointedly at Noboru.
“This is not the time to speak of such things.” Noboru’s voice held an unexpected edge.
“Indeed.” Hanako pressed her lips together, finished changing out the plates, and departed, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake. Noboru ate his vegetables. The others did the same.
Hiro wondered what prompted the inappropriately charged exchange between Hanako and the innkeeper.
“Does Hanako-san want you to invest in the teahouse?” Father Mateo asked.
Hiro slowly turned his head, equally dismayed by the intrusive question and disappointed that the priest had overlooked a more obvious explanation: Noboru owed the teahouse money.
The innkeeper’s cheeks turned red, then purple. He chewed as slowly as a turtle gnawing on a lotus root. At last, when he could delay no more, he swallowed. “After the landslide closed the travel road, Hanako-san approached my mother and suggested they combine the ryokan with the teahouse. She believed, if they worked together, they could encourage more visitors to return when the travel road reopened.
She also thought the shared expenses would make both businesses more profitable. Mother told Hanako-san that I would need to approve the decision. At the time, I agreed to consider it, but now. . .”
He shook his head and selected another vegetable from his plate.
Hiro wanted to shift the conversation back to Emiko, but failed to find an adequate bridge that would not seem suspicious.
Before he could reopen the conversation Hanako returned, this time with succulent fish filets braised in a dark, rich broth. As she served his portion, Hiro inhaled the delicious scents of mushrooms and wild onions mingling with the faint aroma of the fish.
Hiro began to ask her about Emiko, but she set his bowl on the table with a cold formality that chilled the question on his tongue. She concealed her anger well enough to avoid an obvious insult, but her reaction to Noboru’s words seemed curiously out of proportion.
As he looked at his bowl, Hiro wondered if Hanako was the kind of woman who would poison every bowl at the table, or only the one she set before her victim.
He opened his mouth to make a joking comment to Father Mateo in Portuguese, but decided against it. Given their past experiences, the priest might not appreciate the humor.
Noboru began eating the moment Hanako left the room, but Hiro gave the Jesuit a warning glance and shook his head a fraction. While the shinobi doubted the teahouse woman would actually poison them, a bit of caution did no harm.
Once again, Father Mateo bent his head in silent prayer, giving Hiro time to examine the dish more closely. He smelled the broth repeatedly and carefully, running through his mental catalogue of poisons. It seemed safe. He raised his spoon and took a tiny sip.
The rich broth coated his tongue with the earthiness of mushrooms and the salty tang of fish, with the faintest hints of oil, dark vinegar, and pungent onions. Each of the flavors balanced the others perfectly. Three tiny sips confirmed no trace of any recognizable poison.
Hiro surrendered to his stomach and began to eat.
“Please forgive my ignorance of Japanese customs,” Father Mateo said. “Do mothers customarily consult their sons about business matters?”
Hiro admired the facility with which the priest reopened the conversation.
“It is when they will inherit soon,” Noboru replied as he took a bite of fish.
Father Mateo lowered his spoon. “But Ishiko-san could not have. . .I apologize, was your mother ill?”
“Not that I knew of.” Noboru set his chopsticks on their rest. “But she hated the ryokan, and the constant work of caring for the strangers who slept beneath our roof. She planned to give the ryokan to me on the one-year anniversary of my father’s death, at the end of her official mourning period. She intended to become a nun and spend the rest of her life in prayer and meditation.” He smiled wistfully. “She wanted to distance herself from the worldly problems that consumed so many of her years.”
Hanako knocked on the door once more.
Hiro raised his bowl and drained the last few savory mouthfuls as the woman entered, bearing the bowls of steamed white rice that traditionally ended a Japanese meal.
“Thank you again, Hanako-san, for preparing such a delicious feast,” Father Mateo said.
She smiled politely and left the room.
Hiro reopened the conversation with a tactical shift in direction. “Your mother must have trusted you and Kane a great deal to entrust you with the ryokan.”
Noboru looked up from his bowl of rice. “She trusted me.” He set the bowl and chopsticks down. “Mother never had much regard for Kane. In fact, but for my father’s intervention, she would have forbidden the match entirely.”