by Susan Spann
Father Mateo crossed his arms. “Why do you get to sneak around in the dark, while I have to wait in a stuffy closet?”
Hiro stifled a smile. “Because I am shinobi and you are not.”
“I am not afraid.”
You were when you thought you saw a ghost. “I swore an oath to protect you.”
“You let me risk my life on Koya.”
“That was different.”
“How?” Father Mateo continued without waiting for an answer. “I am tired of you treating me like candy that melts in the rain. I understand that some mysterious benefactor paid the Iga ryu quite handsomely to ensure my safety, but I don’t care—”
“I don’t either.”
The Jesuit blinked. “You don’t?”
“Not anymore.”
“Then why do you still refuse to let me share the risk?”
Hiro thought of his older brother, and of Neko, gone forever. Father Mateo, once so strange and foreign, had become as important to Hiro as his mother and his remaining brother, Kazu. He believed that feeling was mutual, and yet the priest seemed not to understand.
Hiro struggled against a lifetime of training that required him to suppress his emotions.
Before he could find the words to express his thoughts, the priest absolved him of the need.
“Hiro, no man wants his friends to suffer. But you cannot expect me to spend the rest of my life in a box”—Father Mateo gestured to the walls of the guest room—“because it’s dangerous outside. The Bible commands us to share our burdens. You bear mine honorably. But you must let me bear my share of yours as well.”
Hiro bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I will try. But tonight, you must wait in the closet for the thief.”
The Jesuit opened his mouth to object, but Hiro continued, “We do not know for certain that Kane and Mume are guilty of anything. Someone must stay in case the thief returns.”
Father Mateo sneezed. “All right, but please take Gato to Ana’s room. If you don’t, the thief will hear me sniffling from the far side of the ryokan.”
An hour before midnight, Hiro stood up and approached the veranda door. He considered changing into the dark hakama and midnight blue shinobi tunic folded deep within his travel pack, but decided against it. The slight advantage the clothing offered did not offset the risk of revealing his true identity. He did, however, take a tiny, shielded shinobi lantern, barely large enough to hold a candle stump. He hoped the moon would make the light unnecessary, but would rather have the tools he needed than have to improvise without them.
Father Mateo joined him at the door. “I want to go with you. The thief won’t come tonight, and you know it. Only a fool would steal from an occupied room.”
“You need to remain here anyway.” Hiro stuck his katana and wakizashi through his obi, securing the scabbards so they would not rattle. “I am trained to conceal myself in the forest. You are not.”
“Then I want to learn. I understand that does not help tonight. But I want you to teach me—soon.”
Hiro doubted the lessons would actually occur, but nodded anyway. He raised his hood and opened the door.
Outside, a heavy mist obscured the night. There was no moon. He could barely see the front of the ryokan through the shifting fog.
Hiro opened his lantern, lit the candle, and slid the cover closed. Slipping on his extra sandals, he left the ryokan.
Chapter 46
Although he had originally planned to circle behind the houses, the mist reduced visibility so greatly that he decided to risk the road. He moved cautiously, taking care to muffle his steps and to keep the lantern shielded. He listened for any movement, prepared to shutter the lantern and hide the instant he heard any footsteps other than his own.
As he approached the burial ground, he stopped and listened. He believed he had arrived before the women, but took no chances.
The forest seemed completely still. As he listened, he heard a distant hooting and a rustling in the underbrush that sounded like a rat, or perhaps a fox, but he detected no signs of any human presence. The mist felt damp and cold on Hiro’s face, the silence dark and heavy like the woolen blankets Father Mateo had brought from Portugal—and promptly discarded in favor ofJapanese quilts.
Hiro opened his lantern a sliver to light the way and passed beneath the torii into the burial ground. His breath plumed out in front of him and blended with the mist.
Monuments appeared before him like the teeth of a giant beast. The swirling mist created an illusion of movement, and more than once, Hiro reached for his sword, only to realize he was still alone.
He hurried past the graves and stopped in front of the mausoleum. Overhead, its curling eaves spread out like the wings of a massive owl. Wooden carvings decorated the eaves and lintels, though the details were lost to the night and fog. Beneath the eaves, a pair of iron-banded wooden doors secured the entrance to the tomb. Hiro reached for them, but paused when he felt the smooth, carved wood beneath his hand.
Almost twenty years had passed since the last time he spent the night with a corpse.
He grasped the door and pulled.
It did not open.
He heard the distant crunch of muffled footsteps far behind him in the forest.
Hiro pulled the door again and heard a soft, metallic rattle. As he raised his lantern, he saw the small iron lock that secured the doors.
Behind him, the steps grew closer.
With chagrin, he realized he had left his lock picks at the ryokan. Emiri’s claim that she had spent the night in the mausoleum made him assume it would be open.
Assumptions kill.
A rapid search of his pockets revealed nothing he could use to pick the lock. He grasped the iron cylinder and pulled. The bolt held fast.
Suddenly, Hiro remembered the slender pick concealed in the sheath of his wakizashi. He had never needed it before, and, until that moment, had forgotten it was there.
He looked over his shoulder and saw the glow of a lantern near the torii.
He was out of time.
Crouching low, he shuttered his lantern completely and hurried around the side of the mausoleum. When he reached the back of the building, he pressed his back to the freezing wood. While not an ideal hiding place, it would work as long as Kane and Mume remained on the other side.
He slowed his breathing and listened to the footsteps coming through the burial yard.
The footsteps stopped in front of the mausoleum, as the glow of a lantern bled around the sides of the building.
Silence fell.
A single footstep crunched on the frozen ground.
A muffled clinking came from the front of the building, followed by the click of a lock releasing. Iron hinges creaked as the doors to the mausoleum opened.
Footsteps echoed inside the tomb, followed by muffled scraping sounds, and a clink like shifting coins.
Curiosity burned in Hiro’s mind like wildfire. Only samurai had the money to construct a mausoleum for the dead, so only a samurai should have the key to the mausoleum door.
He resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to sneak around the building for a look. The risk of discovery was too great, especially since he did not know who made the sounds. Mume and Kane seemed most likely, but assumptions had already burned him once tonight.
Or possibly saved him. . .
Had he thought to bring a lockpick, he would have been inside the mausoleum when it opened.
The burning in his ears and forehead faded as they numbed. He resisted the urge to stomp the ground to warm his aching toes. His shinobi sandals lacked good insulation, and the cold leached up from the ground, through his tabi, and into his feet. He did not regret the tactical decision to leave his winter shoes on the rack in the ryokan to prevent their absence being noticed. Even so, he sorely missed their warmth.
Relentless cold seeped into Hiro’s clothes. It felt as if it pierced his bones. He exhaled slowly, fighting his body’s longing to shiver and generate
warmth.
The sounds inside the mausoleum ceased.
Footsteps crunched on the ground. The doors creaked shut.
A second, softer, set of footsteps pattered through the burial yard, increasing in volume as they approached.
“What took you so long?” Hiro recognized Kane’s whispered hiss.
“I fell sleep,” Mume whispered.
Kane sighed. “At least you remembered to wear warm clothes.”
“Are we going now?” Mume asked. “Last week you said we had to wait for spring.”
Kane paused before answering. “I’m not going anywhere. With Ishiko dead, I’m mistress of the ryokan.”
“But. . .you said. . .We had a plan.”
“The plan has changed. I’m staying,” Kane said. “But I counted what we have, and it’s enough for you to go to Edo now, and live there for at least a year.”
“But you said we were going to go together. You and me. Together.”
“Not anymore.” Irritation infused Kane’s voice. “I told you, now that Ishiko’s dead, I have changed my mind.” More calmly, she added, “You could stay here too, with Taso.”
“But you said I had to go.”
“And now I’m telling you that you can stay.”
“What about the yūrei? She will kill us!”
“I don’t think so,” Kane said. “We didn’t live here when she died, and I think she only kills the people who hurt her when she was alive. Besides, Noboru says the priest from Hakone can make her go away forever.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Mume sounded on the verge of tears. “What if she kills you for stealing the silver? And me, for stealing from my husband?”
The regret Hiro felt over leaving the warmth of his guest room dissipated as quickly as a cloud of frozen breath.
“Don’t be stupid. That money did not belong to Noboru until Ishiko died, and Riko’s ghost doesn’t care what happened to Ishiko’s silver. She can’t spend it. She’s dead. A ghost doesn’t need to be rich.”
The icy chill that ran down Hiro’s spine had nothing to do with temperature.
He knew who killed Ishiko and Masako.
More importantly, he knew who the killer would target next.
On the far side of the mausoleum, Mume started sobbing. “Y-you said that we would go to Edo. I don’t want to go alone.”
Chapter 47
“You don’t have to go,” Kane repeated. You can stay and help me with the ryokan. Noboru will allow it, if I ask him.”
“But you said that Taso does not want me,” Mume wailed.
“No I didn’t.”
“Y-yes, you did.” Mume’s sobs brought on an attack of hiccups. “Y-you said he hates me because I am stupid.”
Kane did not answer. Mume’s sobs continued, punctuated by hiccups.
Eventually, Kane sighed. “I was wrong. He does not hate you.”
“But you said. . .” Mume trailed off into a wail. “H-he does.”
“I lied. I’m sorry. I thought. . .stop crying and listen.”
Mume’s cries became loud sniffles, which slowly stilled. She hiccupped loudly.
“Before Ishiko died, she was so mean to me,” Kane explained. “She called me names and hurt me every day. I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t leave you here alone. I promised our parents I would care for you, so I had to convince you to run away as well. That’s why I told you Taso would hate you when he realized you’re. . .not as smart as other people are. But it isn’t true. I made it up, so you would run away with me.”
“Y-you lied?” Mume hiccupped.
“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It is bad to lie.” Mume sounded angry.
“I know.” Kane’s voice had lost its edge. “I am sorry, Mume. Please forgive me.”
“So. . .Taso does not hate me?”
“No.”
“W-what about the silver?”
“We’ll take Taso’s silver back, and say we found it on the floor of the latrine. We can tell him the bag must have fallen off the rafters, and the silver rolled into the corners. The other coins, I’ll leave inside the tomb, in case I need them in the future.”
“What about the stranger’s servant?” Mume asked.
“The foreigner is rich. He can afford two dozen silver coins to replace what we’re missing. Once he gives them to Noboru, Otomuro-san will let the servant go.”
Clearly, Kane did not know about the extravagant sum her husband claimed.
The hinges squeaked as the mausoleum doors swung open. Hiro heard the distinctive clink of coins, more loudly than before.
“Hold this while I lock the door.” A metallic click followed Kane’s words.
“How did you get the key to Otomuro-sama’s family tomb?” Mume asked.
“I didn’t,” Kane said. “His lock was broken. I replaced it with my own. Now let’s go home. And do not speak of this to anyone. Not even Taso. Not even to me, unless we’re here, in the burial yard, where no one else can hear us.”
“I remember.” Mume sounded slightly indignant. “We can only talk in secret here.”
Their footsteps moved away from the mausoleum, and the glow of their lanterns faded. Although he looked forward to making Kane answer for her crimes, Hiro felt pity for Mume, and hoped her husband would overlook, or at least forgive, his wife’s involvement in the theft.
He opened his own small lantern, but the flame had died. When he tried to relight it using the flint he carried in his obi, he discovered that the candle stub had burned completely down, leaving only a paper-thin layer of frozen wax too small to ignite.
Disappointed, Hiro stowed the lantern in his obi and felt his way around the side of the mausoleum in the dark. Working by feel, he removed the pick from the hilt of his wakizashi and located the lock on the mausoleum doors. It yielded quickly, despite his lack of sight. After carefully replacing the pick in his scabbard, Hiro opened the tomb, knelt down to avoid bumping his head on lanterns or other objects that might hang unseen from the ceiling, and crawled inside.
He moved forward on his knees, using one hand for balance and extending the other in front of his face to prevent a collision in the dark. His fingers brushed a large stone block. It seemed about waist-high, and had squared-off edges like a pedestal. He swept his fingers gently across the top, and stopped when he touched a funerary urn.
Kneeling upright, Hiro placed a hand on either side of the urn. He lifted it carefully. The weight seemed right for ashes, and it did not clink with hidden coins. He lowered the urn back into place, bent down, and felt around on the floor behind the pedestal.
His fingers met cloth. A bag. He grasped the fabric. . .and it jingled.
He pulled the bag into his lap. Kane mentioned twenty-four silver coins but, based on the weight, Hiro felt sure this bag held more.
He tucked the purse into his obi, crawled backward out of the mausoleum, and closed the doors, securing the lock once more.
It took him several minutes to find his way through the burial yard, and almost half an hour to retrace his steps to the village.
He had almost made it back when a woman’s screams shattered the misty night.
A male voice called out in alarm, and another answered.
Hiro increased his pace. He emerged from the trees as the pale glow of a lantern bobbed through the mist. It came from the direction of Otomuro’s home, and headed toward the ryokan.
Hiro followed.
He could barely see the houses on either side of the travel road as he passed by. Directly ahead, the mist glowed golden with the light of several lanterns. The deeper shadows resolved into human forms as Hiro approached.
A small crowd stood in the street near the ryokan, with Father Mateo and Mume at its center. As Hiro reached them, he realized that only Noboru was missing from the scene.
“Do not touch my wife!” Taso took a menacing step toward the priest.
Father Mateo raised his hands defensively. “I did not—”
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“You did! I saw you!” Taso clenched his fists.
Father Mateo raised his own hands defensively. Just then, he noticed Hiro. “Matsui-san can help me explain.”
Hiro raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what was going on.
Taso turned. “Why did the foreigner assault my wife?”
It was not an appropriate way for a commoner to address a samurai, but under the circumstances Hiro chose to ignore the insult. “There must be some misunderstanding. I can assure you, the foreigner means no harm.”
“What’s going on?” Noboru emerged from the ryokan with a lantern in his hand. “It’s the middle of the—Kane? What. . .has someone seen the yūrei?”
Hiro noted the sudden fear in the innkeeper’s voice.
“What is going on?” Otomuro demanded, still out of breath from the short, cold walk.
“If everyone would stop talking,” Taso muttered, “we might all find out.”
“I am certain there’s a reasonable explanation,” Hiro said, “but I see no reason to stand here in the cold while we discuss it. The reception room at the ryokan will hold us all, if everyone will follow me inside.”
Taso scowled. “This does not concern the entire village.”
“Actually, it does,” Hiro said, “as I will explain as soon as we get inside.”
A curious murmur rose behind him as he started toward the ryokan.
He did not look back. He knew that every one of them—including the killer—would follow.
Chapter 48
“We re all here. Taso gestured to the villagers gathered around the hearth of the ryokan’s common room. “Now, please explain why the foreigner grabbed my wife.”
“I did not grab her,” Father Mateo said. “I—”
Ana entered the room from the hallway, wearing the robe in which she slept. Her hair hung down her back in a thin, gray braid, and she blinked like a child unexpectedly awakened from a deep, sound sleep.
“Hm.” She looked around the room. “Has everyone in this village lost his mind?”
“It’s all right, Ana,” Father Mateo said, “go back to bed. It’s the middle of the night.”