The Ninja's Daughter

by Susan Spann

  “Emi sang before she spoke and danced as soon as she learned to walk.” Satsu’s eyes took on the glaze of memory. “She had a difficult time accepting that she could not act in nō. She would have made a fine shite, if she hadn’t been born a female.

  “I never realized how strongly she felt about it until we announced Chou’s betrothal to Yuji. That’s when Emi told me she did not ever intend to marry. At first, I thought she was jealous of Chou, but Emi explained that she had no desire to become a wife or a mother. She said no man would own her, that her life belonged to her alone.”

  “Perhaps she had a preference for women.” Had Satsu not been an Iga shinobi, Hiro would not have made the comment. Polite conversation precluded direct discussion of such private topics.

  “Not that I knew or suspected,” Satsu said, “and if she did meet men by the river, it suggests she enjoyed their attention. I think she simply wanted to control her life in ways no woman has a right to claim.”

  “Shinobi women can claim it,” Hiro said.

  “I am forbidden to speak that truth to my family.” Satsu’s voice took on a bitter edge. “Even had I realized her inclination soon enough, that way was barred to her.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “You learned of Emi’s refusal to marry the day that Chou was betrothed to Yuji?” Hiro asked.

  “The day we announced it,” Satsu said. “Yuji’s father and I arranged the betrothal shortly after Chou was born. I was looking for an arrangement for Emi, too, but she threatened to hang herself on her wedding night if we forced the issue. I believed that she would do it. As I mentioned, she also threatened to run away.”

  “You let your daughter refuse a marriage?” Hiro asked.

  Satsu shrugged. “I hoped she would change her mind, in time, when she realized no high-class house would have her. She was young. I thought, when she saw her sister happily married to Yuji . . . I was wrong.”

  “When did she mention becoming a nun?” Hiro asked.

  “A week ago,” Satsu said. “One evening, she didn’t come home before dark. I found her at the Shijō Bridge, tossing pebbles into the river.”

  “The samurai on guard didn’t stop her?” Father Mateo asked.

  “He normally stands on the opposite side of the river—closer to Pontochō—in hopes of spotting a teahouse flower out for an evening stroll. He doesn’t care about this side, unless someone crosses the bridge after dark.”

  “What about Emi’s decision to join a monastery?” Hiro asked.

  “The night I saw her at the bridge, she confessed to visiting teahouses, hoping to become an entertainer over my objections,” Satsu said. “She told me they all refused her, and some of the owners recommended she become a prostitute. She asked me not to speak of it to anyone. I haven’t, until now. Not even to Nori. Emi said, if she couldn’t become an entertainer, she would become a nun.”

  “Wouldn’t a nun have less independence than a married woman?” Father Mateo asked.

  “That depends on how you define independence,” Satsu said.

  “Dedicating your life to a kami is not the same as answering to a man,” Hiro added.

  Father Mateo nodded. “But if she wished to become a nun, why would she meet a man by the river?”

  “She wouldn’t,” Satsu said, “which means she lied—to the man by the river, or to me.”

  “Or both,” Hiro said.

  Satsu’s face flushed red. “You’ve had two days to investigate. Is this all you’ve learned about the coin and Emi’s killer?”

  “Public anger does not suit an actor speaking with samurai.” Hiro spoke politely, in recognition of Satsu’s status as his uncle. “If you had known about Emi meeting men by the river, would you have stopped her?”

  After a pause, Satsu recovered his composure. “I wouldn’t have killed her, and don’t pretend that isn’t what you’re thinking.”

  A cold voice behind them said, “Matsui Hiro—you will come with me.”

  Hiro turned to see Yoriki Hosokawa, flanked by the usual pair of scruffy dōshin.

  Hiro pulled a silver coin from his purse and handed it to Satsu. “Thank you for taking the time to teach the foreigner about your art.”

  The actor accepted the coin with a bow and knelt before the yoriki.

  “What are you doing here?” Yoriki Hosokawa demanded.

  “This man is an actor,” Father Mateo said.

  The yoriki’s scowl deepened. “Yes, and I ordered you to leave him alone! This is the man whose daughter we found on the riverbank two days ago.”

  “The same man?” Father Mateo squinted at Satsu. “Are you certain?”

  “Do not play the ignorant foreigner with me!” the yoriki thundered. “You are under arrest, and so is your translator!”

  The dōshin brandished their hooked jitte as if eager to use them on the foreign priest.

  Hiro stepped between Father Mateo and the dōshin. “This priest has committed no crime, and neither have I.”

  “You disobeyed an order from an assistant magistrate,” the yoriki snarled.

  “Your order?” Hiro asked. “The last time I checked, your words do not carry the weight of law.”

  He fought the urge to lay a hand on the hilt of his katana. Aggressive action would lead to a fight, and though he longed to shame the assistant magistrate in combat, Hiro knew better than to pick a fight with the Kyoto police.

  In public, anyway.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen this man before.” Father Mateo bent down and looked at Satsu from the side.

  “Lies will not help you,” the yoriki said. “You can tell one Japanese face from another, and even if you failed to recognize this man at once, your ronin interpreter would have known him.”

  “Drop the falsehood,” Hiro muttered in Portuguese. “You’re making it worse. I’ll handle this.”

  Hiro turned to the yoriki, bowed, and switched to Japanese. “Forgive me. Though we have met several times, we have not formally exchanged our names. I am Matsui Hiro, son of—”

  The yoriki raised a dismissive hand. “You may call me Yoriki Hosokawa. I will not have my given name soiled by your filthy ronin tongue.”

  “Very well, Hosokawa- san.” Hiro deliberately dropped the title. “I repeat, this man has committed no offense. You ordered us not to investigate the death of the actor’s daughter. However, you never prohibited the foreigner learning about the art of nō. Has the shogun instituted a law against curiosity?”

  Yoriki Hosokawa scowled. “Curious men have a way of finding trouble.”

  Hiro shrugged just rudely enough to cause offense.

  Yoriki Hosokawa turned on Satsu. “You! Get out of here—and understand, I’ll have you whipped if you ever speak to this foreigner again!”

  Satsu nodded, jumped to his feet, and scurried away.

  “And you”—the yoriki turned to Hiro and Father Mateo—“will come with me.”

  “What charge do you bring against us?” Hiro kept himself between the priest and the other men.

  “That is for the magistrate to tell you.” The yoriki smiled. “Unless you resist, in which case I will gladly arrest you for refusing to obey the magistrate’s summons.”

  “The magistrate wants to see us now?” Father Mateo glanced at the sun. “He won’t be hearing cases at this hour.”

  “He said to bring you immediately, before the afternoon audience.”

  “How did you find us?” the Jesuit asked.

  “Quit stalling! And never question my competence!” Yoriki Hosokawa’s hand started toward the hilt of his sword.

  “Why does he want to see us?” Father Mateo asked with a vacant tone that Hiro recognized as intentional foolishness.

  The dōshin stepped forward.

  “I am finished explaining,” Yoriki Hosokawa said. “You can follow me now, of your own accord, or we can drag you in by force. I assure you, either choice is fine with me.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The samurai guarding the magist
rate’s compound stepped aside as Yoriki Hosokawa approached with Hiro and Father Mateo. The yoriki swaggered through the gates with his chin in the air and his hand on his hip. Hiro resisted the urge to step on the arrogant samurai’s sandal from behind and send him sprawling.

  The magistrate’s compound had already filled with people awaiting the start of the afternoon session. Men and women thronged the yard. A line of dōshin stood near the wooden dais, watching over a cluster of prisoners bound with ropes. As Hiro and Father Mateo followed the yoriki toward the magistrate’s house, the scruffy dōshin disappeared into the crowd.

  Yoriki Hosokawa marched across the graveled yard with the air of a man who expected absolute deference. Commoners scrambled out of his way like a troop of monkeys fleeing a wrathful tiger.

  When they reached the wooden veranda that surrounded the magistrate’s home and office, Yoriki Hosokawa left his sandals beside the door and entered the building. Hiro and Father Mateo did the same. Inside, the yoriki led them into a large, tatami-covered room with a bed of white sand and a dais on one end.

  Hiro recognized the magistrate’s office. He and Father Mateo had been here a little over a year ago, while investigating the murder of Akechi Hideyoshi, a retired general and an ally of the Ashikaga clan.

  This time, they didn’t have to wait for the magistrate to appear. Magistrate Ishimaki already knelt on the wooden dais. His jet-black robes absorbed the light from the brazier in the corner, creating the momentary illusion of a balding, disembodied head presiding over the room.

  “Approach the magistrate!” Yoriki Hosokawa ordered.

  Magistrate Ishimaki’s aging features settled into a look of concern as Hiro and Father Mateo approached the dais.

  Hiro stopped a couple of feet behind the white sand bed and noted with approval that Father Mateo did as well. The shirazu symbolized justice and purity. Criminals knelt there for sentencing. It was not a place for innocent men to stand.

  Magistrate Ishimaki nodded to Yoriki Hosokawa. “You may go.”

  The yoriki opened his mouth as if to protest.

  Magistrate Ishimaki raised a hand and repeated, “You may go.”

  Yoriki Hosokawa scowled at Hiro and left the room. He slid the paneled door shut behind him with just enough rattle to demonstrate frustration.

  Hiro waited for the magistrate to speak. To his relief, Father Mateo also held his tongue.

  Magistrate Ishimaki sighed. “It seems you make a habit of investigating murders.”

  Father Mateo took half a step forward, right to the edge of the sand. “My faith requires me to help the innocent.”

  Hiro wondered whether the Jesuit realized just how cleverly he had answered, with a response that neither admitted nor denied the allegation.

  “I appreciate your generosity,” Magistrate Ishimaki said. “Your skills brought General Akechi justice, and I enjoyed your contribution to the brewer’s trial some weeks ago.”

  Father Mateo bowed. “It honors us to serve your office.”

  “However,” the magistrate continued, “not everyone appreciates your efforts. Earlier today, I received a complaint.”

  “A complaint?” Father Mateo repeated.

  Magistrate Ishimaki nodded. “Regrettably, I must insist you cease your current investigation.”

  “There has been a mistake,” Hiro said. “We have no investigation at the moment.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” the magistrate said, “since Hosokawa-san forbade one. Had you admitted to an investigation, I would have had to arrest you.”

  “May we inquire who lodged the complaint?” Hiro asked.

  “You may not,” the magistrate said. “That is, you may ask, but I cannot tell you. The petitioner requested that I keep his identity secret.”

  Father Mateo spread his hands. “My religion requires that you tell us. The Christian faith prohibits conviction except on the testimony of two or more witnesses.”

  Magistrate Ishimaki smiled. “Fortunately for your religion, you do not stand convicted.”

  Hiro resisted the urge to smile. Father Mateo argued well, but Magistrate Ishimaki had years of experience handling logical men.

  “However”—the magistrate raised a finger—“I understand that your religion also requires priests to keep a secret even unto death. Is this correct?”

  “Sometimes,” Father Mateo said. “A priest cannot reveal a confession a person makes to God.”

  “Then I confess—to your god, of course—that Yoriki Hosokawa presented me a complaint from a rice merchant named Basho. The merchant objects to you questioning his apprentice about the death of a riverbank girl.” Magistrate Ishimaki looked from Father Mateo to Hiro, as if judging their reactions to his words.

  Hiro didn’t believe in the Christian religion, but knew the rules for confessions did not apply unless the speaker was also a Christian—which the magistrate most certainly was not.

  “Yoriki Hosokawa brought the complaint?” Father Mateo asked.

  The magistrate nodded. “He spoke with Basho this morning. The merchant did not wish to present his petition personally. He hoped to avoid the humiliation of public association with a crime.”

  Hiro wondered whether Basho approached the yoriki first or whether Yoriki Hosokawa planted the fear of humiliation in order to prompt a complaint. He also wondered why Hosokawa-san seemed so determined to block the investigation—and whether the reason went beyond frustration at their involvement in solving the brewery murder.

  “We never accused Basho’s apprentice of killing anyone,” Father Mateo said.

  Technically, that misstated the truth, but Father Mateo had not been present when Hiro spoke with Jiro the night before.

  “You made him fear arrest was imminent,” Magistrate Ishimaki said. “Basho objected strenuously to your insensitive treatment of his nephew, particularly after the yoriki reassured him that no crime had been committed.”

  “No crime?” Father Mateo shook his head. “A girl was murdered. How can the yoriki say there was no crime?”

  “I do not know the laws in your country,” Magistrate Ishimaki said, “but, in Japan, not every death is a crime.”

  “Is this what you call justice?” Father Mateo asked. “Ignoring the death of an innocent girl, but calling righteous men to task when a merchant lifts a finger in complaint?”

  “I did not summon you here for a debate about the nature of justice.” The magistrate frowned.

  “Clearly not.” Father Mateo’s voice held an equal edge. “A man who cared about justice would not sacrifice it for a merchant’s happiness.”

  Magistrate Ishimaki leaned forward and shifted his gaze to Hiro. “I choose to believe this foreigner has an imperfect grasp of our language, and that he does not understand the words he speaks.”

  Hiro bowed to give himself time to think.

  “Indeed,” he said as he straightened. “I believe the priest intended to express his deep regret at this unfortunate mistake. We never intended Basho or his apprentice harm. We only sought to return an object found on the dead girl’s body. We believed—mistakenly—that it belonged to the apprentice.”

  Magistrate Ishimaki’s frown softened to curiosity. “What is this object of which you speak?”

  Hiro nodded to Father Mateo, who held up the leather strip and golden coin.

  “This gold was found on the girl?” Magistrate Ishimaki’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “It was not hers?”

  “Her family claims they do not know its origin,” Hiro said.

  Magistrate Ishimaki thought for a moment and shook his head. “Even so, your search must end today. Return the coin to the family, with instructions to keep it safe in case the owner returns to claim it.”

  “But—” Father Mateo began.

  The magistrate spoke over him. “Wise men do not tread on a stranger’s melon field. My yoriki says no crime was committed. His words, and mine, are law.”

  Father Mateo switched to Portuguese. “What do melons hav
e to do with murder?”

  Hiro replied in kind. “A man in another man’s melon patch may be accused of trespassing . . . or stealing. He is warning us against an innocent act that might cause trouble.”

  Magistrate Ishimaki looked at Hiro. “Does he understand?”

  Hiro bowed. “I will ensure he does.”

  “I understand your words,” the Jesuit said, “but I respectfully disagree. The killer deserves to answer for his crime.”

  “While I appreciate your love of justice, this investigation ends today.” Magistrate Ishimaki glanced past Hiro at the sliding door. “The shogun ordered me to respect the merchants, to ensure they remain in Kyoto and pay their taxes without complaint.”

  “You’re doing this because the shogun wants the merchants coddled?” Father Mateo’s voice revealed disbelief . . . and anger.

  “No man resists the shogun.” Magistrate Ishimaki rose to his feet. “The blade of grass that stands the tallest is the first to be cut down.”

  Hiro spoke quickly to keep the Jesuit silent. “Yes, we understand.”

  It didn’t work. “Respectfully, I—”

  Hiro spoke over Father Mateo. “Forgive the foreigner’s lack of comprehension. I assure you, we will cause no further trouble.”

  Magistrate Ishimaki gestured to the doors behind them. “You may go.”

  Hiro heard a rustling in the corridor as he approached the doors, but when he slid it open the space was empty.

  Father Mateo followed Hiro from the room without complaint, but with a scowl that promised the discussion was not over.

  CHAPTER 26

  “How can a magistrate turn his back on justice?” Father Mateo demanded as he turned onto Marutamachi Road.

  Hiro eyed the priest. “Impressive. You held that back for ten whole minutes.”

  The Jesuit opened his mouth to argue, but Hiro continued, “He had no choice. If Matsunaga Hisahide ordered the merchants coddled, it must be done. Even so, the magistrate showed us favor. He could have arrested us instead of issuing a warning.”