by Susan Spann
“He wants me to meet him at the gates an hour before sunset and accompany his wagons to my warehouse.” Luis waved the message like a miniature flag. “Of all the inconsiderate . . .”
“Out of the question,” Hiro said. “You will not meet him.”
“Of course not,” Luis snapped. “Simão can’t order me around like a servant.”
“That isn’t the issue,” Hiro replied. “We will have left the city before he arrives.”
Luis turned to Father Mateo. “Is he still on about that shogunate nonsense?” He shook the letter. “Simão explained it all in his message. The shogun needs a second merchant because he needs more weapons to prepare for the coming war. He doesn’t understand that a single merchant can handle everything. It’s simply a misunderstanding. One which will cost me dearly, but—”
“More dearly than you can imagine,” Hiro said.
“Father Vilela has ordered us to leave Kyoto immediately.” Father Mateo approached the hearth. “The Church has decided the city isn’t safe. We have to go tomorrow, and I want you to close your warehouse and come with us.”
“Has everyone taken leave of his senses but me?” Luis turned his face to the kitchen and yelled, “Ana! I’m eating supper in my room!”
“We cannot stay in the city,” Father Mateo repeated.
“Then go,” Luis said, “but leave me out of it. I’m not going anywhere.”
The merchant stomped to his room and shut the door behind him with a rattle.
Hiro looked at Father Mateo.
The Jesuit raised a hand. “Not now. Even assuming you’re correct about Matsunaga-san’s intentions, he won’t come after Luis until Simão has settled in. We don’t have to figure this out tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll send a message to Father Vilela, explaining the situation and letting him know we need more time.”
The priest returned to his room and closed the door.
Hiro’s chest grew tight, as it always did when he was trapped between bad options. He wished he could obtain some proof of the plot against Luis. Hisahide would not wait to execute his plan, but without evidence Hiro would never persuade the priest—or the merchant—that the situation was now urgent.
The minute Simão reached Kyoto, Luis and Father Mateo were out of time.
The sun had set, which meant that no one could enter Kyoto until morning. However, that didn’t necessarily mean the priest and his household were safe tonight.
Hiro went to his room, changed into a dark-colored tunic and matching trousers, and left the house. As he climbed up onto the roof, he yawned.
Tired or not, he wouldn’t sleep tonight.
As he watched the street from the ridge of the roof, Hiro pondered the details of Emi’s murder. He couldn’t dismiss the thought that Satsu wanted more than just the name of his daughter’s killer. The coin was connected to the crime, despite the lack of evidence, but Hiro had also begun to doubt the murderer had given the gold to Emi. Yuji and Jiro had no money, and neither Satsu nor Botan had reason to give the girl a gift at all. The yoriki needed gold and wouldn’t have left the coin behind, which left only the mysterious man who promised to purchase Emi’s place in a teahouse. And, despite what they’d been told, Hiro had seen no evidence such a person even existed—
—at which thought, the mystery unraveled itself completely.
Hiro knew who killed Emi, and why, and the answer—though clearly the proper one—surprised him. Better still, he suspected he could reveal the killer’s identity in time to get Father Mateo out of Kyoto before the yoriki’s deadline.
He spent the rest of the night reviewing the evidence in his mind, and one by one the pieces fell into place. By the time the eastern sky turned pale blue and gold with the promise of dawn, Hiro knew his answer was correct.
His spirits lifted, buoyed by the fiery glow that preceded the rising sun.
He wished he had time to watch the sun’s rebirth, but lives would stand or fall by his timing today, and Hiro would not risk the Jesuit’s life for the sake of a sunrise.
He hurried off the roof, barely noting the pleasant smells of dying leaves and wood smoke in the air. Back in his room, he donned his gray kimono and thrust his swords through his favorite obi. If he had to flee Kyoto with nothing but the clothes on his back, at least he would be wearing the ones he liked.
He paused to straighten the samurai knot atop his head and slipped a pair of shuriken into his kimono sleeves. One of the weapons clinked against the golden coin he had left in the hidden pocket the night before.
Hiro walked to the veranda door, slid it open carefully—and startled.
CHAPTER 48
Father Mateo stood on the veranda, arms crossed and wearing the same expression Hiro’s father had worn the day an eight-year-old Hiro tossed a smoke bomb into an occupied latrine.
“I suspected you might try to sneak off without me,” Father Mateo said.
“We need to leave today. I thought you’d be packing.” Hiro found it odd that he hadn’t heard the Jesuit’s footsteps or the squeaky timber that alerted him to movement on the porch.
“You solved it, didn’t you?” Father Mateo asked. “You know who murdered Emi. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be sneaking out alone so early.”
“I’m not certain,” Hiro said, “but I’ll know in an hour. Two at most.”
“I’m coming with you.” Father Mateo raised a hand, as if to ward off argument. “I spoke with Ana. She will pack the household goods and knows a merchant whose cart we can rent tomorrow. I’ll write to Father Vilela when we return and let him know we need another day.”
“And if he won’t give it?” Hiro asked as he started toward the garden gate.
Father Mateo followed. “What can he do? Expel us from the city?”
As they passed Okazaki Shrine, an enormous crow flew out through the torii, circled over the road, and landed on the shoulder of the white-clad temple maiden standing near the shrine.
Hiro looked at the priestess and suddenly realized she wasn’t the woman who normally sold amulets at the entrance.
But she wasn’t a stranger, either.
The woman’s face scarred Hiro’s mind as surely as her hands had marked his shoulder and his inner thigh.
“Neko?” He choked on the name.
He didn’t understand how this was possible. She should have been older, by a decade—but Hiro could never forget that face, or the knowing smile that spread across it as he spoke.
Father Mateo looked confused. “Cat? What cat?”
Hiro barely registered the Jesuit’s confusion. His heart beat fast, and his shoulder ached with the memory of a pain that cut far deeper than torn flesh and injured bone.
The temple maiden bowed to Father Mateo. “No, sir. Neko does mean ‘cat,’ but in Japan it is also a name.” She turned to Hiro. “However, it is not my name. I am Mika. Neko is my sister.”
As Hiro’s thoughts began to clear, he noted subtle differences: the bridge of the nose, and the shape of the woman’s ears. Even so . . . “You look just like her.”
Mika nodded. “Everyone says that, but for the difference in age, we might be twins.”
A memory flashed through Hiro’s mind. “I saw you in the street two nights ago, near Father Mateo’s home. I did not see your face, but the shape was yours. You weren’t alone.”
Mika nodded and gestured to the torii.
A pair of boys stepped out from behind the pillars. The skinny one stood as tall as Father Mateo. Hiro recognized him also.
“You set the charge on the bridge,” Hiro said.
The skinny boy nodded.
“Ichiro!” Father Mateo exclaimed. “When did you return to Kyoto?”
Hiro looked at the second boy and recognized him as well. Ashikaga Ichiro was the son of a murdered samurai whose killer Hiro and Father Mateo had brought to justice earlier that summer. A cousin of the late Shogun Ashikaga, Ichiro had fled the city shortly after the shogun’s death.
“Do not use his name,” M
ika said. “It is dangerous.”
“You’ve been following us for days.” Hiro lowered his voice and looked around. “Is Kazu with you?”
“He’s not in the city.” Ichiro extended his hand to the crow, which fluttered its wings and hopped across to the young man’s arm. “Hanzo sent us to you, with a message. You must return to Iga immediately.”
Hiro wondered when and where the young samurai had obtained a crow and trained it to follow him so well. Unfortunately, more pressing concerns prevented that particular line of questions. “Has Hanzo terminated my assignment to guard the priest?”
He hoped the answer was no, though he couldn’t imagine another reason for the head of the Iga ryu to summon him home.
Mika shook her head. “On the contrary, Hanzo says you must bring the priest and leave as soon as possible—today, if you can.”
The order seemed legitimate, but Hiro found it hard to trust the girl. She looked too much like the woman who had betrayed him. “If Hanzo sent you with a message, why did you wait so long to deliver it?”
Ichiro stepped forward to answer. “Hanzo ordered us not to approach, or reveal ourselves, unless we could speak with you alone. We tried . . .”
“You were the beggar outside Pontochō.” Hiro glanced at the crow. “The bird attacked the dōshin to protect you.”
Ichiro looked at the crow with pride. “He did.” He gestured to the slender boy. “And Roku tried to contact you at Shijō Bridge, but a yoriki reached you first.”
“It looked like you were in trouble,” Roku said. “I planted a charge by the bridge to distract him.”
“It worked.” Hiro paused, remembering. “I saw the crow in the Jesuit’s garden also.”
Ichiro nodded. “I put him there hoping you would approach the wall, but you stayed too close to the house. I couldn’t reveal myself.”
“Why make contact now? I’m not alone.”
“We’ve waited too long as it is. We had to risk it.” Ichiro stroked the crow. It closed its eyes and ruffled its feathers in response.
“Only the priest is here,” Roku added, “and he’s supposed to go with you anyway.”
Hiro was almost ready to believe them, but not quite. “Why would Hanzo send such an important message with a group of children?”
“A test, to see if we’re ready for bigger assignments,” Mika said. “If you don’t reach Iga in time, we fail.”
Father Mateo frowned. “In time for what?”
“Someone tried to kill Hattori Hanzo.” The tall boy sounded worried.
“Shut up, Roku,” Mika hissed. “Hanzo told us to deliver the message and nothing more.”
“Who tried to kill Hanzo?” Hiro asked.
“A traitor,” Roku answered, “but he failed.”
“The Koga ryu is sending a delegation to Iga to discuss an alliance,” Ichiro said. “Hanzo wants two of his best shinobi to observe the negotiations and to protect him—and the visitors—from harm.”
“Who’s the other bodyguard?” Hiro dreaded the answer because he suspected he already knew it.
Mika smiled. “My sister, Neko.”
“Of course.” Hiro wondered whether Hanzo remembered the last time his “best shinobi” had seen one another. Neko was covered in Hiro’s blood—and Hiro had sworn to avenge the betrayal.
Blood for blood. It was the shinobi way.
Hanzo doubtless expected Hiro to put his personal issues behind him. Hiro wasn’t certain he could . . . or that he wanted to.
“Will you go to Iga?” Ichiro sounded hopeful.
Hiro nodded. “We will leave this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” Ichiro bowed, causing the crow to spread its wings for balance. He looked at the others. “We should go.”
Mika and Roku bowed, and all three of them disappeared into Okazaki Shrine.
CHAPTER 49
Hiro turned to Father Mateo. “At least that ends the argument about where to go when we leave Kyoto.”
Father Mateo frowned. “There was an argument?”
Hiro resumed his course toward the river.
Father Mateo hurried to catch up. “Hattori Hanzo may lead the Iga ryu, but he has no authority over me.”
“Only a dead man refuses an order from Hanzo,” Hiro said. “Some refuse because they are dead, and the rest are dead because they refused. Which one are you?”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go. . . .” Father Mateo paused as if distracted by another thought. “How did they enter the city without travel papers?”
“Ichiro and the others?” Hiro asked. “Who says they had no papers? The shogun’s seal is easy to forge, for those with the proper training.”
Father Mateo didn’t answer because they had reached the bridge.
The samurai on guard stepped out to meet them. “Good morning. Business in the city? Or another bowl of noodles?”
“Noodles,” Hiro lied, though his stomach wished otherwise.
The guard stepped sideways to let them pass. “Perhaps, one day, you will show me the cart you favor.”
Hiro bowed. “I would be honored.”
On the opposite side of the river, Hiro turned south on the road that followed the western bank. Father Mateo fell in step without comment.
Sunrise burnished the trees and buildings with an orange glow. Crimson curls of sunshine danced across the river’s surface, glinting off the ripples like embroidery on silk.
Hiro inhaled the scents of the city: wood smoke, fish, and here and there the rancid smell of trash. As they passed an alley, the stench of ammonia wafted from night soil buckets awaiting collection. As usual, Kyoto’s riot of smells made Hiro long for the mountain air of Iga.
“The Yutoku-za sits east of the river,” Father Mateo said, “but we’re on the west. Are we going to talk with Jiro?”
Hiro nodded, impressed by the priest’s deduction.
“Don’t tell me he’s guilty after all.”
“Not of Emi’s murder,” Hiro said, “although if I have deduced correctly, he is not entirely innocent either.”
By the time they reached Shijō Market, the shops had opened. People thronged the narrow street. Noren fluttered in the breeze as merchants stood before their shops, arranging the displays to best advantage.
Hiro and Father Mateo stopped in front of the expansive store whose noren read “BASHO—BEST RICE IN KYOTO.”
“Is that a new noren?” Father Mateo nodded at the indigo banner.
Hiro took a closer look. “It does seem new.”
“What happened to the old one?”
Hiro gestured to a line of birds that roosted on the building’s eaves. Their tails hung over the entrance to the shop. “Most likely, unwanted embellishments from above.”
Father Mateo laughed. “Can’t you wash a noren?”
Hiro considered the delicate calligraphy on Basho’s sign. “Yes, but extra spots and streaks can change the meaning of the words. Also, merchants consider the noren a symbol of their business. No one wants a stained or faded sign.”
Basho’s wife, a heavyset woman in dust-covered robes, emerged from the shop. She recognized Hiro and Father Mateo, but didn’t look pleased to see them. “Good morning. With apologies, the shop is not yet open. Please return later.”
“We don’t want rice today,” Hiro said. “We have come on other business.”
She frowned. “We’ve barely repaired the damage from the last time ‘other business’ brought you here.”
The floorboards creaked behind her.
“These men had nothing to do with that, Hama.” Basho laid a hand on her shoulder. “I will handle the matter from here.”
Hama gave her husband a doubtful glance, but bowed and walked away.
Basho stepped forward. The merchant was tall and burly, and his robe had a coating of fine, pale dust. His graying hair was in need of a trim.
He bowed. “May I help you this morning?”
“We have come to speak with Jiro,” Hiro said.
&
nbsp; “I’m afraid I cannot permit that,” Basho replied.
When Hiro didn’t respond, the merchant added, “Yoriki Hosokawa said I didn’t have to speak with you, and Jiro doesn’t either.”
“How much did you pay him for that protection?” Hiro asked. “And what are you trying to hide?”
Basho glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “How did you know the yoriki asked for money?”
Hiro didn’t answer.
After a moment, Basho continued, “He said he knew about the girl, and if I paid, he’d make the trouble go away—as long as I didn’t tell anyone, including you and the priest, what really happened. If I talked, or didn’t pay . . . I know it was wrong to pay him, but we would lose everything if the magistrate told the guild about Jiro’s loan.”
“His loan?” Father Mateo asked. “What loan?”
“The loan he made to the girl.” Basho looked confused. “That isn’t why you’re here?”
“Let me talk with them, Uncle.” Jiro appeared behind Basho. “I can set this right.”
“The yoriki ordered us not to speak with them,” Basho said.
“Hama told me I had to, so they wouldn’t cause more trouble.” Jiro glanced toward the back of the shop.
Hama stood by the warehouse door, arms crossed and glaring at the men like a witch about to cast a curse.
“The yoriki doesn’t want Magistrate Ishimaki learning that he steals from the people he’s supposed to protect,” Hiro said. “But we know what he’s doing.”
“That doesn’t excuse the loan,” Basho replied. “If the guild discovers we made a loan to a woman . . .”
“What loan?” Father Mateo repeated.
“Please?” Jiro asked Basho.
The merchant looked nervous, but nodded. “All right, you can tell them what you know.”
“I arranged for Basho to make a loan to Emi, before she died.” Jiro looked at the ground as if ashamed.
“He told me the client was a man,” Basho added. “I would not have made the loan if I knew the truth before I gave my word.”