by Susan Spann
Father Mateo started to respond, but Hiro hadn’t finished.
“My speed and skills can save you from a samurai’s direct attack, but Hanzō will not cut you down on sight, like a samurai lord. The death he orders comes by night. It gives no warning, makes no sound. I might prevent it once, or twice, or even a dozen times, but that won’t matter. If Hattori Hanzō wants you dead, you die, and even I cannot prevent it.”
The shock on Father Mateo’s face made Hiro realize how wildly he had lost control. He took several deep breaths and continued in a softer tone. “You are my friend, and I do not want to bury you in Iga . . . or anywhere else, for that matter. So please, for the sake of our friendship, my oath, and our lives, do not speak to my cousin that way again.”
Hiro continued walking. To his relief, the priest fell in step beside him. Knowing he needed to change the subject to break the awkward silence, Hiro said, “The only way to save my mother is to find the real killer.”
Father Mateo shook his head. “Things were simpler back in Kyoto.”
That’s for certain, Hiro thought.
“I miss my congregation, and my work. How long, do you think, before we can return?”
Not for the first time, Hiro regretted his promise never to lie to the priest. “That depends on which samurai claims the shogunate.”
“That could take years!” Despair filled Father Mateo’s voice. “We never should have left.”
“You would have died.”
The Jesuit shrugged. “At least a martyr’s death is useful.”
“If that is so, then why object to Midori taking the blame for Yajiro’s murder?”
“Because—” The Jesuit shook his head and continued, “I suppose it is no different, though I dearly wish it was.”
“A man must allow the past to flow downstream, and wait for the future to reach him in its time. We cannot worry about Kyoto—the reasons we left, or when we might return. For now, we must focus on finding Yajiro’s killer.”
Father Mateo nodded. “And saving your mother from a fate she does not deserve.”
Hiro hoped the priest was right, but a little voice at the back of his mind couldn’t help but add, That is, if she does not, in fact, deserve it.
CHAPTER 25
A few minutes later, Hiro and Father Mateo approached the door to Neko’s home. Hiro noted with relief that the only pair of sandals by the door belonged to Midori.
They knocked, and Hiro’s mother answered several moments later.
“Good morning.” Midori bowed to the priest and nodded to Hiro. “Come inside.”
Neko’s home consisted of only a single room with a sunken hearth at the center and tatami covering the wooden floor. Lacquered screens created a semiprivate sleeping space at the back of the room, and a line of wooden chests along the wall provided storage. Mingled scents of steaming rice and tea perfumed the air, along with the musky, dusty scent of chrysanthemums—Neko’s favorite. Hiro found their stench almost unbearable. To him, the flowers smelled as if they died before they bloomed.
Worse, the odor unleashed another flood of unwanted memories: a teenaged Neko wearing chrysanthemums in her hair to see if Hiro would kiss her despite their stink; an even younger Neko chasing him with handfuls of the blooms; Midori explaining that Neko’s teasing was actually a sign of friendship, something six-year-old Hiro found impossible to believe.
“Hiro?”
He looked up to see Midori and Father Mateo already kneeling by the hearth. She raised a teapot. “I asked, ‘May I offer you some tea?’”
He crossed the room and knelt beside the priest. “Thank you, but we must decline.”
“I see.” She nodded. “Has something happened?”
He tried to decide how much to explain without offending his mother or revealing more than necessary.
“With apologies, Hattori-san,” Father Mateo said, “the Koga ambassadors now believe you killed Yajiro.”
So much for subtlety, Hiro thought.
“And you have come to tell me why.” Midori looked expectantly at the priest.
As Father Mateo explained about the poisoned tea, Hiro tried to make sense of the doubts that swirled in his mind. Midori had always been the only person he could trust completely. He had not even blamed her on the night when Neko stabbed him—at least, not after Midori explained that she had been commanded not to warn him.
He loathed that he had to question her innocence, and hoped she hadn’t murdered Yajiro and poisoned the tea. Personal love for her aside, Midori had taught him much of what he knew about poisons, deduction, and logic. She would prove a wily adversary.
“Do you believe I poisoned the tea?” Midori asked when the Jesuit finished speaking.
“Of course not,” Father Mateo said. “The person who killed Yajiro must have poisoned your tea as well.”
“Not that those are mutually exclusive.” Midori glanced at the teapot and then at Hiro. “I trust the Koga emissaries’ names are on your suspect list as well?”
“Why would they drink the tea if they knew it was poisoned?” Father Mateo asked.
“Are you certain they planned to drink it?” Midori countered.
“They certainly seemed about to,” Father Mateo said, “but we will keep that possibility in mind. Have you any other suggestions?”
Midori nodded once. “Avoid the tea.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Hiro said drily. “How about something to help us find the killer?”
“If it’s help you want, you should speak with Neko.”
“Why?” Hiro asked. “Does she want to confess?”
Midori looked down her nose at him. “I thought I raised a more temperate man.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear you call me ‘temperate,’” Hiro said.
“You still haven’t.” Midori’s look conveyed her disapproval. “Neko overheard the Koga emissaries arguing. She may have information that can help you.”
“Where is she?” Father Mateo asked.
“She went to practice in the forest.” Midori raised an eyebrow at Hiro. “Someone said her camouflage needs work.”
Hiro ignored the reprimand. “Just tell us what she heard.”
“If you wish to learn what Neko knows, you will have to speak to her yourself.”
“Mother, we have no time for games.”
“Why such haste?” Midori tilted her head like a curious crow. “I see. You need to find the murderer before your cousin blames the crime on me.
“Don’t deny it,” Midori continued. “Hanzō deferred my offer this morning, but only temporarily. The Koga emissaries must not leave without a satisfactory resolution. If they do, it will mean war.”
“But you’re innocent,” Father Mateo said.
Midori smiled like a parent entertaining the whims of a foolish child. “I do not know if you can comprehend my thoughts. Perhaps, in time, you will understand.
“Many years ago, I swore an oath to protect the Iga ryu, to place its needs before my own, and to obey its leaders without question. If Hattori Hanzō thinks my life—or death—will save this clan from war with Koga, I will give it willingly.”
“You mustn’t,” Father Mateo protested. “An innocent person should never—”
“Innocent?” Midori laughed. “I am many things, but that is not among them.”
“You said you did not murder Koga Yajiro,” the priest persisted. “In that context, you are innocent, and should not bear the penalty for this crime.”
Midori waved a dismissive hand. “I will gladly die for the Iga ryu. However, if you want the real murderer to answer for the crime, go speak with Neko.”
Father Mateo rose to his feet. Hiro followed, noting with frustration that his mother had not actually denied involvement in Yajiro’s death. He refused to think about what he would do if the evidence condemned her.
Truthfully, he did not know if he could watch her take the blame.
When they reached the path, Hiro started south tow
ard the village center.
Father Mateo pointed to the trees. “Shouldn’t we be looking for Neko there?”
“We aren’t looking for her at all. I’m walking you back to Midori’s house. While I find Neko, you must persuade Toshi to stay in Iga at least one more day.”
“Why Toshi?”
“Kiku already seems inclined to stay, and one more vote will give them a majority,” Hiro explained. “You’re welcome to try for Fuyu if you’d rather.”
“What argument could possibly overcome the poison in their tea? We would have left already, in their place.”
“Unless you persuaded me not to,” Hiro said. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Father Mateo stopped and crossed his arms. “You don’t want me there when you talk to Neko.”
“That’s not true.” Inwardly, Hiro cringed at the broken promise. “Actually, yes it is—but that changes nothing. You’re not going.”
The priest leaned forward slightly. “Talking with women is not your highest skill.”
“You think it’s yours?”
“With this particular woman? I suspect I have an advantage, yes.” The Jesuit raised a hand to his chest. “I’m not the one in love with her.”
Hiro snorted. “I’ll be fine.”
Father Mateo’s look said otherwise.
“Neko won’t talk in front of you,” Hiro added. “She does not trust outsiders.”
“Then promise me you won’t allow your emotions to obstruct the conversation. Listen to her. Don’t let feelings blind you.” Father Mateo made the sign of the cross in the air between them. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I pray that God will heal the breach between you.”
When he finished the blessing, Father Mateo walked away along the path.
As he watched the priest disappear from view, Hiro considered his friend’s unyielding belief that the Christian god truly cared about mortal lives. As always, it seemed strange, but then a lot of men—and women—put their faith in far more harmful things.
CHAPTER 26
Hiro stood on the path and pondered his options.
Given Midori’s comment, he suspected he knew where Neko had gone to train: a glade near the river where they had spent many pleasant afternoons together in the past. He started into the trees, well aware that he could be walking into a trap. He had sent the priest away, in part, to minimize the danger, but could not avoid the risk himself.
If you do not enter the tiger’s cave, you will not catch its cub. The proverb leaped to mind in Neko’s voice.
He stayed on guard as he moved through the forest, searching for human forms among the shadows. He varied the length and pace of his steps and stopped frequently to listen. Despite his belief that Neko waited for him in the glade, he would not open himself to an ambush.
He inhaled deeply, enjoying the spicy scent of the cedars and the musk of fallen leaves, their scents distinct and sharp in the chilly air.
As he walked, his thoughts strayed back to Midori’s involvement in Yajiro’s murder. He did not want to consider what would happen if he failed to find the killer—or, worse, if the evidence proved her guilty. Emotions battered his chest like a bully’s strikes. He clenched his jaw and tried to will his thoughts to calm. His breathing slowed, and his emotions faded, replaced by the realization that, regardless of what the investigation revealed, he could not let his mother die.
Overhead, a crow cried out in warning.
Hiro froze, alert and listening.
Years before, he and Neko created a system of coded cries, almost identical to those of real forest crows. In training exercises, they had used the calls to orchestrate opponents’ swift demise.
A second caw echoed through the trees.
Hiro drew a breath to say he had no time for foolishness, but let it out again, the words unspoken. Neko never obeyed any orders but Hanzō’s. The only way to ensure cooperation was to beat her at this game.
He cupped his hands to his mouth and tried to caw, but the sound that emerged reminded him more of the day the Jesuit accidentally shut a sliding door on Gato’s tail.
Unsurprisingly, Neko did not reply.
His second attempt fared better, and a moment later Neko’s answer echoed through the trees. Farther away, a genuine crow responded to her call.
Hiro continued through the forest, treading carefully over the shifting carpet of fallen leaves. He didn’t bother to disguise his steps. He could not see her yet, but clearly Neko saw him well. Every time he strayed off course, a “crow” squawked to redirect his path.
He searched the trees each time her voice rang out but never found her. With intense frustration, he realized her weak performance in the trees that morning must have been a ruse.
He’d fallen for it, just as she intended.
The forest dimmed as a cloud obscured the sun.
Behind his back, a crow shrieked in alarm. He spun around, fists raised to fight, but saw only the empty forest.
Lowering his hands to his sides, he closed his eyes and listened for the slightest sound that might reveal Neko’s true position. As long as he kept moving, she retained a tactical advantage. Hiro needed to change the game and make her come to him.
He inhaled the complex smells of the forest, allowing the familiar scents to calm the storm within him. Opening his eyes, he said, “I accept your apology, Neko.”
Several seconds later, he added, “I spoke with Midori. I’m prepared to listen.”
A gust of wind rattled through a nearby cluster of bamboo and sent a swirl of maple leaves cascading to the forest floor.
Neko did not appear.
Hiro’s anger flared like glowing coals blown into flame. He would not beg, and would not let this woman make a fool of him again. He turned away, but froze at the faintest crackle of leaves behind him.
Without hesitation, he ducked and somersaulted sideways, feeling the rush of air as Neko flew past overhead. She hit the ground and rolled to her feet in a single, fluid motion.
Hiro rose to a crouch and raised his hands. “I did not come to fight.”
“You expect me to believe you want my help?” She made a derisive noise.
He straightened. “I came to find you, didn’t I? Midori said . . .”
“Hattori Hiro does not ask for help.” She lunged, a dagger flashing in her hand.
He jumped away and raised his arm to block her counterstrike. She advanced and struck again. Once more he blocked and backed away, unwilling to fight back in earnest until she made her motive clear.
“You’re slipping, Hiro.” She smiled. “Has bodyguard duty made you soft?”
“I don’t have time for games. I need your help.”
She feinted, and he jumped away again.
“You used to be fond of games, when the stakes were high.” She raised the tanto. “Disarm me, and I will help you. Unless, of course, you’re scared to try.”
He clenched his jaw.
She circled left. He matched her movements, keeping the distance even. He recognized her game as an attempt at manipulation, but it was also the fastest—perhaps the only—way to obtain her cooperation.
Hiro thought of the shuriken concealed in his sleeve. It would even the match but hinder his ability to strip her of the knife.
Sensing his distraction, Neko attacked.
Deflecting her strike with his left hand, Hiro counterattacked with his right. She stepped away, but the heel of his hand connected with her chest.
Clearly chagrined by her own miscalculation, Neko backed away farther. She circled, watching him carefully. Hiro mirrored her, step for step.
She sprang, but this time Hiro grasped her weapon hand and pulled her toward him. He felt a flash of concern as she stepped closer, instead of away.
Grabbing the back of his neck, she kissed him.
Hiro released her and pulled back. “That wasn’t fair.”
“Distraction is always fair.” She smiled. “And you enjoyed
it.”
He wished that wasn’t true.
“Also,” she said with a taunting smile, “it appears you have not yet disarmed me.”
Without hesitation, Hiro plowed his shoulder into her stomach, knocking her backward into the leaves. She landed hard, with Hiro on top of her, but he gave himself no credit for the takedown. The fact that she had fallen for it again so soon, after his successful use of the tactic at the feast, confirmed that she had always intended this fight to close the physical distance between them.
Neko dropped the knife. “I’m at your mercy.”
Hiro leaned down over her until their faces almost touched and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Tell me what you heard while spying on the Koga emissaries.”
Her smile vanished. “Let me up.”
CHAPTER 27
“You really came out here to ask my help with your investigation?” Neko sounded disappointed.
Hiro stood and offered her his hand. “That’s what I said.”
Unexpectedly, she took it. As he helped her up, she said, “But you talked with Midori.”
“About the investigation. . . . What did you think I meant?”
“It doesn’t matter. Clearly I misunderstood.” She bent to retrieve her dagger. “Has that foreigner made a Christian of you?”
“Why would I follow a foreign god? I don’t even trust the Japanese ones.”
She sheathed the dagger at her waist. “You’ve changed.”
“Be glad I have.” He nodded toward her obi. “Or that dagger would be sticking in a far more painful place.”
She laughed. “That’s the Hiro I remember.”
“I really don’t have time for this,” he said. “If I don’t figure out who murdered Koga Yajiro this afternoon, Hanzō will make my mother take the blame.”
Neko shook her head. “He wouldn’t.”
“He told me he would, and he will. The emissaries have lost patience with our lack of progress.” Hiro omitted the poisoned tea. “Now, they plan to leave at once, and Hanzō intends to punish Yajiro’s killer before they go—one way or another.”