by Susan Spann
“Why Midori?”
“She volunteered.”
“I’m sorry, Hiro,” Neko said, “but if she did, there’s nothing we can do.”
“We can find the real killer,” Hiro countered.
“How?” She raised her hands. “It could be anyone.”
“Mother said you overheard the emissaries arguing.”
“Not about who killed Yajiro.” Neko looked into the trees, remembering. “It happened right after I delivered the welcome tea and cakes. The kunoichi, Kiku, answered the door, and told me to set the tray beside the hearth. I offered to steep the tea, but the bald one—Fuyu—told me just to leave the tray and go. Based on his tone, he took me for a servant.
“After I left the house, I heard an argument through the window, so I doubled back and listened. Yajiro was in the sleeping chamber, arguing with someone—male, though I couldn’t tell which one. The other shinobi called Yajiro unfit to lead and threatened to ‘act’ if Yajiro continued his ‘charade.’”
“What kind of charade?” Hiro asked.
“That’s all he said. The accusation made Yajiro furious. He threatened to ruin the other man when they returned to Koga.”
“Through all this, you couldn’t tell the other man’s identity?”
“Yajiro never spoke a name, and they were whispering as if to ensure that no one overheard.”
Hiro wondered how Neko managed to notice a whispered argument if she had really been leaving, as she claimed.
“As Yajiro finished his threat, I heard Kiku tell the men to come and drink the tea before it cooled. Yajiro complained of a headache, and she got angry. She said she hadn’t prepared his tea for him to ignore it.” Neko shrugged. “That’s all I heard.”
Hiro doubted her veracity. “Then you did not brew the tea.”
“I already told you. I set the tray beside the hearth and left.”
“Etiquette required you to brew it.”
“Blame the emissaries.” Frustration edged her tone. “They refused to allow it. I don’t blame them. I would never let an enemy brew my tea.”
“The Koga are not our enemies.”
“Nor our allies,” Neko countered. “Those who are not with us are against us. Ask your foreign priest. His sutras say the same.”
“Now who sounds like a Christian?” Before she could answer, Hiro continued, “Mother said you had useful information. What do you think she meant?”
“Kiku made the tea, and poison is a woman’s art.”
“Then you believe Kiku poisoned the tea?” Hiro found the accusation interesting, for several reasons.
“Who else could have done it? Rapid toxins taste too strong to hide in the dishes Midori served. She chose the delicate flavors for that reason.”
Hiro found that curious. “Did she say so?”
Neko nodded. “Yesterday morning Akiko-san recommended a heavier broth for the fish, something more appropriate for autumn. Midori refused to change the soup. She said she wanted delicate dishes, with flavors too subtle to disguise the taste of poison.
“Yajiro must have consumed the toxin after arriving in Iga, or he would have been too sick to attend the feast,” Neko continued. “Kiku brewed the tea. . . .”
She trailed off, as if to let Hiro draw his own conclusion.
When he did not speak, she added, “Kiku is also the one who decided the delegation should stay at Midori’s home.”
“How do you know that?” Inwardly, Hiro winced at his own unintended admission. “Hanzō sent you home before that happened.”
“He dismissed me,” she corrected, “but he did not send me home. I hid near the mansion and followed Hanzō when he left the building. I had no intention of letting a Koga assassin put a dagger in his back.
“As they left the yard, Toshi asked Fuyu why he allowed the woman—Kiku—to choose their lodging. Fuyu silenced him and changed the subject, but the words were spoken.” Neko smiled, as if at the memory. “He seemed angry to admit he took instructions from a woman.”
She grew solemn. “It can’t be coincidental that Kiku made the tea and also chose Midori’s house.”
“What does the house have to do with it?” Hiro thought of the other poisoned tea, but pretended ignorance.
“Taken together, the facts reveal that Kiku has far greater status than she wants us to believe. She probably comes from one of the other powerful clans in Koga, and assassinated Yajiro to increase her family’s power within the ryu.”
“At the risk of war?” Hiro found that doubtful, though the rest of Neko’s argument made sense.
“Either Oda Nobunaga or the Ashikaga clan will start a war by spring, no matter what we do. Truly, does it matter whether Iga and Koga kill each other on our own account or at the whim of the highest bidder? Either way, we join the fight.”
“Not against one another,” Hiro said.
Unexpectedly, her expression softened. “I don’t want to argue with you. We have spent too many years at odds already.”
Hiro wanted to believe her, but her effort to blame Kiku seemed a bit too heavy-handed. Forcing away the desire to trust, he offered a deception of his own. “I’m going to need more evidence to prove that Kiku did this. Can you help me?”
“Anything I do would raise suspicion,” Neko said.
Hiro started to leave but stopped to ask, “Is it possible the welcome cakes were poisoned?”
“Akiko-san baked them.” Neko spoke as if this answered the question.
“Hanzō could have ordered her to poison them.”
“If Hanzō wanted someone killed, I’m the one he would have asked to do it.”
Given her tone, Hiro doubted Neko would offer any further information. “Thank you for helping. If you’ll excuse me . . .”
She nodded. “You’ve a murderer to catch.”
CHAPTER 28
As Hiro approached Midori’s house, he noticed Father Mateo, Fuyu, and Toshi standing on the veranda.
“Hiro!” Relief washed over the Jesuit’s face. “I hoped you would return before we left. Fuyu-san has granted me permission to say a funeral mass for Koga Yajiro.”
“Masso?” Fuyu demanded. “No! I gave permission only for funeral prayers.”
“Forgive me,” Father Mateo said. “Masso is my people’s word for ‘prayers.’”
Fuyu looked suspicious.
“His prayers will help Yajiro-san receive a better judgment in the afterlife,” Toshi said.
Hiro blinked in disbelief. In all the years he’d known the priest, their only serious argument had involved the Jesuit’s vehement opposition to using religion as a ruse. Afterward, Hiro had promised never to exploit the Christian faith, or Father Mateo’s god, for purposes of an investigation—and never to ask the priest to do so, either.
Yet now it seemed the Jesuit was doing precisely that.
“The prayers are lengthy”—Father Mateo spoke with unusual pointedness—“and will require quite some time to complete.”
“We are going with him, to observe,” the bald shinobi added.
“Not that we doubt his intentions.” Toshi’s comment drew an angry look from Fuyu.
Finally, Hiro found his voice. “All of you are going?”
It was precisely the type of obvious comment he often chided the priest for making, but also the first thing that came to mind.
“I promised Toshi’s father I would keep him safe.” Fuyu looked down his nose at Hiro. “Given the events of this morning, he is safer if he stays with me.”
Hiro decided not to mention a skilled assassin could kill two men as easily as one. Irritating Fuyu, though enjoyable in its way, was not productive.
“Kiku chose to remain behind.” Toshi nodded toward the door.
“She believes the foreign priest does not require supervision,” Fuyu said.
“And, also, opposes this ritual,” Toshi added.
“Silence!” Fuyu commanded. “No woman controls the funeral rites of a man who is not her relative, a
nd no shinobi speaks of private matters in front of strangers.”
Annoyance flickered over Toshi’s face, but disappeared almost at once. The young shinobi hung his head. “I apologize, Fuyu-san.”
The older man refused to answer.
Hiro felt another flash of empathy for Toshi. He had never suffered such an irritating master, but remembered the sting of bullying all too well. Although he wondered what made Fuyu agree to allow the Christian prayers, he didn’t ask. The ritual had bought them time, and Hiro would not risk those precious hours with unnecessary questions.
“Your investigation is over,” Fuyu said. “Soon we will meet with Hattori Hanzō to inform him of our decision to leave and to refuse the alliance he proposes.”
Hiro felt a rush of concern. “When will this meeting take place?”
“As soon as the priest completes the funeral prayers. We would not even stay that long, but Toshi wants to appease the foreign god.”
“You agreed as well. . . .” The younger man trailed off as if unwilling to risk another reprimand.
Fuyu ignored him. “At the meeting, we expect your devious commander to apologize for Yajiro’s murder and offer reparations. Otherwise, there will be consequences.”
“Is that a threat?” Hiro felt no genuine offense, but refused to let the insult pass unanswered.
Fuyu stepped to the edge of the porch and looked down his nose at Hiro. “Since you failed to understand, I will speak more clearly. If Hattori Hanzō does not hand over the person who murdered Koga Yajiro, as well as the one who tried to poison Toshi earlier today, every man, woman, and child in Iga will suffer Koga’s wrath . . . beginning with you.”
Hiro raised a hand to the hilt of his sword. “If you’re so certain we’re to blame, why wait?”
“You see, Toshi?” Fuyu retreated a step. “I told you this would happen. He wants to trick me into attacking, so Iga can excuse our deaths as well.”
Hiro looked at Father Mateo. “When Hanzō asks, I started this.” He took an aggressive step toward Fuyu. “You are a coward and a weakling. Only a man without true skill believes insulting others makes him strong. You are a peasant, not a samurai.”
Fuyu attacked so quickly Hiro barely had time to duck the strike.
As soon as the sword passed overhead, Hiro stood and seized the bald shinobi’s weapon hand. Gripping it tightly, he used his other hand to grab the back of Fuyu’s arm and pushed his opponent’s elbow upward, holding the wrist firmly in place as he extended Fuyu’s elbow joint to its painful limit.
Fuyu froze, aware that any further movement risked a serious injury.
Hiro held his opponent fast, tempted to snap the rude shinobi’s arm. He glanced at Toshi, half expecting an attack, but the young man backed away.
Returning his attention to Fuyu, Hiro ordered, “Drop the sword.”
Fuyu scowled. “The fall might harm the blade.”
“The lack of it will surely harm your elbow,” Hiro said. “The choice is yours.”
Fuyu’s katana dropped to the ground.
“Now, let’s see if you can learn a lesson,” Hiro continued. “If I had meant you any harm, your arm would be broken, along with your neck.
“I am going to release you now, as a sign of my respect for the Koga ryu. In return, you will sheathe your sword as well as your tongue, and keep them both under better control for the rest of your time in Iga. I will not demand an apology—it would not be sincere—but if you speak a single insulting word in my presence, Toshi and Kiku will carry a second corpse to Koga along with Yajiro. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Fuyu grunted.
“Then we have an understanding.” Slowly, Hiro released the pressure on the bald shinobi’s arm. When Fuyu made no sudden movements, Hiro let go and stepped away.
Fuyu retrieved his sword from the ground. Rubbing his elbow, he stepped back onto the porch. “Toshi will supervise the priest alone.”
The young shinobi straightened, shock apparent on his face.
“I need to spend the afternoon preparing a report for the Koga ryu.” Fuyu walked to the door. “I want to record the events of this visit before my memory fades.”
As Hiro nodded, footsteps pattered on the path behind him.
He turned as Tane came to an awkward halt several steps away. Her features froze, and her hands drew back against her body as she noticed the Koga men on the porch.
Hiro thought the girl might flee, but after a brief hesitation she bobbed a hasty bow.
“Good afternoon, Tane,” Hiro said. “What brings you here?”
She tipped her head to the side, looking over Hiro’s shoulder as if to avoid meeting his gaze. Her hands fluttered through a series of gestures that, although meaningful, shifted far too rapidly for him to comprehend.
He raised a hand, and she drew back, her fingers curling into fists.
“Slow down,” he said. “Repeat yourself.”
Her eyes went wide, and she raised her hands to hide an unexpected smile. A moment later, she bowed again and touched her fingertips to her forehead.
Hiro nodded. “I accept your apology.”
Tane’s hands dropped to her sides. Her mouth fell open.
“If you move slowly, we will try to understand.” Hiro raised his hand to touch his forehead. “This means you are sorry. Tell me the rest at that same speed.”
Tane glanced over his shoulder at the porch. Her breathing grew shallow, and once again she drew her hands in close, across her stomach.
“She’s nervous.” Father Mateo stepped off the porch and came to stand at Hiro’s side. “We should try to guess what she came to say.”
“The girl can tell us,” Hiro said. “Just give her time.”
CHAPTER 29
“This is ridiculous,” Fuyu sneered. “Who sends a worthless mute to deliver a message?”
Father Mateo raised a hand. “No life is worthless in the eyes of God.”
“Her parents should have sold her to a brothel. There, at least, it doesn’t matter if the girl can talk.” Fuyu looked at Hiro. “That is a statement of fact, not an insult.”
Tane’s cheeks flushed scarlet, and she raised her hands as if to hide her shame, but just before they touched her cheeks she clenched them into fists and lowered them carefully to her sides. She drew a breath and slowly tamed her emotions.
Hiro’s opinion of the girl went up a notch.
Father Mateo caught Fuyu’s eye. “Don’t you have a report to prepare? We would hate to delay you any longer.”
Few samurai could have accomplished the dismissal with greater skill.
Fuyu scowled but slipped off his sandals and entered Midori’s house without a word.
“Now,” Hiro said to Tane, “repeat your message.”
Her forehead wrinkled as if in thought. Looking down at her hands, she moved her fingers through some smaller gestures, as if working out a better way to get her point across. Finally, she gave him a helpless look and pointed back the way she came.
Hiro decided to help her. “Did someone send you?”
Tane knelt and scratched an image in the dirt with her index finger.
Hiro recognized the crest before she finished. “Hanzō sent you.”
The girl stood up and pointed to the sun.
“The sun,” Hiro said.
Tane nodded and rested her left elbow in the palm of her right hand. Pointing her left index finger toward the sun, she slowly lowered her hand and upper arm halfway down to the right one.
Seeing no comprehension in Hiro’s eyes, she raised her left hand toward the sun again and repeated the gesture. When it failed to produce a response, she frowned.
“She cannot tell us,” Toshi said.
The words made Tane scowl. She glanced at Hiro once again, pointed to the sun, and slowly traced an arc from its current position toward the Western horizon, stopping just above the tree line.
Hiro understood. “Sunset.”
Tane shook her head and repeated the gestu
re, once again pausing when her hand had barely reached the trees.
“When the sun sits atop the trees?” Hiro asked. “An hour before sunset?”
Looking shocked that he had understood her, Tane nodded. With one hand, she made an expansive gesture that included Hiro, Father Mateo, and also Toshi. With the other, she pointed first to the symbol in the dirt, then to the sun, and finally down the arc to the horizon.
“Hanzō wants to meet with us an hour before sunset.” Hiro calculated; this late in the year, the days were growing short. “About two hours from now.”
Tane’s face lit up with joy.
“The first time, you used different gestures,” Hiro said. “Show me those again.”
Tane repeated the smaller, faster gestures she had used the first time through. Hiro recognized the message now; he would not have understood had he not already known her meaning, but the gestures made him realize Akiko had judged the girl correctly. Although mute, Tane was definitely smart.
“Did your parents teach you to speak with your hands?” Father Mateo asked.
Tane paled and gripped her kimono. She bowed deeply before the priest, turned, and raced away into the trees.
The Jesuit looked deeply disappointed.
“Can you finish your prayers in time for the meeting?” Hiro asked.
Father Mateo switched to Portuguese. “Time is no issue. I am only doing this to keep them here another night.”
“I thought so,” Hiro replied in the Jesuit’s language, “but your motive escapes me.”
Father Mateo switched to Japanese. “Toshi-san, our time grows short. We should proceed at once.”
Hiro couldn’t remember the Jesuit ever cutting him off before. “Shall I come with you and stand guard?”
“No need.” Father Mateo switched to Portuguese. “Continue the hunt for the killer, while there’s time.” He started off along the path, and Toshi hurried to catch up.
Hiro wanted to follow them, but realized the Jesuit spoke the truth. Their time was up; he had to find the killer now.
As Father Mateo’s footsteps faded, Hiro stared at the wooden porch, worn smooth by use and time. A fraying cypress broom stood near the door. Midori made a new one every winter, burning the old broom in the hearth as winter snows gave way to spring. She did it not from superstition, but because an aging broom left bits of twig on her otherwise spotless porch. Unless he found Yajiro’s killer before sunset burned the sky, this could be his mother’s final broom.