by Susan Spann
Hiro feigned ignorance. “One of the foreign priests?” He caught a whiff of incense from the visitor’s faded robe.
“No.” Izumo shook his head. “A senior clerk at the shogunate—a man named Ashikaga Saburo. He was also a second cousin to the shogun.”
“Most unfortunate,” Hiro said.
“The shogun requested Father Mateo’s assistance in solving the crime,” Izumo added.
“I don’t understand,” Father Mateo said. “I’ve met the shogun only once, and that was years ago. I didn’t think he even knew my name.”
“When the body was discovered, the shogun summoned Father Vilela to pray for the dead man’s soul,” Izumo said.
“When did the shogun become a Christian?” Father Mateo asked.
“He isn’t,” Izumo said. “After the prayers, Shogun Ashikaga mentioned hearing that you had captured Akechi Hideyoshi’s killer a year ago. Father Vilela was summoned so that the shogun could politely ask for you.”
The acolyte’s tone suggested that he—and, by implication, Father Vilela—was not entirely pleased with this turn of events.
Hiro wasn’t either. “I am very sorry, but Father Mateo must decline.”
“Hiro!” Father Mateo turned to Izumo. “We would be honored to assist the shogun.”
“I apologize,” Hiro said, “but I must insist. Father Mateo is a priest. I am a translator. We are not qualified to investigate murders.”
Izumo smiled, but his shifting feet betrayed discomfort.
“My translator speaks out of turn,” Father Mateo said in perfect Japanese. “Please tell Father Vilela that Hiro and I will obey the shogun’s command.”
Izumo smiled stiffly. “While I appreciate your willingness, the shogun requested you … and you alone.”
“But I did not solve the Akechi murder alone,” Father Mateo said. “I require Hiro’s assistance.”
Izumo looked from Father Mateo to Hiro as if wishing the shinobi would renew his objection. Hiro said nothing.
“If there is no alternative,” Izumo said at last, “but please explain to the shogun that the Jesuit mission delivered his request without alteration.” He bowed. “When you reach the shogunate, ask for Matsunaga Hisahide. He will supervise your investigation.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to Father Vilela.”
Father Mateo and Hiro escorted the visitor back to the door. Izumo stepped outside, slipped on his sandals, and hurried away.
The Jesuit closed the door and spun around quickly. Hiro jumped back to avoid a collision.
“Why did you refuse him?” Father Mateo demanded.
The Jesuit’s rare but genuine frustration startled Hiro, and it took the shinobi a moment to recover.
“We are not in the business of solving murders,” Hiro said at last. “The Akechi incident almost got us killed, and that was only a teahouse. The shogunate is infinitely more dangerous.”
“The shogun requested our aid,” Father Mateo said, “and Father Vilela seconded his request. Refusal is not an option.”
“Father Vilela seconded it unwillingly,” Hiro countered. “Not even you could have missed Izumo’s discomfort—and neither Vilela nor Izumo understands the danger fully. I will not allow you to risk your life in this manner.”
“Fortunately, your consent is not required.” Father Mateo paused. “What makes you think my life is at risk?”
“Have you forgotten the details of the Akechi murder? The dead man’s family tried to hold you responsible.”
“That was different. My converts aren’t involved this time.” Father Mateo stepped backward warily. “Hiro, what haven’t you told me?”
Before the shinobi could answer, a woman’s scream echoed through the house.
Chapter 4
Hiro ran to his room with Father Mateo close behind. They paused in the doorway, seeking the source of the sound.
The Jesuit’s aging housekeeper, Ana, stood beside Hiro’s futon chest with her back to the door and her hands in the air. A rumpled quilt lay on the floor at her feet. She shrieked again and bent to pummel Kazu, who cowered inside the chest, eyes wide and arms raised in self-defense.
He noticed the other men in the doorway. “Hiro, please!” he called.
The housekeeper whirled. A scowl added even more lines to her wrinkled face. Her black eyes glittered with fury and uncomfortable surprise.
“Hiro,” she said. “I should have known.”
The shinobi opened his mouth to deny involvement, but changed his mind. “It’s Kazu,” he said, then added, “you know Kazu.”
“I know he does not belong in the futon chest.” Ana gave Hiro a sideways look and waggled her finger as if at a naughty child. “You put him there to scare me, didn’t you?”
“He did not.” Kazu stood up and straightened his robe. “He put me there so I wouldn’t.”
“Hm.” Ana gathered up the fallen quilt and muttered, “Didn’t work.”
She started toward the door and paused directly in front of Hiro. “Your kimonos need airing too. Will I find a pair of dancing girls in your wardrobe?”
“Only if he’s lucky,” Kazu quipped.
Ana shot a glare over her shoulder and bustled from the room.
Father Mateo looked from the departing maid to Hiro. “Why was he hiding in the futon chest?”
“A foolish prank,” Kazu said, “for which I apologize. I stopped by to see if Hiro had a message for his family in Iga. I am heading there this morning.”
“You work at the shogunate.” Father Mateo’s gaze shifted from Kazu to Hiro. “This is why you don’t want us involved.”
Hiro nodded once in silent admission.
The Jesuit looked at Kazu. “Did you kill Ashikaga Saburo?”
“No,” Kazu said.
“But the shogun thinks you did.” It wasn’t a question.
Hiro admired the priest’s quick inference but hoped Mateo wouldn’t ask why Kazu had chosen the Jesuit’s house to run to. The priest didn’t know that Kazu was also shinobi, and Hiro had no intention of explaining.
“The murderer used my dagger,” Kazu said, “but I swear—by all the kami in Japan—my hand did not wield it.”
“There is only one God,” Father Mateo said, “in Japan or otherwise. But if you are innocent, as you claim, His truth will set you free.”
Kazu laughed. “The shogun doesn’t care about your god’s truth.”
Father Mateo bowed. “Forgive my rudeness. I would like to speak with Hiro—alone.”
The Jesuit backed out the door. When Hiro followed, Father Mateo closed the shoji that separated Hiro’s room from the common room and crossed to the central hearth. A smell of dead ashes rose from the sunken pit where the fire usually burned.
Father Mateo lowered his voice and switched to Portuguese. “God’s house does not shelter murderers.”
“Kazu claims innocence,” Hiro replied in the Jesuit’s native tongue, “and I didn’t offer him shelter. He arrived unannounced and will leave the same way, at dawn.”
“This is serious.” Father Mateo raised his right hand but stopped just short of running it through his hair. He returned the hand to his side, refusing to give in to the nervous habit. “The shogun permits me to live in Kyoto and preach God’s word because I abide by Japanese law. If he learns I harbored a fugitive he will banish me from the city, and probably banish Father Vilela as well.”
“He won’t banish you.” Hiro switched back to Japanese. “He’ll kill you.”
Before the Jesuit could reply Hiro continued, “I understand the danger. I would not have consented, had Kazu asked, and I would have prevented him from coming here if I could.”
“I didn’t think you invited him,” Father Mateo said, “but you let him stay. I begin to suspect he is more than merely a friend from the sake shop.”
The door to Hiro’s room slid open. Kazu emerged, still wearing the dingy robe and carrying a pair of fraying sandals. A wicker basket-hat covered his head and rested on his shou
lders. The narrow slit at the front of the basket allowed him to see but completely obscured his features.
“Hiro,” Father Mateo said, “your friend has a basket on his head.”
“A hat,” Hiro corrected. “The komusō monks of Fuke Zen wear such things to distance themselves from the world.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Kazu said, his perfect Kyoto accent slightly muffled by the basket. “I will not impose upon you again.”
Father Mateo bowed.
Hiro escorted Kazu out. When they reached the front door Kazu said, “You should help the Jesuit solve this murder.”
Hiro raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You really didn’t kill Saburo?”
The basket shimmied as Kazu shook his head. “No, but Hanzo will want to know who did.”
Hiro didn’t answer. Kazu was right. The head of the Iga ryu demanded an explanation for everything that impacted an Iga shinobi’s mission, and he wasn’t known to suffer failures well.
“Besides,” Kazu added, “you will need to solve the crime to prove you didn’t help me escape.”
Hiro had thought of that too. Samurai justice often condemned a guilty man’s friends and family if the criminal escaped the grasp of justice. No one in Kyoto knew that Hiro and Kazu shared more than a casual friendship, but the two were well-known as friends and drinking companions. Since Kazu had no family in the capital, his friends would bear the brunt of the shogun’s anger.
“Travel safely,” Hiro said. “Give my regards to everyone at Iga.”
Kazu paused as if wanting to say something more, but after a moment he set down the sandals, slipped them on, and headed for the street.
The sky had lightened, though clouds prevented a visible sunrise. A bird chirped in a nearby tree, and Kazu’s sandals crunched an accompaniment on the gravel path. At the narrow earthen road the young shinobi turned east, away from Kyoto.
Angry barking erupted from the yard across the street.
On the narrow strip of grass beside the house, a huge akita strained at the end of a braided rope secured to a wooden stake. The dog weighed almost as much as a man and stood three feet high at the shoulder. It barked ferociously at Kazu, barely pausing to draw a breath.
Hiro found it odd that the dog was home. The woodsman who lived across the street usually left before dawn and always took the akita with him.
After watching long enough to ensure the dog would not break free, Hiro shifted his gaze to Kazu’s retreating form. He hoped that Kazu hadn’t killed Saburo. If the investigation proved otherwise, the shogun would execute both Hiro and Father Mateo the moment he learned that Kazu had slipped away.
Hiro didn’t want to get involved in another murder, but no man could easily refuse a command from the shogun. Father Mateo had to find the killer, and Hiro—sworn to protect the priest—had no choice but to follow him into danger.
An unexpected rush of excitement struck the shinobi as he turned back into the house and closed the door. Although he wouldn’t have chosen this assignment, solving a murder allowed him to use his special training in a way his bodyguard duties seldom offered. Hiro found himself looking forward to the challenge, even though accepting it went against his better judgment.
He returned to the common room as Father Mateo emerged from his bedroom wearing a formal kimono.
Before Hiro could speak the Jesuit said, “You might as well skip the protest. I’m solving this murder and you’re going to help me do it.”
Chapter 5
Hiro and Father Mateo walked west along Marutamachi Road past Okazaki Shrine, the Shinto temple that marked Kyoto’s official eastern boundary.
They crossed the wood and stone bridge that spanned the Kamo River. As they entered the elite residential ward on the opposite side, Father Mateo said, “I’m glad Luis is out of town. If he’d heard Ana scream…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The Portuguese merchant whose weapon sales financed Father Mateo’s mission kept a secret about as well as a toddler—and not even that well if he saw an advantage in talking.
A few blocks past the river, Hiro and Father Mateo turned north onto the road that led to the shogunate. The shogun’s compound lay a block ahead on the western side of the street.
Twenty-foot walls of wood and stone surrounded the shogun’s compound. A roof of curved black tiles surmounted the walls, punctuated at intervals by surveillance towers that jutted into the air like curling fangs from the mouth of a boar. The massive perimeter wall stretched two city blocks on every side. At the base of the wall lay a water-filled moat too broad for most men to jump.
“Such a large compound for only one man,” Father Mateo said.
“The shogun is the most powerful man in Japan,” Hiro answered, “more powerful than the emperor in every way that matters. And the shogunate isn’t large just for the sake of display. It also houses the bakufu—the government offices.”
“Yes, in the mansion,” Father Mateo said. “That’s where the shogun received me when I first arrived in Kyoto. The grounds are spectacular, too.”
“Shogun Ashikaga has an eye for beauty,” Hiro said, “though some men worry it blunts his martial edge.”
Hiro fell silent as as they reached the eastern entrance to the compound. A wooden bridge spanned the moat and a black tile roof arched high above the massive wooden gates that stood open for shogunate business from dawn until dusk.
Half a dozen armored samurai stood guard around the entrance. They snapped to attention as Hiro and Father Mateo approached.
The Jesuit paused at the eastern end of the bridge and bowed to the guards. They returned the greeting in kind. Hiro noted with approval that the guards bowed deeply, from the waist, a more respectful greeting than samurai usually offered foreigners.
“I am Father Mateo Ávila de Santos,” the Jesuit said. “I have come to see Matsunaga Hisahide.”
“Greetings, Father,” the tallest guard said. “Please wait here. I will inform Matsunaga-san of your arrival.”
He disappeared into the compound as Hiro and Father Mateo crossed the bridge. While they waited for the guard to return, Hiro looked at the shogunate compound—or at least, at the portion visible from the gate.
The entrance opened onto a graveled courtyard. To the north and south, the yard was lined with stands of delicate maple trees interspersed with taller pines and cedars. On the western side, opposite the gates, lay the entrance to the massive government mansion.
The building rose higher than a normal one-story structure, creating a dramatic appearance and also allowing room for the shogun’s spies to move beneath the rafters. Heavy cedar beams supported the tile roof, while decorative carvings adorned the woodwork, much of which was painted blue and gold.
The trees surrounding the mansion were carefully trimmed. Hiro smiled grimly. Not even he could leap that distance onto tiles without making noise and raising an alarm.
The gate guard emerged from the mansion with a young samurai at his side. At the edge of the veranda they slipped on their sandals and started across the yard.
Father Mateo leaned toward Hiro and whispered, “Is that Matsunaga Hisahide?”
The samurai wore a stylish black kimono with a black and white mon on the upper left side of the chest. Hiro recognized the symbol. The small white diamond within a larger black one was the crest of the Miyoshi samurai clan.
“He’s too young,” Hiro replied in Portuguese, then added, “Most likely a son of Daimyo Miyoshi.”
“The lord of Yamato Province?” Father Mateo asked.
Hiro nodded. “One of the shogun’s strongest allies.”
The young man stopped in front of Father Mateo and dismissed the guard with a nod. He let the priest bow first, but returned a deeper bow than Hiro expected and held it long enough to show sincere respect.
“I am Miyoshi Akira,” he said as he straightened, “second cousin to Daimyo Miyoshi of Yamato. I am assisting Matsunaga Hisahide with the murder investigation.”
/>
As an afterthought he added, “Welcome to the shogunate.”
“I am Father Mateo, from Portugal,” the Jesuit said in Japanese, then added, “Although I speak your language a little, I often require assistance to understand the finer points. This is my translator, Matsui Hiro.”
The simple introduction, which stated no clan or province of origin, implied that Hiro was ronin, a masterless samurai forced to adopt a trade. As such, Hiro could claim no rank or privilege in the company of other samurai.
The shinobi bowed as deeply as possible.
To Hiro’s surprise, Akira nodded respectfully and without any visible disdain. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Matsui-san.”
Akira’s gaze returned to the priest. “Matsunaga Hisahide sends his apologies. He wished to greet you himself but was unavoidably detained. You will follow me?”
He turned and led them across the courtyard.
Hiro inhaled the musky scent of cedars and a dampness in the air that promised rain. The clouds that obscured the sunrise had gathered and darkened. Hiro doubted his kimono would get home dry and wondered whether Ana would decide to forego the airing of quilts and clothes.
The maid would be in a foul mood if showers spoiled her work.
“Hisahide mentioned your previous work on behalf of the Akechi clan.” Akira stepped out of his sandals and onto the wooden veranda encircling the mansion. “The shogun requires similar assistance, though I trust you understand that this situation requires even greater discretion.”
He looked from Hiro to Father Mateo, awaiting confirmation. They left their sandals beside the veranda and joined him.
“I give you my word,” the Jesuit said. “I will reveal nothing, and my translator is entirely trustworthy.”
Akira led them into the mansion and through the six-mat room where petitioners waited for an audience with the shogun or one of the government officials. At that early hour, the room was empty except for a pair of sleepy-looking guards, who let the three men pass without comment.
Hiro and Father Mateo followed Akira through a maze of tatami-floored rooms separated by sliding shoji doors. The larger spaces functioned as audience chambers and meeting rooms, while the smaller ones were little more than passages with sliding doors on either side leading to private offices beyond. Low slatted ceilings, intended to hamper the use of swords, made even the largest rooms feel oppressively small for Hiro’s taste.