by Susan Spann
“Don’t be frightened,” Father Mateo said. “Just tell me what you saw.”
She swallowed hard and took a deep breath to calm herself. “Last night I took a tray of food to Ashikaga-san in his office. He often ate meals there when working late.
“Early this morning, I went to retrieve the tray. Ashikaga-san does not like dirty dishes in his office when he arrives.” She paused. “He was there, on the floor. There was blood…”
She raised her hands to her mouth. Tears welled up in her reddening eyes. Her shoulders heaved with her efforts to keep from crying.
Father Mateo waited while she regained control.
At last she lowered her hands and continued, “I screamed. Someone came and pushed me out of the room.”
“Who was it?” Father Mateo asked.
“I don’t remember. I was crying. Ashikaga-san was dead when I found him. I don’t know who did it. May his ghost haunt me forever if I lie.” Jun’s breathing grew rapid. The pink spots on her cheeks flushed crimson.
Her tears looked real, but Hiro thought her story sounded rehearsed.
Father Mateo waited in silence as Jun regained her composure yet again.
Hiro became impatient. The interview wasn’t proceeding as effectively as he hoped. In fact, he believed the girl was playing a role. Before he figured out how to prove it, Father Mateo asked, “Can you think of anyone who wanted to kill Ashikaga-san?”
The girl looked horrified. “No.”
“Did you ever hear anyone argue with him?”
Jun’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “No. He was a good man.”
And you are a liar, Hiro thought, but he had no chance to say so.
The door slid open behind him. Akira had returned.
Chapter 11
“The shogun’s guards report no visitors yesterday evening,” Akira said. “All business was concluded and all petitioners left the compound more than an hour before they closed the gates for the night.”
He narrowed his eyes at the maid. “Did she tell you everything you need to know?”
Jun looked at the floor.
“She was most helpful.” Father Mateo stood up and straightened his kimono. “We have no further questions. She was not involved in the crime.”
“I could have told you that,” Akira said. “If you are finished I will escort you to the gates.”
Akira led them out of the kitchen and through the well-groomed gardens surrounding the bakufu mansion. The clouds had darkened and the smell of rain increased.
As they passed a koi pond Hiro asked, “Can the guards confirm that no strangers entered the compound after dark last night?”
“Of course,” Akira said. “I interviewed most of them personally this morning. No one entered the compound after they closed the gates at sunset.”
“What time did Ozuru leave?” Hiro asked.
Akira’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to place the name. “The carpenter? The guards wouldn’t know that. Workmen use the stable gate, which is locked at sundown. Anyone leaving later would have to see the stable master.”
“Did you speak with him this morning?” Hiro asked.
“There was no need.”
“May we speak with the stable master now?” Father Mateo asked.
Akira altered his course to the west and led them onto an earthen path wide enough for two horsemen to ride abreast.
To their right, the shogun’s private mansion sat behind high walls at the center of an artificial lake. Unlike the bakufu mansion, where government business and audiences took place, the shogun’s palace was strictly off limits except to the shogun, his women, and his guards.
Past the palace, the path curved right and continued along the inner side of the compound’s southern and western walls until it reached the stable yard, an open area large enough to saddle and exercise the shogun’s horses.
At the western side of the yard, a pair of massive wooden gates stood open to the street. Beyond them, Hiro caught a glimpse of a wooden bridge and half a dozen armored samurai guards.
Just past the gates, but inside the compound, a long, low stable huddled against the western wall.
“Does the shogun always have guards at this gate?” Father Mateo asked.
“In the daytime,” Akira said, “but only four. He ordered extra guards this morning because of the murder.”
Hiro looked at the stable as he listened. The wide doors on the building’s southern end stood open, allowing a view of the dim interior. Windows along the eastern wall were covered with angled wooden slats to allow the passage of air and a little light.
A muscular man emerged from the stable. Silver hair stood up on his head like the bristles of an ancient boar. His crooked nose had broken and healed more than once. He wore a faded surcoat and baggy trousers that flared as he bowed to Hiro and the others.
“Good morning, Miyoshi-san,” the stableman said to Akira. He smiled in greeting, revealing a missing upper tooth.
Akira did not return the greeting. Instead he told Father Mateo, “Masao is the shogun’s stable master. He can tell you what time the carpenters left yesterday.”
“I apologize,” Masao said, “but I fear I cannot. I was not here when they left.”
Akira’s eyes narrowed. His lips turned down. “Where were you?”
“My cousin came to Kyoto yesterday, on business. We ate dinner together near Sanjō Bridge. I left before sunset and returned about an hour after midnight.”
“Is your cousin still in Kyoto?” Hiro asked, “To confirm your story?”
“Unfortunately, no. He finished his business yesterday and planned to leave the city at dawn this morning.”
“Where was he going?” Father Mateo asked.
“He owns an apothecary shop at Ōtsu, on the Tōkaidō Road. He comes to Kyoto once a month for supplies.”
“Tōkaidō,” Father Mateo repeated. “The travelers’ road between Kyoto and Edo?”
“Yes. Ōtsu is the first station outside Kyoto.”
“Who watched the stable in your absence?” Hiro asked.
“The guards would have locked the gates at sunset,” Masao said. “After that, no one. The horses don’t need care through the evening.”
“What about Den?” Akira asked.
Masao glanced at the gates. “He’s away, seeing relatives in the country.”
Hiro suspected a lie. “Who is Den?”
“My apprentice,” Masao said. “He lives here with me.”
“He must miss his family,” Father Mateo said. “Does he visit them often?”
“Not often.” Masao said. “His parents are farmers … poor.”
He spoke the last word quietly. Hiro understood. Many farmers could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone their children.
“When did Den leave?” Hiro asked.
“Yesterday afternoon,” Masao said. “He wanted to pass the checkpoints before sunset.”
“Then no one watched the gate after dark,” Hiro said.
“That is correct.”
Hiro opened his mouth, but before he could speak Akira asked, “Then who let the carpenter out?”
Masao looked confused. “The carpenters leave at sunset. The guards would have let them out.”
“The master carpenter, Ozuru, worked late last night,” Hiro said.
“He must have left by the other gate,” Masao said. “This one was locked when I returned. I came back through the eastern gate myself.”
Akira frowned. “The guards didn’t tell me that.”
“Do you know that a man was murdered here last night?” Father Mateo asked.
Masao nodded. “I saw Jun as she left this morning.”
“You know the maid by name?” Hiro asked.
“Of course,” Masao said. “She brings us leftovers from the kitchen, though I suspect she intends them more for Den than for me.” He smiled fondly, but the smile faded as he noticed Akira’s frown. “Their relationship is appropriate and properly s
upervised.”
Hiro changed the subject. “Did you see Ashikaga-san yesterday?”
“I must have.” Masao glanced upward, thinking. “He always arrives after dawn, on horseback. I stable his horse. I don’t remember yesterday being different.”
“Is his horse in the stable?” Hiro asked.
“No. The messenger who carried the news to Ashikaga-san’s family took it with him.”
“Very considerate,” Father Mateo said. “Do you know who would want to kill Ashikaga-san?”
Masao shook his head. “I’m sorry. The news was a surprise to me.”
“If you remember anything else, or hear anything of interest, please let us know,” Hiro said.
“My house is on Marutamachi Road,” Father Mateo added, “just past Okazaki Shrine. You are welcome there any time and for any reason.”
Akira narrowed his eyes at the priest.
Masao bowed. “Thank you.” He bowed even more deeply to Akira.
Hooves thumped on the drawbridge. A child’s voice shouted, “Master Masao!”
Hiro turned as a bay horse trotted into the yard. On its back sat a boy of about ten years. His unshaven forehead marked him as a child, not yet an adult samurai, but his hair was long and tied back in a warrior’s knot. He wore a gray kimono emblazoned with the Ashikaga mon—a black-edged circle with five horizontal bars, alternating black and white.
The boy’s handsome features looked eerily familiar.
Hiro had seen them not an hour before, on a dead man’s face.
Chapter 12
Father Mateo leaned toward Hiro but fixed his eyes on the boy. “Do you think that’s Saburo’s son?” he whispered in Portuguese.
“I’ve never seen a stronger family resemblance,” Hiro said.
A second rider entered the yard, a samurai woman whose face bore a strong and unfortunate resemblance to her aging mare. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back without adornment, though she wore an expensive gray kimono cut in the latest style.
Masao approached the woman’s horse, bowed low, and held the animal steady as she dismounted.
The boy didn’t wait for assistance. He slipped off his horse with practiced ease and pulled the reins over its head. He patted the animal’s neck and turned to Akira.
The samurai ignored the child but bowed to the woman. “Good morning, Ashikaga-dono. I am sorry for your loss.”
Father Mateo stepped closer to Hiro and whispered, “-Dono? Not -san?”
Hiro switched to Portuguese. “-San implies the speaker’s inferiority to the person addressed. Polite self-deprecation, if you will. -Dono implies equal rank—it’s less polite, though permitted when a samurai speaks to a woman.”
The boy took a step toward Akira.
“What about me?” he asked. “I have lost my father. The least you can do is bow.”
Hiro hid his surprise as Akira complied with the child’s demand. “My condolences, young master Ashikaga.”
The boy watched Akira’s bow with a critical eye. He seemed disinclined to return it, but Saburo’s wife gave her son a look and the boy bent forward gracefully.
As he straightened, he noticed Father Mateo. His mouth fell open in surprise and he hurried toward the foreign priest. When he reached a comfortable speaking distance he stopped, pulled his hands to his sides, and bowed.
“Bun dia,” he said in strongly accented Portuguese. “You are not Father Virera, though you are from his country, I think.”
The boy’s pronunciation needed work, and he mangled Father Vilela’s name, but few Japanese spoke Portuguese at all.
“Bom dia,” Father Mateo said.
The boy cocked his head to the side like a bird inspecting an interesting seed.
“Bom dia,” he repeated. This time he pronounced it perfectly.
“And to you.” The Jesuit bowed low and switched to Japanese. “My name is Father Mateo.”
“I am Ashikaga Ichiro, only son of Ashikaga Saburo. This is my mother, Lady Netsuko.” After a pause he added, “I have not seen you here before.”
“I work in another part of Kyoto,” Father Mateo said, “near Okazaki Shrine.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “There are two Christian temples in Kyoto?” He looked at Akira. “Did you know this?”
“There is only one of consequence.” Akira gave the Jesuit a hostile look. “These men are helping us find your father’s killer.”
Ichiro looked at Hiro. “And you? What is your name?”
Hiro bowed. “I am Matsui Hiro, Father Mateo’s translator and scribe.”
The boy looked from Hiro to the priest. “He seems to speak our language well enough.”
“Simple phrases, yes.” Hiro offered the standard explanation. “But he often misses the finer implications of Japanese speech.”
Ichiro considered this. After a moment he nodded once and continued, “Your speech has the accent of Iga Province. Do you know Ito Kazu?” The boy frowned. “Kazu did not kill my father.”
Hiro regarded Ichiro with surprise. “Does someone say he did?”
Before the boy could answer, his mother laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“My son must have overheard the messenger,” she said, “the one who delivered the news of my husband’s death. He claimed Saburo was killed with Kazu’s dagger.”
“Kazu did not do this.” Ichiro looked and sounded like a tiny samurai.
Hiro decided to treat him as one. “Why do you think he is innocent?”
Netsuko spoke first. “Kazu was Ichiro’s tutor.”
“He remains my tutor, and I am not a child who needs a woman to speak in his place.” Ichiro shook off his mother’s arm. “You do not know Kazu as I do. He is an honorable man.”
Ichiro’s hands clenched at his sides. He looked at each man in turn, as if daring them to contradict his words.
“Indeed?” Hiro found the boy’s reaction interesting. Except for his size, Ichiro didn’t seem like a child.
“You do not believe me.” Ichiro squared his shoulders. “I am fourteen and ready for genpuku.”
He paused. His fists clenched tighter. His lips pressed into a line as he took a deep, slow breath. “That is, I would have been, had my father lived to approve Kazu’s recommendation.”
“I am very sorry,” Hiro said. “Please accept my condolences.” He found the boy’s restraint impressive, especially under the circumstances.
“Thank you,” Ichiro said. “I am pleased to have this chance to speak with the men investigating my father’s death. I will not have Kazu wrongfully accused. I know him better than any of you, and I know he did not do this.”
Hiro found the boy’s loyalty surprising, particularly since Kazu had never mentioned Ichiro. Then again, Kazu didn’t discuss his work in detail. No shinobi would.
Hiro felt a flash of regret for encouraging Kazu’s flight. An innocent man should have stayed to defend himself. In the predawn confusion, an execution seemed inescapable. Now Hiro wasn’t so certain. But then, he no longer felt sure of Kazu’s innocence either.
Father Mateo bowed to Akira. “Thank you for your assistance this morning. We will leave you to escort Ashikaga-san’s family and return to continue our work in the afternoon.”
The men exchanged bows, and Hiro and Father Mateo left the compound.
They walked as far as the Kamo River in silence. As they crossed the bridge Father Mateo asked, “What do you think? Is the boy correct about Kazu?”
That very question had bothered Hiro since leaving the shogunate. “Kazu claims he did not kill Saburo. As yet, I have no reason to think he lied. I am more concerned about finding the killer before Lord Oda’s embassy arrives.”
“Three days,” Father Mateo said. “Perhaps the shogun would grant an extension?”
“No chance of that,” Hiro said, “and if we fail to find the true murderer, Hisahide will probably execute me instead.”
And perhaps you also.
“You?” Father Mateo raised his
hands in surprise. “He didn’t say that.”
“Not openly, but he made his meaning clear. The shogun wants a dead murderer to impress Lord Oda’s retainers, and an innocent corpse looks very much like a guilty one.”
“But why you?” Father Mateo asked. “I know the law permits execution of relatives in a criminal’s place, on the theory that the clan should pay for the crime, but you and Kazu are not related.”
“We are both from Iga Province, and we are friends. That will suffice.”
“You assumed all that from Hisahide’s comments?” Father Mateo asked.
“I don’t make assumptions and didn’t need to. He made himself perfectly clear.”
“To a samurai, maybe.” Father Mateo shook his head in frustration. “A man should say what he means directly.”
Hiro shrugged. It was not the Japanese way.
“If that’s the case,” the priest continued, “Kazu had better have told the truth.”
Father Mateo said no more, but Hiro had the same thought himself.
“Indeed,” the shinobi said, “I will find it most inconvenient if Kazu killed Saburo and left me to bear the punishment in his stead.”
Chapter 13
Hiro and Father Mateo found Ana on the front porch of the Jesuit’s house, wielding a broom like a warrior monk. She flung up clouds of dust with a force that made the shinobi wonder what new irritation caused the fit of pique.
She noticed the men approaching and laid one hand on her hip in a manner that boded ill for someone. Hiro didn’t have to wonder who. In Ana’s eyes, the Jesuit did no wrong.
The shinobi ran through the usual list of complaints, but came up empty. He hadn’t brought sake home since Ana dumped the last flask in the koi pond to demonstrate her disapproval of alcohol, and she didn’t know that Hiro was shinobi.
Still, she watched him approach like a mother preparing to paddle a naughty child.
“Hm,” she sniffed as he reached the veranda. “You said your friend was leaving.”
“He did leave.” Hiro paused. “He came back?”
Relief flooded through him. If Kazu hadn’t left Kyoto, they might still preserve the illusion of his innocence.
“Well, I don’t mean Gato,” Ana said.