by Susan Spann
“The thief came in through the outer door,” Hiro replied.
“Surely you do not plan to accuse my wife or me of stealing your silver while you slept,” Noboru said.
“This is a ruse.” Kane gestured to Hiro. “He wants us to believe another thief exists, so Otomuro-sama will free the foreigner’s servant. He is trying to escape responsibility for her crime.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?” Hiro infused his voice with indignation.
Unexpectedly, the woman held his gaze.
Before Hiro could decide how to defuse the situation, Father Mateo intervened. “Fortunately, our silver was not stolen. Perhaps, since it is late, we should all go back to sleep and discuss this more tomorrow.”
“Did you believe her?” Father Mateo asked when he and Hiro had returned to their room.
“That she was sleeping? Yes. But that doesn’t mean I think you saw a ghost.”
Father Mateo knelt on his futon. “I don’t want to believe it any more than you do, but I know what I saw.”
“And what you saw has a perfectly reasonable explanation.” Hiro withdrew his swords from his obi and laid them on the floor beside his futon.
“If so, what is it?”
“I don’t know yet.” Hiro lay down and covered himself with the quilt. “But I intend to find out first thing tomorrow morning.”
Hiro woke at dawn and left the inn with Father Mateo a few minutes later.
Thick mist hung over the village, obscuring their view of the silent street. The trees beyond the houses had completely vanished in the fog.
No birdsong pierced the silence. Not a single puff of wind disturbed the trees.
Hiro checked the veranda as they left the ryokan, but someone had swept it the day before, leaving no snow to hold a footprint.
He would have to find the “ghost” another way.
“What if we wake them?” Father Mateo whispered as they walked toward Mume and Taso’s house. “Maybe we should wait and come back later.”
“By then he will have left for work, and she will lie.” Hiro knocked on the door.
Taso opened it almost at once. He looked past them. “Has the yūrei killed again?”
Father Mateo bowed. “We apologize for disturbing you so early.”
Mume stood behind her husband, wearing a pale kimono. Her hair hung down her back, unbound. She bit her lip as she stared at the visitors.
“May we speak with you alone?” Hiro directed the question to Taso. “We do not wish to disturb your wife unnecessarily.”
“Mume, please pack my midday meal while I speak with these men outside. I need to leave as soon as we finish talking.” He reached over the bars of the stall, patted the ox, and stepped outside. As he closed the door behind himself, he asked, “Has someone died?”
Hiro dispensed with subtlety. “Did your wife leave the house last night?”
“Last night?” Taso thought for a moment. “No. At least, not alone. Masako’s death has frightened her so badly that she would not even use the latrine without me.” He frowned. “Did something happen in the night?”
Hiro ignored his question. “Did you sleep?”
“Last night?” Taso asked. “Of course. I have to work this morning.”
“Then how do you know, for certain, that your wife did not leave the house alone?”
“Because she woke me twice to guard her while she went to the latrine. With respect, what do you think she did?”
“You say Masako’s death upset her,” Hiro said, “and yet, she did not seem overly frightened on the morning after Ishiko died.”
“My wife did not care for Ishiko-san, and with good reason. That woman knew no mercy, and showed no kindness if she could help it.”
“She was cruel?” Father Mateo asked.
“Strict and selfish,” Taso said, “though to Mume she seemed cruel. You may not have noticed, but my wife has an unusually gentle spirit—the result of an accident she suffered as a child. Things upset her easily, and sometimes she has trouble understanding. For example, she could not comprehend why she and Kane were not allowed to spend the afternoons together, as they had always done at their parents’ home.”
The comment suggested something else to Hiro. “Did Kane complain about her mother-in-law to Mume?”
Taso smiled. “All girls complain about mothers-in-law at first.” His smile faded. “But Kane-san did not complain for long. I think she realized her comments upset Mume. Either that or she learned to live with Ishiko-san’s imperious nature. In any event, Mume stopped begging me to intervene on Kane-san’s behalf a few months ago, though she never ceased asking me to persuade Ishiko-san to allow her to spend more time with her sister.”
“And, despite the woman’s ‘imperious nature,’ you believe a yūrei killed Ishiko,” Hiro said.
“Because it is the truth,” Taso replied. “Riko’s spirit will not rest until everyone who injured her has joined her in the grave.”
“What grudge did she hold against Masako?” Hiro asked.
“I would not know. Masako did not grow up in the village, and I did not know her personally.” Taso laid a hand on the door. “With respect, if there is nothing more. . .”
“I trust you are not angry with Mume about the missing silver,” Father Mateo said, “and that you realize the theft was not her fault.”
“What missing silver?” Taso asked.
“Oh. . .” A flush crept up the Jesuit’s neck, making his scar stand out.
“Please excuse me,” Taso said. “It appears I need to have a conversation with my wife.”
Chapter 37
“If the woman you saw last night was neither Kane nor Mume, it must have been Hanako,” Hiro said as he returned to the ryokan with Father Mateo.
“Unless she confessed to you in the night, that sounds like an assumption to me,” the Jesuit said.
“A deduction,” Hiro answered, “and one I intend to verify as soon as the hour gets late enough to talk with her.”
“I have different idea,” Father Mateo said in Portuguese as they entered the inn and left their shoes beside the door. “I think we need to take Ana, and Gato, and leave for Edo as soon as it gets dark.”
Hiro stared at the priest in shock. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
The Jesuit continued, still in Portuguese. “Something is wrong in this village. None of the evidence points to anything useful. We failed in our attempt to trap the thief. You know as well as I do that Ana did not take that silver, but unless we can prove it, the samurai will execute her. We cannot—I cannot let that happen.”
“You understand that running away will make us fugitives,” Hiro pointed out, in the Jesuit’s language. “You and me, as well as Ana.”
“If we remain she will die, for a crime she did not commit.”
Hiro could not believe what he was hearing. “Back in Kyoto, when your life hung in the balance, you refused to run. You said your god would save you.”
“I said that he could save me if he wished,” the Jesuit corrected, “but that, whether he did or not, I would trust him anyway.”
“Yet you do not trust him to save Ana.”
“Do not underestimate how difficult this is for me. Running away from responsibility goes against everything I believe, and yet. . .” He looked at Hiro through tortured eyes.
Father Mateo opened the guest room door and stopped unexpectedly.
Hiro barely avoided a collision. He craned his neck to look around the priest.
The futons and quilts had disappeared, most likely returned to the cupboard for the day. The table sat in its daytime location near the center of the room, and Ana knelt beside it, stroking Gato.
She looked up. “Hm. First they tell me to cook the meals. Then they lock me in my room. And then they change their minds again twice over. I think they both have lost their minds.”
Hiro followed the priest into the room and closed the door.
“Did something happen to
the morning meal?” Father Mateo asked.
Ana snorted. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t get to cook it. That woman ordered me out of the kitchen, and told me to get the cat and wait in here. Didn’t even give me time to wash my hands.”
“Why here?” Hiro asked.
“Because she is the mistress of this ryokan.” Ana’s tone suggested mimicry. “And she wants to make the morning meal herself.”
“But why here, and not your room?” Hiro persisted, instincts jangling.
Ana folded her arms across her narrow chest. “You tell me. Then both of us will know.”
An idea blossomed in Hiro’s head. “Stay here.” He bent over his bundle of belongings long enough to retrieve the pair of sandals tucked within its depths, crossed the room, and opened the veranda door, letting in a swirl of frigid air and mist.
“What—” Father Mateo began.
“No time. Stay here.” Hiro set the sandals on the porch, stepped out into them, and closed the door.
Hoping Father Mateo and Ana would follow his instructions, Hiro hurried along the narrow veranda away from the front of the inn.
At the back of the building, he stepped to the ground and moved along the wall of the ryokan, taking care to minimize the sound his sandals made on the icy crust of snow that covered the ground.
At the corner of the building closest to the kitchen door, he stopped and slowly peeked around at the kitchen entrance.
As he expected, the door was closed.
Normally, a cook would leave the sliding door open while preparing a meal, allowing air and light to enter the room. The door might be closed because of the cold and mist, or because Kane didn’t know well enough to leave it open while she cooked—but Hiro doubted it.
The innkeeper’s wife hated cooking. She would never voluntarily choose to make a meal herself. She would never send Ana out of the kitchen, let alone to wait in Hiro and Father Mateo’s room, unless Kane wanted to do, or say, something the Jesuit’s servant should not see or overhear.
Hiro crept to the kitchen door. As he reached it, he heard the urgent murmur of female voices, but could not make out the words. Looking down, he noticed a narrow gap between the base of the door and the wooden plank that served as a threshold.
Hiro knelt and lowered his ear to the gap, grateful for the mist that made him invisible from the travel road, but well aware that if someone emerged from the mist, he would have no time to rise or hide his actions.
It was worth the risk.
As his ear drew close to the crack beneath the door, the voices inside grew clear.
“—think it’s us!” Mume sounded panicked.
“Don’t be foolish.” Kane sounded angry. “Just do what I say and it will be all right.”
“But you said—”
“You took it too far!”
Mume tried again. “But you said—”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t stick to the plan,” Kane snapped.
Mume wailed.
“Be silent,” Kane hissed. “Someone will hear you.”
Mume’s cry became a whimper.
“Come to the burial ground tonight,” Kane said, “at midnight, after your husband goes to sleep. We can talk about it then. It isn’t safe to do this here.”
Mume gave a terrified squeak. “B-but. . .”
“You do not need to worry about the ghost. Not anymore.”
Mume whimpered again, more softly.
“Yes, I’m sure. Will you meet me? Yes or no?”
“Y-yes.” Mume sniffled.
“Go home and wait. And whatever you do, do not let Taso know you’re going to the burial ground. Do you remember what to bring? And what to wear?”
“Y-yes.” Mume sniffled. “A lantern, and—”
“I don’t have time to go over it. I need to serve this meal before the guests complain. Remember: not a word to anyone.”
Footsteps approached the kitchen door.
Hiro jumped back and raced around the corner of the ryokan. He barely made it out of sight before the kitchen door rattled open.
“Do not forget,” Kane repeated, “do not tell anyone.”
As soon as Hiro heard the door begin to rattle shut again, he raced along the back of the inn and across the veranda to the guest room.
“Where did you go?” the Jesuit asked when Hiro stepped back through the door, holding his sandals in his hand.
Someone knocked on the interior door.
“Please forgive the interruption,” Kane called. “May I serve your morning meal?”
Father Mateo gave Hiro a curious look as he answered, “Please come in.”
The door slid open and Kane entered the room. She carried a tray upon which sat two bowls of rice, two bowls of soup, a teapot, and a pair of empty cups. Chopsticks and wooden spoons rested beside the bowls.
“Good morning,” she said.
Father Mateo gestured to Ana. “Thank you for preparing the meal, although my housekeeper gladly would have helped you.”
Kane raised her chin. “I prefer to make the food myself. I did not like her cooking.”
Ana exhaled sharply.
Father Mateo smiled. “De gustibus non disputandum est.”
Hiro raised an eyebrow. Although he did not speak Latin, he suspected whatever the Jesuit said was not entirely polite.
Kane ignored the foreign words and set the tray on the table. “I also searched your servant’s room again and found no silver there.”
“Most likely because I did not steal any,” Ana retorted.
Kane continued as if the housekeeper had not spoken. “I think you must have told the truth. Your servant did not steal our silver.”
“Just last night you accused us of trying to cover up Ana’s theft, but a search of her room this morning changed your mind?” Even had Hiro not overheard the conversation in the kitchen, he would have found the woman’s change of mind far too suspicious to believe.
“I apologize for the way my husband and I have treated you.” Kane bowed. “It was your words last night that made me understand. Someone else must have stolen our silver, and Mume’s. I am simply grateful that the thief did not steal yours also.”
After a pause she added, “You may leave the village after breakfast, if you want to.”
“Regrettably, we cannot,” Hiro said. “Otomuro-san arrested the foreigner’s servant.”
“Noboru will speak to him.” Kane bowed again, more deeply. “I apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you.”
Hiro considered confronting her about the conversation in the kitchen, but knew the woman would not tell the truth. Mume would also lie, if pressed.
If he wanted to learn the truth, he would have to attend the midnight meeting in the burial yard.
Chapter 38
“I will ask my husband to speak with Otomuro-sama this morning.” Kane shifted her gaze to Ana. “There is food in the kitchen, if you wish to eat.”
She bowed once more and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Ana looked at the breakfast tray with disapproval. “No egg. No tsukemono—not even a single pickled plum to accompany the soup and rice. Whoever trained that girl. . .” She opened the door and left the room, still grumbling to herself.
As the door closed after Ana, Hiro knelt beside the table.
“That bad?” Father Mateo knelt on the opposite side of the table.
Hiro looked up. “Pardon me?”
“The food. Your expression. . .does it truly smell that foul?”
Hiro glanced at the door. “She prepared it. I need know nothing more to know it’s foul.”
Father Mateo bent his head and closed his eyes in silent prayer.
Hiro’s stomach growled, but he waited for the priest to finish praying before he reached for a bowl of soup.
The miso had separated into a cloudy bottom layer covered by an inch and a half of watery broth. A bite-sized cube of tofu rested sullenly at the bottom of the bowl, its lower half conce
aled by miso murk. Limp slivers that had once been onions drifted atop the broth like detritus floating on a stagnant pond.
Hiro lifted the bowl and inhaled deeply. Although the miso in the kitchen had smelled terrible, extreme dilution had disguised the worst of its rotting scent. The soup smelled mostly of dirty water, reminiscent of laundry left to soak overnight in a filthy barrel. Swallowing his disgust, Hiro gently swirled the bowl to remix its contents, raised it to his mouth, and sipped.
The tepid liquid rolled over his tongue and down his throat with a lingering flavor of old bonito flakes and mold.
He held his breath and drained the bowl in two more gulps.
When he set the bowl on the table, he noticed Father Mateo staring at him. Slowly, the Jesuit lowered his gaze to the bowl of soup that rested in his hands. “I see. It is that bad.”
“It isn’t good.” Hiro took a bite of rice. Although no warmer than the soup, at least it tasted fresh.
Father Mateo sipped his soup. “I suspect Kane reheated last night’s miso.”
“It seemed older than that to me.” Hiro finished his rice. He still felt hungry, but the meager meal would keep his stomach silent for an hour or two.
“So,” Father Mateo said, “what did you do to make Kane change her mind?”
“Me?”
“You leave the room for five minutes, with no explanation, and suddenly she no longer believes that Ana is to blame for the missing silver?”
“Unless I miss my guess, Kane never believed that Ana was to blame.” Hiro described the sisters’ conversation. “I don’t know exactly what they’re hiding, or what they’ve done, but it seems fairly clear that they must be involved in the thefts, if not the murders.”
“It does seem that way,” the Jesuit agreed. “But. . .how did you know to find them in the kitchen?”
“I didn’t,” Hiro said, “but if Kane wanted the kitchen to herself so badly she was willing to cook a meal, I wanted to know the reason why.”
Father Mateo set his empty soup bowl on the table. “Do you truly think they’re killers as well as thieves?”
“Kane claimed they didn’t need to worry about the ghost,” Hiro said, “which means either that she is the killer, that she never believed in the yūrei, or that she has learned something about the situation she didn’t know before.”
