by Susan Spann
“The older one is losing focus,” Hiro told the priest. “He’s getting angry.”
Sure enough, the larger boy began to swing his blade with less precision.
Moments later, when a strike flew wide, the smaller child ducked beneath the larger one’s guard and shoved his side. Off-balance, the older boy staggered and fell to the ground with a cry of dismay.
The smaller one stood over him in triumph, dagger high.
“Told you.” Hiro smiled at the priest.
Lowering his dagger, the victor extended his unarmed hand and helped the larger boy regain his feet. The children noticed Hiro and Father Mateo watching from the road. They bowed, and held the gesture long enough to show respect.
Hiro nodded and continued walking.
As they passed the children, Father Mateo glanced back over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we tell their parents they were fighting?”
Hiro raised an eyebrow at the priest. “The word is ‘training.’”
“With daggers? They’re only children.”
“Blunted daggers.” Hiro started up the path that led to Hanzō’s home. “In Iga, children start to train as soon as they can walk. It is our way.”
“And you approve of this?” Clearly, the Jesuit did not.
Hiro shrugged. “It made me who I am.”
A frigid wind swept down the hill, reminding him that Father Mateo needed warmer clothing. His own old winter kimono hung in the cabinet at Midori’s, but they would not fit the priest, and Hiro would not grant himself the luxury of warmth while his friend was shivering.
“Why doesn’t the Koga ryu have a single leader,” Father Mateo asked, “like Iga does?”
Hiro glanced at the priest, appreciating the artful—and deliberate—change of subject. “Koga has always operated by consensus of its member clans. Why, I cannot say.”
“Yet some clans have more influence than others, like the Koga?” Father Mateo pulled his thin kimono tightly closed around his neck.
When Hiro nodded, the priest continued, “Unbalanced power often leads to jealousy. Perhaps one of the emissaries wants to start a war.”
“Why would Koga want a war?” Hiro had a theory, but wanted to hear the Jesuit’s explanation.
“Not all of Koga. . . . War with Iga could allow a lesser clan to seize control of the Koga ryu. Or control of Iga, for that matter.”
“I note you mentioned Koga first.”
“Not for any particular reason,” Father Mateo said, “although you claimed no one in Iga would kill a guest, except at Hanzō’s order.”
Not Mother or Akiko, Hiro thought.
Father Mateo looked up the hill. “Why are we heading back to Hanzō’s? Won’t he be busy with Fuyu and the priests?”
“I hope so,” Hiro said as they passed the gates, “because Hanzō is not the one we came to see.”
CHAPTER 16
The door to the mansion swung open before they knocked, revealing the silent girl who helped at the feast the night before. In daylight, hollows underneath her eyes and shadows on her cheeks revealed malnourishment. Her hair hung down her back in a thin but tightly plaited braid. She stared at Hiro warily, and gasped as she noticed the Jesuit at his side.
Clasping her hands before her, palms together and fingers steepled in a perfect imitation of the Jesuit’s Christian prayer pose, she bowed. As she straightened, she made the sign of the cross.
“Are you a Christian?” Father Mateo asked.
The girl’s hands fell to her sides. She bit her lip and bowed her head as if suddenly aware of her breach of etiquette.
Hiro took pity on her. “We have come to see Hattori Akiko.”
Relief washed over the thin girl’s face as his words eliminated the need for either apology or explanation. She bowed again and disappeared into the house, leaving the door ajar.
Since she hadn’t asked them to follow, the men remained outside.
“Does that girl seem odd to you?” the Jesuit asked.
“Aside from knowing your Christian symbols?”
“That’s not so strange,” the priest replied. “The Church has sent a number of missionaries into the hinterlands. I meant—”
Before he could finish, Akiko appeared in the entry. This morning she wore a gray kimono embroidered with a pattern of cascading maple leaves. Her hair was piled atop her head and secured with a set of enameled pins.
Hiro and Father Mateo bowed in greeting.
Akiko nodded. “Hanzō-kun just left with the Koga shinobi and a pack of monks.”
Father Mateo looked over his shoulder. “We didn’t see them on the road.”
“They used the other gate. But I don’t think you came to talk with Hanzō-kun.” Without awaiting confirmation, she stepped away from the door. “Please come inside. I’ll make us tea.”
Hiro and Father Mateo left their sandals by the door and followed Akiko through the building and along a covered walkway that connected the first of the mansion’s structures to a second, larger one beyond. Inside the second building, Hiro’s grandmother stopped beside a paneled door. She slid it open, revealing a six-mat room.
Fine tatami covered the floor. A kettle hung above the hearth, steaming as if someone had already put the water on for tea. Beside the hearth a small cylindrical canister, a teapot, and a pair of egg-shaped teacups rested on a lacquered wooden tray.
Akiko turned down the hall and called, “Tane . . .”
The silent girl appeared at once.
“Retrieve another teacup from the kitchen for my guests,” Akiko said. “We will delay your lesson until later.”
Tane bowed to acknowledge the instructions. As she straightened she tapped her chest, clasped her hands together, and shook them as if casting an invisible fishing line. When she finished, she placed her palms together and wiggled her hands from side to side.
Akiko nodded. “Once you bring the cup you may go fishing, but no swimming. It is far too cold today.”
Tane’s face lit up. She bowed again and started down the hall.
Father Mateo watched her go. “The girl cannot speak?”
“Can’t or won’t.” Akiko crossed to the hearth and knelt beside it. “Either way, she’s never said a word. Yet, given her range of gestures, I believe you are correct: Tane is incapable of speech.” She motioned to the hearth. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
“You have never heard the child speak?” Father Mateo knelt across from Akiko, while Hiro placed himself between the Jesuit and the door.
“No one has, since she arrived in Iga several weeks ago.” Akiko removed the teapot’s lid. “A spy discovered her living alone in a burned-out mountain village near the border. She cannot read or write, but explained to us through gestures that Lord Oda’s samurai burned the village and killed her family. She alone survived.”
“He murdered an entire village?” Father Mateo’s eyes grew wide.
Akiko nodded. “Oda Nobunaga will stop at nothing to control Japan, and he destroys what he cannot control.”
“How did she identify the men as Lord Oda’s,” the Jesuit asked, “if she can’t read or write?”
“We showed her the Oda mon, and her reaction to the symbol left no doubt.” Akiko shifted her gaze to the priest. “You understand this word?”
“Mon?” he repeated. “Yes, I think it means a family crest.”
Akiko nodded.
“Tane also recognized that Father Mateo is a Christian priest,” Hiro said. “Is she a follower of the foreign god?”
Akiko shook her head. “She hasn’t said so. Then again, she has not said anything.”
“She made the sign of the cross when she saw me,” Father Mateo explained. “A holy sign used by adherents of my faith.”
“How interesting,” Akiko replied. “I will have to ask her where she learned it.”
“How did she survive the attack on her village?” Father Mateo asked.
Hiro approved of the question. Tane’s survival seemed suspicio
us, and he hoped the explanation would reveal how a child escaped a fate that spies and assassins had not managed to avoid.
“Her parents trained her to hide when strangers appeared in the village,” Akiko said, “a fact that reinforces my suspicion she is permanently mute.”
“Why?” Father Mateo sounded puzzled.
“Your foreign companion overflows with questions, Hiro-kun.” Akiko smiled. “Just like you.”
Tane appeared in the doorway, holding a lacquered tray upon which rested a single teacup. She executed a deep and graceful bow, balancing the tray with care; the cup did not slide, or even rattle. Straightening, she entered the room, knelt, and extended the tray to Akiko.
Hiro’s grandmother nodded approval and lifted the teacup from the tray. Tane’s cheeks flushed crimson in response to the unspoken praise.
“Return the tray to the kitchen,” Akiko said, “and you may go.”
Tane rose to her feet and departed, bowing once again from the doorway before she disappeared.
Akiko set the teacup slightly apart from the others. “To answer your earlier question, Japanese families often keep disabled relatives out of sight. Hanzō had no knowledge of a mute girl in that village, so her parents hid her well.”
“Is muteness shameful in Japan?” Father Mateo asked.
“Ignorant and superstitious people see a curse in every shadow.” Akiko opened the wooden canister, and the scent of tea perfumed the air. Slowly, she spooned leaves into the teapot.
“How did the girl reveal her name,” Hiro asked, “if she can neither speak nor write?”
“I do not know the name her parents called her.” Akiko unhooked the kettle from the chain above the fire and poured a stream of boiling water into the teapot. “I named her Tane upon her arrival, to symbolize her new beginning here.”
“Tane means ‘seed.’” Hiro translated the name into Portuguese.
The Jesuit nodded. “Will you teach her to read and write, Hattori-san?”
“Among other things.” Akiko returned the kettle to its chain. “She seems intelligent, although she doesn’t care much for lessons. She’s already a better thief than any child I’ve ever seen, and she can put a dagger through a squirrel’s eye at fifteen paces.”
She poured a cup of tea and offered it to Father Mateo.
“Her parents taught her to steal, but not to write?” The priest accepted the cup.
“It sounds to me as if she trained herself.” Hiro extended both hands to receive his tea.
“Well deduced.” Akiko filled the final cup—the one Tane brought—for herself. “The girl confirmed she had no formal training. What she knows, she learned through observation.”
“Did Hanzō ask you to train her?” Hiro could hardly imagine his cousin deciding to have a mute child trained.
“No, he planned to sell her as a servant, in the capital.” Akiko raised her teacup. “I refused to permit it. The girl is intelligent, no matter what he thinks.”
“You defied his orders?” Father Mateo sounded impressed.
“My grandson may rule Iga, but he does not rule me.” She raised her teacup, closed her eyes, and slowly inhaled the steam.
Hiro did the same, appreciating the autumnal tang of sencha, stronger and less delicate than the ichibancha he used to drink in Kyoto.
Akiko sipped her tea. “To business, then. You came to ask why I poisoned Koga Yajiro.”
Father Mateo fumbled his teacup, barely recovering it before it spilled. “You killed Yajiro?”
“Does your friend take everything so literally, Hiro-kun?” Akiko smiled. “In fact, I did not kill him, but I helped Midori cook the meal, which makes me look quite guilty.”
“What do you know about his death?” Hiro hoped she would tell the truth.
“Only what I saw when I cleaned the room.” She sipped from her cup again. “With apologies for such an indelicate topic over tea, it appeared Yajiro died too soon to have been poisoned by the feast. The food we served would not disguise the taste of any toxin strong enough to work so quickly. Not one I would know of, anyway. . . .”
Hiro understood the words Akiko left unspoken. Although a highly proficient assassin, his grandmother did not specialize in poisons.
But Midori and Neko did.
“It was an unusually lovely fish we served,” Akiko added. “Most regrettable that he had to die and spoil it.”
Father Mateo switched to Portuguese. “How can she be so casual about murder?”
“Killing is as normal in Iga as tea ceremony in Kyoto,” Akiko replied in perfectly accented Portuguese, “and we train for it with equal care.”
CHAPTER 17
Father Mateo spilled his tea across his brown kimono. “You speak my language?”
“Where do you think my grandson learned it?” Akiko asked, again in Portuguese.
The Jesuit ran a hand through his hair. “I-I thought . . . that is, I didn’t think . . .”
“He was a lazy student”—Akiko frowned at Hiro—“but it seems his skills, and accent, have improved with time and practice.”
“How . . . where . . . ?” Father Mateo seemed too flustered to compose a sentence.
“How did I learn your language?” Akiko continued in Portuguese. “The first of the foreign traders wanted maids to clean their dwellings—older women who asked no questions and worked long hours for little pay. Many years ago, Hanzō’s father sent me to Tanegashima as a servant. I lived among the foreigners for several years, learning both your language and your customs. Once I had acquired the knowledge I needed, I returned to teach the spies of Iga.”
“Everyone in Iga knows Portuguese?” the Jesuit asked weakly.
“Hiro and I are the only ones in the village currently who know it.” Akiko refilled her teacup, raised it, and inhaled the steam.
“Enough diversions,” Hiro said. “What else do you know about Yajiro’s murder?”
Akiko switched to Japanese. “I did not kill him, and Tane did not either.”
Hiro found it interesting that she mentioned the girl.
“Also,” she continued, “as I said before, the dishes we served would not have concealed the taste of a rapid toxin. Someone must have poisoned the emissary before the feast.”
Akiko set her teacup on the tray.
“What about the garnishes?” the Jesuit asked. “Pickled vegetables might have hidden a poison’s bitter taste.”
“Midori made them.” Akiko spoke as if this resolved the inquiry, though in Hiro’s mind it merely raised another, far less pleasant one. “I inspected every dish myself before we served it. I saw nothing to suggest the food was poisonous or spoiled.”
“You checked the dishes for poison?” Father Mateo asked.
“Hanzō ordered me to do so.” She folded her hands in her lap. “He said the meal would impact the future of the Iga ryu, and that he wanted to ensure its safety.”
Hiro kept his expression carefully neutral. He had no doubt Akiko knew her answer implicated Hanzō. Unfortunately, his grandmother obscured the truth as lethally as Midori measured poisons.
“What do you think about the proposed alliance with the Koga ryu?” Father Mateo asked.
“An interesting question.” Akiko smiled. “I do not care, one way or the other.”
“You don’t care?” the priest repeated.
“I have watched the seasons change for many pleasant years—sixty-nine, when the sakura bloom again. The kami blessed me with healthy children and grandchildren, and I control my life in ways most women never do. I sit in comfort, drinking tea, while many beg for crumbs. I would rather not die, but when death comes I am ready to see what lies on the other side. So, you see, it truly does not matter whether Iga forms an alliance with the Koga ryu or not.”
“But your relatives,” Father Mateo said. “Surely you care what happens to them.”
“Do you believe in your foreign god?” Akiko asked.
The Jesuit looked confused. “With all my heart.”
“Do you believe he can control the fates of men?”
“I know He does.”
“And if your god decides a man should die, can you prevent it?” Akiko tilted her head like a mother making an obvious point to a child.
Father Mateo raised a hand. “We still have an obligation to help others when we can.”
“But I cannot.” Akiko spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather or a meal. “I am merely an elderly woman. How could I stop a war?”
“By helping us,” the Jesuit said. “Can you think of anyone with a motive to kill Yajiro?”
“Your friend asks excellent questions, Hiro-kun. Much better than yours.”
“A fact which does not matter if you avoid them,” Hiro countered.
She shrugged. “I’m just an old woman. What do I know?”
Hiro gave his grandmother a disapproving look.
“Hanzō has wanted this alliance since he learned of the shogun’s death last summer,” Akiko said. “Only a fool would try to prevent it, and Iga does not harbor fools. None that live long, anyway.”
She stood. “I hope you find the answers you need in time to prevent a war.”
Taking the hint, the Jesuit rose and bowed. “Thank you for the tea and conversation.”
“Before we leave”—Hiro stood—“we left our winter kimono in Kyoto.”
Akiko gave Father Mateo an appraising look. “I have something that should fit him. If not, I can let it out. I’ll have Tane deliver it to Midori’s house this afternoon.”
“What about you?” the Jesuit asked Hiro.
“Mother left my old ones in the cabinet, but they’d barely reach your knees.”
Akiko started toward the door. “Allow me to escort you out.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your grandmother spoke Portuguese?” Father Mateo asked as they started down the hill from Hanzō’s compound.
Hiro stifled a smile. “It wasn’t relevant.”
“I might have revealed something confidential . . . or embarrassing.”
“I would have stopped you. Probably.”
Father Mateo shook his head. “Do you think she told the truth?”
