Betrayal at Iga

by Susan Spann

  “Hiro!”

  Father Mateo was walking toward him on the path. Surprisingly, the priest was alone.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Father Mateo looked up the hill. “Did you try to persuade Hattori Hanzō not to blame Midori?”

  Hiro looked past the Jesuit. “Where is Toshi?”

  “When I finished praying, he asked to spend some time alone with Yajiro’s body—to ask forgiveness?” The Jesuit’s voice rose uncertainly, turning the statement into a question.

  “Not surprising. Yajiro led the delegation, and his death brings shame upon them all. I need to ask you—”

  “Hiro!” Neko emerged from the trees on the northern side of the road and hurried toward them.

  Hiro lowered his voice to a whisper. “Guard your words. Don’t trust her.”

  Father Mateo gave him a curious glance and bowed to the approaching woman.

  She gave them a genuine smile—the first one Hiro had seen since his return. He wondered whether the show of emotion was yet another attempt to gain his trust, and was irritated at the unwanted delay in discovering Tane’s evidence.

  Outwardly, he forced a smile, and Neko brightened even more.

  “I’m glad I found you,” she said. “I have the evidence you need to prove that Kiku murdered Koga Yajiro.”

  She nodded to indicate Father Mateo. “How much does he know?”

  “We have no secrets,” Hiro answered.

  “None?”

  Her feigned surprise irritated Hiro like sand in a loincloth. “Not where Yajiro’s murder is concerned.”

  She nodded, instantly serious. “When Kiku returned from the bathhouse, she had an argument with Fuyu.”

  “How did you know she went for a bath?” Hiro asked.

  “I saw you in the woods and followed you to keep you safe. After you left her, I hid in the forest and trailed her back to Midori’s house.” Neko paused. “I warned you not to trust her.”

  Hiro began to deny that he trusted anyone, but the priest spoke first. “What happened at Midori’s?”

  “I missed the start of the conversation, but they were fighting about Yajiro’s funeral rites.” She looked at Hiro. “Fuyu called Kiku a murderous whore and said she had no right to make demands.”

  It was Hiro’s turn to feign surprise. “Fuyu accused her of having an affair with Yajiro in order to assassinate him?”

  “More than an accusation,” Neko said, “he seemed to have evidence. She apparently walked in on him while he was searching her poisons box. He was furious, and swore to expose the truth upon their return to the Koga ryu, about her affair and about her pretending to favor the alliance in order to murder Yajiro when his guard was down.”

  “How does that prove she murdered Yajiro?” Father Mateo asked. “Maybe she caught Fuyu stealing poison from her box, and he accused her to divert attention from his own misdeeds. He doesn’t want the alliance, either, and he was the only one not present when we discovered the poisoned tea this morning.”

  Hiro wished the Jesuit hadn’t—

  “Poisoned tea?” Neko glared at Hiro like a judge inspecting a criminal. “What poisoned tea?”

  “Besides,” Father Mateo continued, “why would Kiku murder a man she loved?”

  Hiro snorted. “Plenty of women have affairs with men they do not love.”

  A flicker of emotion passed through Neko’s eyes, but she hid it quickly. “Fuyu made his accusations when he thought they were alone. That’s not the time to lie.”

  “Unless he murdered Yajiro himself and took the offensive so Kiku would not accuse him,” Hiro countered.

  Neko made a derisive noise. “No kunoichi risks a personal indiscretion on a mission this important. That is, unless the affair is part of the mission. Clearly, someone wanted her to stop the alliance—by persuasion if possible and, if not, by any means necessary.”

  “You have an unusual definition of ‘clearly,’” Hiro said.

  “Why would she kill him the night they arrived?” Father Mateo’s tone conveyed his disbelief. “Negotiations hadn’t even started.”

  “Most likely, she measured his fortitude on the journey,” Neko replied, “and knew he would not change his mind.”

  Hiro couldn’t help but remember Kiku’s words: “He asked me to join this delegation because he trusted me.”

  He hated to agree with Neko, but also knew—only too well—how quickly a woman could turn a man’s trust against him.

  CHAPTER 35

  “You believe that Kiku got close to Yajiro in order to murder him?” Father Mateo asked.

  “She seduced him in order to kill him,” Neko corrected. “Most likely, on someone else’s orders.”

  “Who would order such a thing, and why?”

  Neko shrugged. “The motive doesn’t matter.”

  Hiro straightened. “Motives always matter.”

  “Where did you discover poisoned tea this morning?” Neko asked the priest.

  “At Midori-san’s. Hiro and I had tea with Kiku and Toshi—that is, we began to, but discovered that someone had poisoned the tea with . . . ah, with poison.”

  Hiro noted the priest’s unwillingness to risk another linguistic gaffe with torikabuto.

  “Kiku must have done it,” Neko said. “With two of the emissaries dead, the Koga ryu would demand a war—a war her clan could offer to lead while the Koga mourned Yajiro.”

  The explanation fit the facts almost too well, and certainly too conveniently, for Hiro’s liking.

  “Did Kiku object to Fuyu’s accusation?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Of course,” Neko scoffed. “She accused him of killing Yajiro himself, but that’s no proof of innocence.” She gave Hiro an urgent look. “As soon as I heard the evidence, I came in search of you.”

  Hiro didn’t consider accusations reliable evidence, but let that pass in favor of a greater inconsistency. “Mother’s house lies east of here, but you came out of the trees to the north.”

  “I’ve been hunting for you for over half an hour.” She glanced at the sun. “You need to see Hanzō immediately. This evidence saves your mother.”

  “Midori is indeed quite fortunate,” Hiro said drily. “What would we have done if Fuyu and Kiku had not engaged in such a revealing argument at such a convenient time?”

  Neko stepped away. “Do you accuse me of a lie?”

  “It would not be your first.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You do not know as much as you think you do.”

  “Maybe not, but this much I know: if you have something to say to Hanzō, you know where to find him.” Hiro crossed his arms.

  Neko hesitated on the edge of speech. After a moment she shook her head and walked away into the trees.

  “You’re not going to stop her?” Father Mateo asked.

  “She’s trying to sway the investigation.” Hiro recounted his recent conversation with Hanzō, ending with the Iga leader’s stated desire to shift the blame to Kiku. “I don’t know whether Neko is acting independently or following Hanzō’s orders. Either way, we cannot trust her.”

  “That sounds like an assumption,” Father Mateo said. “In fact, it sounds like several.”

  Hiro looked into the woods. “I will not be a piece in Hanzō’s game. I intend to find the real killer.”

  “But he knows you don’t trust Neko. Why would he believe she could deceive you?”

  “She persuaded me to ignore my instincts once before,” Hiro said. “He must think she can do it again.”

  “Or perhaps she told the truth, and Kiku is the killer,” the Jesuit offered.

  Hiro glanced at the sun, which hovered only a handsbreadth above the trees. “In either case, we’re running out of time.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t extend my prayers longer.” Father Mateo raised a hand and rubbed the scar at the base of his neck. “I had hoped to delay the ambassadors past nightfall, but with Hanzō’s meeting . . .”

  “You did more than I expected.�
� Hiro chose his next words carefully, knowing they tread on ground that his friend held sacred. “Once, you told me prayers for the dead were useless.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said. Posthumous prayers cannot affect a man’s eternal fate. At least, not as most Buddhists think they do. However, my prayers this afternoon made no attempt to save Yajiro’s soul. Instead, I prayed that God would help us find his killer and prevent a war between the people of Iga and the Koga ryu.”

  “You led Fuyu to think otherwise,” Hiro pointed out. “At least, you allowed the mistake.”

  “I told him only that I wished to offer appropriate prayers on Yajiro’s behalf.” Father Mateo shrugged. “If he and Toshi thought I meant a funeral, the mistake was theirs alone.”

  Hiro raised an eyebrow at the priest. “It seems we have contaminated one another’s morals. You tell half-truths to those you serve, while I refuse to lie to save my mother.”

  “I serve only God.” The Jesuit smiled. “And I am proud that you refuse to lie.”

  Suddenly, Hiro remembered Tane. “You need to look—”

  “Good afternoon!” Toshi called from behind them. “Are you heading to the meeting?”

  As the young shinobi approached from the direction of the guesthouse, Hiro covered his frustration with a bow. “Good afternoon, Toshi-san.”

  Toshi bowed. “Are you headed to the meeting? May I walk with you?”

  Hiro desperately wanted to refuse, but etiquette made him force a smile. “Of course.”

  Together, they started back toward Hanzō’s home.

  “Thank you for giving me time alone with Yajiro-san,” Toshi said. “Fu— That is, not everyone would understand my need to apologize and say good-bye.”

  “Of course,” the priest replied.

  The conversation died as Hiro followed the other men up the hill, trying to figure out how to talk with Father Mateo before the meeting.

  Even though he doubted Hanzō planned to blame Midori, he still felt an urgent need to learn who truly killed Yajiro. It was the only way to know, for certain, who he could and could not trust. Also, he suspected Midori would still confess to the killing if Fuyu and Toshi did not accept Kiku’s guilt.

  Hiro slowed his pace as they passed the black-tiled gates of Hanzō’s compound. “Forgive my rudeness, Toshi-san, but may I speak with the priest alone? I must instruct him on the proper etiquette for this meeting, to ensure he causes no offense.”

  Toshi bowed. “I understand. I will wait for you inside.”

  Hiro ignored the Jesuit’s look of suspicion and waited as Toshi crossed the yard, stepped onto the porch, and knocked.

  After Akiko let Toshi into the mansion and closed the door, Hiro said, “I need you to check the pocket inside your sleeve.”

  The Jesuit raised his arm and looked at the sleeve. “My pocket?” He started to reach inside, but Hiro seized his arm and hissed, “Not here.”

  Without releasing the Jesuit’s sleeve, Hiro walked back through the gates and around the edge of the wall, where they were hidden from the mansion.

  “Now.” He released the priest. “The pocket.”

  Father Mateo reached inside the sleeve of his kimono. Hiro felt a surge of anticipation as the priest withdrew his hand and opened it, revealing an empty palm.

  The Jesuit looked confused. “There’s nothing there.”

  CHAPTER 36

  “Try the other pocket,” Hiro said, “the other sleeve.”

  The Jesuit reached into his kimono. “What am I looking for?”

  His eyes grew wide. He pulled his hand back out of the sleeve, this time holding a folded paper the size and shape of the envelopes Hiro used to store his poisons.

  “Where did this come from?” Father Mateo started to lift the flap at the top of the envelope.

  “Wait!” Hiro raised a hand. “It could be dangerous.”

  The Jesuit looked at the envelope as if it might become a snake and bite him. Slowly, he extended it to Hiro. “As you say . . . assumptions kill.”

  “Some more quickly than others.”

  The paper felt lighter than Hiro expected. He angled the opening away from both himself and the priest as he raised the flap, half expecting to find it empty.

  Carefully, he peered inside.

  “What is it?” Father Mateo leaned forward. “Can you tell? Where did it come from?”

  Hiro tilted the envelope toward the priest, revealing a few dried petals mixed with a pinch of fine-grained powder the color of dirt.

  Father Mateo frowned. “That looks like . . .”—he struggled with the word—“. . . torikabuto? How did it get in the sleeve of my kimono?”

  “Tane put it there.” Briefly, Hiro explained about his conversation with the girl, ending with Akiko’s sudden appearance. “The child will not reveal what she knows with Grandmother present.”

  “Which means we need to meet with her alone. She knows who killed Yajiro!”

  “Not necessarily,” Hiro said, “and adult men do not request a confidential meeting with a child. Not without an excellent reason, anyway.”

  “Yet we cannot give our reason without risking the killer learning what we know.” Father Mateo stared at the envelope. “Which, in turn, would place the girl in danger.”

  Hiro nodded.

  “Even so, we have to find a way,” the Jesuit said. “We cannot accept defeat with the answer so close at hand.”

  “I never accept defeat.” Hiro folded the flap back into place, sealing the envelope, and slipped the paper into his sleeve. “The emissaries will not leave for Koga until morning, at the earliest. That gives us the rest of the night to speak with Tane and find the killer. However, I would prefer you not attend this meeting.”

  “If I don’t, the Koga ambassadors will think that I betrayed them.”

  “I will explain that you felt ashamed because we failed to solve the crime. After the meeting, I will meet you back at Midori’s house and we’ll make a plan.”

  “I’m not leaving.” Father Mateo crossed his arms. “Why are you so opposed to me attending?”

  “The exact same reason I give you every time you ask that question,” Hiro said. “To keep you safe. Also, your absence gives me freedom to manipulate the meeting.”

  Lowering his voice even more, Hiro continued, “More importantly, this meeting may end in violence, and if it does I do not want you there.”

  “I promised that I would find the person who murdered Koga Yajiro. You know I cannot turn away or allow an innocent person to take the blame.”

  “You cannot prevent it, if Hanzō wishes otherwise. Your status as a foreigner will not save you here.”

  “Hattori Hanzō wants peace with Koga, just as I do,” Father Mateo said. “Attempting to find Yajiro’s killer will not harm his plans.”

  “I thought so too, at first.” Hiro shook his head. “I can no longer tell his truths from lies.”

  “Hiro-kun?” Akiko’s voice called out from the other side of the wall. She emerged through the gates, confusion deepening the wrinkles on her face. “What are you doing out here?”

  “He doesn’t want me to attend this evening’s meeting,” Father Mateo said. “He thinks it might be dangerous.”

  “It is, but not for you.” She glanced at Hiro. “Nor for you, unless you provoke your cousin, although I suspect you’ll do it anyway.”

  “That isn’t why I thought it might be dangerous,” Hiro answered.

  Akiko shrugged. “Are you coming inside or not?”

  “We are.” Father Mateo started toward the gates.

  Hiro hurried after the Jesuit, wishing his grandmother didn’t speak Portuguese.

  Inside the mansion, Hiro and Father Mateo followed Akiko through the entry and along the passage to a formal reception room, where the dusty scent of withered chrysanthemums hovered in the air like the ghost of autumn.

  Twelve tatami covered the floor, arranged in auspicious patterns to minimize the number of corners adjacent to one another
. On the wall to the right of the entrance, a painting of a lifelike cedar rose from floor to ceiling, branches spreading across the panels like so many outstretched arms. Near the end of the longest branch, the artist had added a male falcon perched at rest, with features so detailed that the feathers seemed to rustle in the breeze.

  Across from the entrance, the falcon’s painted mate soared proudly, pinions rendered with exquisite care. Her central position on the wall would create the illusion that she circled over Hanzō’s head when he knelt in the host’s position to meet with guests.

  At the moment, however, the falcon soared over empty space.

  Toshi knelt to the right of the entrance. He bowed from a kneeling position as Hiro and Father Mateo entered the room.

  After returning the young man’s bow, Hiro knelt on the opposite side of the room, to the left of the door, leaving the area next to Toshi for the remaining Koga emissaries.

  Father Mateo knelt beside Hiro, gaze fixed on the wall. “These paintings . . . I have never seen their equal.”

  “Nor will you again,” Hiro said. “The artist died the same year they were painted.”

  “I am sorry to hear it,” the Jesuit replied. “Why paint directly on the wall? Normally, artists paint on wood or canvas, so the image can be moved.”

  “Moveable paintings can be stolen,” Toshi said.

  “Or saved from fire.” Father Mateo stared at the soaring falcon. “You know, I’m not an expert, but I think I’ve seen this artist’s work before.”

  “How could you?” Suspicion rang in Toshi’s voice. “I thought you had never been to Iga.”

  “The brushstrokes . . .” Father Mateo trailed off. “On second thought, no, it merely reminds me of art I’ve seen in Kyoto.”

  A subtle shift in the Jesuit’s posture betrayed the lie. Fortunately, Toshi was looking at the painted falcons, not the priest.

  “Don’t feel badly,” the young shinobi said. “Many Japanese artists imitate the styles of other, far more famous men. Sometimes even experts cannot tell their work apart.”

  “Indeed.” Father Mateo gave an embarrassed smile. “I have made a foreigner’s mistake.”