by Susan Spann
He noticed a flickering glow from the oiled paper windows of the other Iga guesthouse, just a couple of minutes’ walk through the trees. The light pierced the darkness like a beacon, in more ways than one.
Ana could create a diversion and help him free the priest.
He started toward her guesthouse, but abandoned the plan before he reached the door. Ana would help, and gladly, but Hiro would not put her life in danger.
He thought of other people he might ask.
Midori and Neko had the skills, but both had touched the tea and cakes that probably killed Yajiro, both had access to Midori’s tea, and either could have murdered Fuyu before arriving at Hanzō’s home. As far as he knew, only Neko opposed the alliance, but either would have killed at Hanzō’s order. In the end, he couldn’t trust either woman enough to ask for help, though it did occur to him that the killer might jump at the chance to murder Kiku too.
“Hiro? Is that you?” Ana appeared, carrying a lantern. “What are you doing out here in the dark alone?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
“Hm. An elderly woman can’t use a latrine without someone asking questions?” The lantern deepened the wrinkles on her face. “In any case, I’m glad you’re here. That woman came by with a message for you, and now I don’t have to deliver it to the other end of Iga in the dark.”
“A woman?” Hiro asked. “Which woman?”
“Hm. The one you didn’t name Gato for.”
“I didn’t name the cat for Neko. It’s merely coincidental that they both mean . . .” He trailed off. The more he tried to explain the less persuasive it sounded, even to him.
Ana rested a hand on her hip.
“Neko came to see you?” Hiro hoped the question would put the conversation back on track.
“A little while ago. She said she has urgent information that can help you, and wants you to meet her at the bathhouse by the river. She said you must come alone and ensure that no one follows you. She’ll be waiting in the tub, as a sign of good faith, because ‘naked people can’t hide weapons.’” Ana scowled. “This is not the time to rekindle old affairs.”
Hiro suddenly felt even more defensive. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
Ana’s eyebrows raised in unison. “It’s exactly what I’m thinking.” She looked around, suddenly confused. “Where’s Father Mateo?”
“Sleeping.” Hopefully, at least. “Did Neko tell you why it’s so important that she meets with me alone?”
“Hm. I think that’s obvious.”
Something crackled behind them in the forest.
Ana raised the lantern and her voice. “Who’s there? Come into the light!”
Hiro couldn’t help but admire the lack of fear in the housekeeper’s voice and posture.
When no one appeared, Ana lowered the lantern. “Probably an owl. I saw a huge one in a tree by the latrine.”
Hiro lowered his voice and repeated, “Did Neko say anything more?”
“That you should trust her.” The housekeeper frowned. “Nobody worth trusting has to say that you can trust them. Don’t you put Father Mateo in danger, either.”
“I promise not to take him with me.” Hiro felt a rush of relief that Ana didn’t seem to know about the Jesuit’s current predicament.
She gave him a long, judgmental look. “Hm. You’d better be telling the truth.”
“I give you my word.”
Hiro escorted Ana back to the guesthouse and ensured that no one was hiding in or around the building. As he expected, the search revealed nothing.
“Thank you for delivering Neko’s message,” he said as the housekeeper went inside. “Secure the door, and open it only for Father Mateo or for me. We will not send a message to you by anyone else tonight.”
Suspicion hardened the housekeeper’s features, but she asked no questions. Instead, she merely nodded and closed the door.
After waiting to hear the bolt slide shut, Hiro returned to the path. He walked as silently as he could without sacrificing a normal pace, listening for any sign of another person in the trees. Slowly, his thoughts returned to the pressing problems: freeing the priest, identifying the killer, and whether or not to accept Neko’s invitation.
Out of time and with no better options, he decided it was time to force the truth.
CHAPTER 46
Lanterns glowed in Hanzō’s courtyard, setting the maple trees ablaze. Normally, Hiro would have paused to savor the contrast between the warm-colored foliage and the chilly air. Tonight, he passed without a second glance.
If he wanted to survive the next few minutes, he could not afford distractions.
He crossed the veranda, slipped off his sandals, and banged his fist on the heavy door. Moments later, it swung open, revealing Hattori Hanzō. The Iga commander seemed surprised to see Hiro, and looked past him as if expecting someone else.
Without bowing, Hiro stormed inside, bumping Hanzō’s shoulder in the process.
“Hey!”
Ignoring Hanzō’s angry comment, Hiro stalked through the entry and did not stop until he reached the audience chamber. He stopped in the center of the room and stared at the flying falcon rendered by his father’s hand. In the flickering light from the braziers, she almost seemed to breathe.
For an instant, Hiro wished he believed in gods, or even ghosts. At least, if they existed, he would not have to face this fight alone.
The unfamiliar chill of fear sent icy fingers down his spine, where they grasped the surge of adrenaline that flooded outward through his limbs.
Inhaling deeply, he stilled his thoughts and slipped his hand into his sleeve. His fingers brushed the envelope of torikabuto as they closed around his shuriken. He gripped the metal star in his fist, allowing the pointed edges to poke out between his fingers.
Footsteps entered the room behind him.
“What is the meaning of this!” Hanzō demanded. “Have you lost your mind?”
Hiro did not turn around.
“You will answer when I speak!” Hanzō approached with heavy, angry steps.
Just before the commander reached him, Hiro pulled his hand from his sleeve. He spun around, swinging his loaded fist at Hanzō’s neck.
The Iga commander sprang away, angry scowl replaced by disbelief as a line of bloody droplets rose across the base of his neck.
Hanzō raised a hand to the spot. His fingers smeared the droplets. As he drew his hand away, he glanced at his bloodstained fingers and then at Hiro. His eyes narrowed.
A dagger appeared in Hanzō’s hand.
Hiro ducked the initial strike and somersaulted backward out of range.
He sprang to his feet as Hanzō lunged again. The blade fell short, and Hiro slashed with the shuriken, forcing his cousin to back away.
They circled one another, feinting.
Hiro focused on the commander’s eyes, trusting them to indicate a strike before it came.
“What’s wrong with you?” Hanzō snapped.
“If you can’t tell, I’m doing it wrong.” Hiro swung his shuriken-loaded fist at Hanzō’s face and backed away—but not quite fast enough.
Hanzō’s dagger slashed through Hiro’s kimono and opened a gash in his arm just above the wrist.
Hiro frowned at the gaping rip in the silk and the crimson blood that already began to stain it. “Now you’ve ruined my kimono.”
In answer, Hanzō attacked again.
Hiro sidestepped, turned, and flung himself at Hanzō’s knees. Grasping the leader’s legs, he knocked his cousin backward to the ground. It wasn’t a tactic he used often, but Hiro noted with irony that it seemed to work unusually well in Iga.
Hanzō lost his grip on his dagger and landed hard. The weapon dropped to the floor and rolled to a stop just out of reach.
Pressing the advantage, Hiro struggled to pin his cousin to the floor, but Hanzō thrust his hips toward the ceiling, seized the neck of Hiro’s kimono, and threw him into the air like a sack of rice.<
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Hiro flew over Hanzō’s head, careful to keep his hold on the shuriken and to block his fall with his empty hand. He rolled to his feet, but before he could stand, a blow to the back of his shoulders knocked him facedown to the floor.
Hanzō planted a knee on Hiro’s back, forcing the air from his lungs.
Hiro glanced around, but Hanzō’s dagger had disappeared. Expecting to feel it pierce his neck at any moment, Hiro reached his fist behind his back and slashed with the shuriken, forcing Hanzō to lean away. The pressure on his spine released for only a moment, but it was enough.
Hiro pushed himself off the floor and flipped onto his back.
Hanzō grabbed for Hiro’s wrist, but Hiro spat in his cousin’s face. Hattori Hanzō roared in anger, the sound cut short as Hiro punched him in the stomach. Hanzō grunted and doubled over.
Hiro rolled away. Pushing up to his feet, he faced his cousin.
A drop of Hiro’s blood ran down the shuriken and pattered on the floor.
Hanzō straightened, brandishing his dagger.
Hiro risked a glance at his injured arm. Blood now streaked the kimono sleeve, and left a pattern of drops and smears across the once-pristine tatami.
Hanzō made a disgusted noise and flung his weapon to the floor.
“What are you doing?” Hiro asked, confused but wary.
“I could ask the same of you.” Hanzō’s face was flushed with anger. “You should have killed me easily with the first attack, and you pulled at least one other strike.”
“If we’re counting? I pulled more than one.”
“Explain yourself!” Hanzō shouted.
“I needed to know if you would kill me.”
Hanzō crossed his arms. “Do not tempt me.”
Hiro picked up Hanzō’s weapon from the floor and extended the handle toward his cousin.
The Iga commander accepted and sheathed his weapon. “Explain yourself, and be persuasive, or I will order you hanged at dawn.”
“Who chose me to attend these negotiations?” Hiro asked.
“That is not an explanation.”
“Answer my question, and I will answer yours.”
Slowly, Hanzō’s fury faded, though his eyes still smoldered. “Neko insisted on your presence. I did not want you here at all.” After a moment, Hanzō added, “I believe you understand why.”
“Because you never intended to negotiate an alliance with Koga,” Hiro said. “You planned to murder the delegation, and knew that I would not cooperate.”
“Wrong.” Hanzō’s nostrils flared. “Because I did not want my chance for peace with Koga thwarted by a willful, insubordinate man who cannot take an order without argument!”
Hiro shrugged. “Close enough.”
“Iga sent you to guard that priest as a punishment, yet you wear it as a badge of honor,” Hanzō snarled.
“I no longer consider protecting the priest a punishment,” Hiro said. “Mateo is an honorable man, and has become my friend.”
Hanzō’s face turned purple. “You exceed your mandate, solving murders in Kyoto and not staying in the shadows as you should!”
Hiro saw no reason to reply. His cousin spoke the truth.
“Surely you did not come here, and provoke a fight, because you longed to discuss your personal failings,” Hanzō said.
“I needed to know if you wanted me dead, and if not, why you would make me work with Neko. Surely you knew the pairing was ill-advised.”
Hanzō’s mouth fell open. The color faded from his cheeks. “You truly believe I ordered the deaths of Yajiro and Fuyu.”
Hiro raised an eyebrow at his cousin. “Persuade me otherwise.”
CHAPTER 47
“I have no obligation to explain myself to you,” Hanzō declared. “Even so, I choose to answer your question. Lord Oda’s recent attempt on my life made me realize Iga is vulnerable. He wants to seize control of Japan, and to do that he will eliminate everything and everyone he cannot control.
“An alliance with Koga is the only way to save not only Iga but all shinobi clans from extinction in the coming war. Only by standing together can Iga and Koga ensure the samurai who becomes the new shogun will not try to exterminate us along with his samurai rivals.
“Don’t you think I know what you’ve been doing in Kyoto? Why would I ever bring you to Iga if I planned to murder the Koga emissaries?”
“You might have thought that Neko could distract me,” Hiro said. “She’s certainly trying.”
Hanzō snorted. “I thought she cured you of that weakness years ago.”
“You did not order her to distract me, then?” Hiro no longer suspected Hanzō of ordering the murders. Not because of his cousin’s words, but because Hanzō had several chances to kill him during their fight and had not done so.
“I gave her no such order.” Hanzō’s forehead wrinkled in disapproval. “Would you mind not bleeding on my tatami?”
Hiro wrapped his ruined kimono sleeve around his arm to stanch the flow of blood.
“I cannot believe you suspect me of killing those emissaries,” Hanzō continued. “Surely you realize Kiku must have done it.”
“I have an answer to that,” Hiro said, “but you won’t like what I have to say.”
“Do I ever?”
“Kiku may have killed the emissaries, but Neko looks equally guilty. Neither woman wants this alliance, and both have motives for wanting the others dead.”
“Neko insisted on having you here. She knows you’ve hunted killers in Kyoto.”
“Hardly proof of innocence,” Hiro said. “She’s been manipulating all of us since I arrived.”
“Nonsense,” Hanzō scoffed. “She’s not that foolish.”
“No, but she is that arrogant.”
“Neko would never violate my trust.” Hanzō shook his head. “She is unfailingly loyal and obedient to the Iga ryu . . . to me.”
Hiro felt a flash of something uncomfortably close to jealousy.
Fabric rustled in the doorway.
Hanzō looked past Hiro. “Good evening, Midori.”
“What’s going on here?”
Hiro forced a smile and turned. “A friendly wrestling match.” He tucked his injured arm behind his back. “Like we did when we were younger.”
Midori did not return his smile. “When you were children, you cut his lip and he blacked your eyes on a regular basis, but I don’t seem to remember you using blades.” She sighed. “Have you finished your game, or should I come back later?”
“Hiro was just leaving,” Hanzō said. “Come in, and we can have our meeting.”
“After I see that his wound is cleaned and bandaged,” Midori replied.
Hanzō nodded. “Very well. I will wait for you here.”
Midori led Hiro to the kitchen, where she examined his injured arm. “This needs cleaning.” She retrieved a ceramic flask from the cupboard. “Hold your arm out over the basin.”
Hiro obeyed without a word, feeling suddenly five years old again.
Midori pulled the ruined sleeve away, exposing the bloody wound. Slowly, she tipped the flask and poured a narrow stream of sake over the injury. Hiro hissed. The liquid burned with a fierceness that sent weakness through his knees.
He drew a sharp breath as the odor reached his nose. “That’s Hanzō’s best sake!”
“A man who chooses to act like a child cannot complain when his choices cost him.” Midori nodded at Hiro’s arm. “I don’t think that needs stitching, but you tell me if it hasn’t closed tomorrow.”
Hiro nodded, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Midori wrapped a strip of silk around the cut and bound it tight. “I thought you had outgrown picking fights with Hanzō.”
Somehow, she always knew when he was to blame. “What would you do if an enemy threatened the life of your closest friend?”
“Hanzō is not the one who seized the priest,” Midori said.
“How did you know . . . ?” He trailed off, loath
ing himself again for suspecting her.
Midori lowered her voice. “Not here.”
She led him through the house. At the porch, they slipped on their sandals and walked across the yard.
Hiro glanced at the moon, now risen high above the trees, and wondered how long Neko would wait for him at the bathhouse.
When they reached the gates, Midori stopped in a pool of flickering golden light created by the large stone lantern just to the left of the compound entrance. Hiro hesitated, suddenly aware his mother had chosen precisely the spot where he had hidden to speak with the priest about the envelope of torikabuto.
“How do you know about Father Mateo?” he asked again. “You left before it happened.”
“Hanzō sent Akiko with a message,” Midori said, “though I had already heard the news from Neko. She didn’t leave when Hanzō dismissed us. She hid by the door and listened.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Don’t be foolish,” Midori said. “I know you want to save the priest, but you can’t rescue him alone.”
“Why did Neko stay to listen?” Hiro repeated.
“She refused to leave with you in peril.”
Hiro made a derisive noise. “Neko doesn’t care about my safety. She’s up to something. I think she might be involved in the murders.”
“Is that why you fought with Hanzō?” Midori tilted her head to the side. “Do you think he ordered her to distract you?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to your mother.” Midori smiled, but it faded almost instantly. “You should not be here. Didn’t you get Neko’s message? Was that what prompted your fight with Hanzō?”
“Message?” Hiro feigned ignorance.
“No time for games,” Midori said. “Neko needed to get you a message. I told her to ask the foreigner’s maid to deliver it, because no one suspects a servant.”
“I got the message,” Hiro replied. “What does she want—and why the bathhouse?”
“A naked person cannot conceal a blade.” Midori shrugged. “Knowing Neko, she probably also hopes for something more intimate.”
