by Susan Spann
Hiro looked at Neko’s body and the crumpled, bloody towel that had fallen from her hand and lay beside her on the floor. The smudges on the cloth resembled . . .
“Wait!” The word rang loudly through the chamber. Hiro grabbed the cloth. “Neko left a message, and it proves I did not kill her.”
He raised the towel, holding it by the corners to reveal the blurry writing on its surface. Two bold characters marked the cloth. Water and the humid air had rendered the first illegible; Neko’s complex strokes had run together, leaving a bloody blur. However, the second character remained distinct: a box bisected by a vertical and a horizontal line that crossed at the center.
“That’s not a message.” Hanzō scowled. “It’s just a bloody smear.”
“The first part, yes,” Midori said, “but the second looks like ta.”
“A rice field?” Hanzō asked. “That makes no sense.”
“If I had killed her, she would not have had time to write a message.” Hiro pointed to the cloth. “If she had tried, I would have thrown the towel in the bath, erasing it completely.”
Hanzō lowered the sword a fraction. “Still, it doesn’t help us. It means nothing.”
“I believe otherwise,” Hiro said. “She knew I was coming, which means she wrote this message for me, expecting me to understand.”
He laid the towel across his palm and used his other hand to trace the bloody strokes of the second character.
Why a rice field? What do you want to say? His thoughts reached out, as if to her, although he knew she could no longer answer.
And then, suddenly, he understood.
“I know who killed her”—Hiro looked up—“and also who killed the Koga emissaries.”
Hanzō indicated the towel. “Surely not from that?”
Hiro rose to his feet. “In fact, that is precisely how I know. I will explain, but not here. The Koga emissaries have a right to hear what happened, and to know the killer’s name.”
“You’re bluffing.” Hanzō stepped backward. “A bloody cloth can’t tell you anything.”
“It can, it did, and I will prove it at Midori’s house.”
“Go with him, Hanzō,” Midori urged. “I will stay and tend to Neko’s body.”
“She will be just as dead in an hour.” Hiro felt the flash of pain that struck his entire body as he said the words. “You should be there, too, to hear the truth.”
“I do not need—”
“You’re going with us,” Hanzō interrupted. “Neither one of you leaves my sight until I understand what happened. Hiro, dress and join us at the entrance.”
As Hanzō left the room with Midori, Hiro picked up the towel he had brought into the bath. After dipping it into the tub, he bent and washed the blood from Neko’s face. Despite his words, he refused to leave her body in this condition.
A single cloth did little good on her neck and bloody chest, but Hiro did what he could to clean her, rinsing the cloth in the tub between his efforts. Finally, he lay the towel down across her injured neck, folded her hands across it, and gently closed her sightless eyes.
He straightened slowly, possessed by a grief that struck him over and over again, like the waves of a typhoon against an unprotected shore.
He bowed as tears ran down his cheeks. “I am so sorry, Neko. For everything.”
He began to turn away but found himself on his knees again. Lowering his face to hers, he kissed her, and found her lips still warm.
“Good-bye.” The word felt small and hollow, but no others came.
He stood and wiped his tears.
Redemption had passed beyond his reach. He would have to make do with vengeance.
CHAPTER 51
After washing the blood from his body and putting on his torn kimono, Hiro joined Hanzō and Midori at the bathhouse door. Neither mentioned how long it had taken him to finish dressing.
“Do you know where Akiko and Tane are?” Hiro asked as they started toward Midori’s home.
“Probably sleeping,” Hanzō replied. “Grandmother doesn’t stay up late.”
They continued down the path. Frigid air burned Hiro’s nose and made his breath plume out before him in a moonlight-silvered cloud. Iga rarely experienced snow, and never this early in the year, but the temperature made Hiro wonder whether tonight might prove an exception.
Stepping closer to Midori, he whispered, “Why did you bring him to the bathhouse?”
“I wanted to help free the priest,” Hanzō answered before Midori could. “She told me you and Neko had a plan, and I insisted that she bring me here at once.”
“To the bathhouse?” Hiro stared at Midori.
“I did not anticipate . . .” She shook her head. “I erred, in more ways than one.”
In the silence that followed, Hiro tried to pull his thoughts together. When they arrived he would need his wits about him. Applying the facts to the evidence, the answers fell into place with ease, leaving him furious with himself for not recognizing the solution sooner—and devastated that his blindness had caused Neko’s death.
Hiro forced the emotions away. He could deal with them later. For now, he needed to ensure that the killer did not escape again.
When they reached Midori’s house, he left his sandals on the porch and followed his mother and cousin through the door.
Toshi and Kiku stood by the hearth, along with Father Mateo. As Hiro and the others entered, the kunoichi raised her dagger to the Jesuit’s neck.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I told you I would identify Yajiro-san’s killer by dawn,” Hiro said. “I have done it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “This is a trick.”
Hiro nodded toward Father Mateo. “I don’t play tricks with the lives of my friends.”
“Put the tanto away before someone gets hurt,” Hanzō ordered.
Kiku made a derisive noise. “Forgive me, but I must decline.”
Midori crossed to the hearth and knelt on the floor. Toshi looked confused, but after a brief hesitation, he knelt beside her.
“Release the priest,” Hiro said, “and I will explain who killed Yajiro, and also Fuyu.”
“You’re bluffing,” she retorted. “You don’t know.”
Hiro sprang.
He pushed her backward and struck her weapon hand with his open palm. She staggered but recovered her balance, keeping her grip on the knife.
Hiro grabbed for her wrist, but found her stronger and more agile than expected. Behind him, he heard the whisper of a blade releasing from its sheath. He hoped it wouldn’t end up in his back.
He struggled to keep hold of Kiku’s wrist as she dug the fingernails of her empty hand between his knuckles. He felt them break the skin and clenched his teeth against the stinging pain. His arm protested, searing underneath the silken bandage as her twisting opened up his other wound.
Large, scarred hands closed over Kiku’s, pulling her fingernails from Hiro’s hand.
She struggled, but Father Mateo held her fast.
“Kiku-san,” the Jesuit said, “I will not hurt you, but you must stop fighting. Drop the knife.”
She glared at the priest, but her thrashing ceased. She released the blade. When it fell to the floor, Hiro retrieved it and backed away.
Hanzō stood two steps away, sword in hand and scowling like a demon. At the hearth, Midori held a dagger to Toshi’s neck.
“Mother,” Hiro objected, then realized the young shinobi also had a dagger out—and up against Midori’s side.
“Everyone put the weapons away,” Father Mateo said calmly. “You can always bring them out again if talking doesn’t work.”
Hiro gave the priest a look.
The Jesuit shrugged. “They can.”
Kiku relaxed, and the priest released her. Around the room, the others sheathed their weapons.
“Who killed Yajiro?” Kiku demanded.
“The same person who murdered Fuyu”—Hiro’s voice caught momentarily
—“and Neko, also.”
“Kotani Neko is dead?” Toshi asked.
Hiro rounded on the younger man. “Do not defile her memory with false surprise. You know that she is dead, because you killed her.”
CHAPTER 52
“Toshi is the killer?” Hanzō asked, incredulous. “I don’t believe you.”
The others looked equally doubtful.
“I didn’t kill anyone.” Toshi spoke to Kiku. “He’s lying to shift the blame away from Iga. Fuyu-san was right. This invitation was a trap.”
“Can you prove your allegation?” Hanzō demanded. “If you can, please do, so I can execute this man at once.”
“I will explain everything,” Hiro replied, “beginning with Yajiro’s murder.”
“Iga poisoned Yajiro-san,” Toshi said, “with the tainted welcome tea.”
“Curious that you say so with such certainty,” Hiro replied. “In fact, a poisoned tea did kill him, but it was not the sencha Hanzō sent to the guesthouse with the cakes. Yajiro drank a second cup of tea that afternoon.” He shifted his gaze to Kiku. “A willow tea.”
“For his headache. . . .” Kiku’s eyes grew wide. “How did you know? But I prepared that tea. It wasn’t poisoned.”
“On the contrary, it was. The headache you mention . . . a symptom of his opium withdrawal?”
She looked even more stunned. “Who told you?”
“Toshi did, earlier this evening, though he did not understand what he was saying. He mentioned hearing you arguing with Yajiro about another woman . . . a woman Yajiro would not leave, because of her tears.”
Kiku gave Toshi a disbelieving look. “There was no other woman. Yajiro loved me—but I would not have him, because of his hunger for opium. That is what ended our relationship.” She looked at Hiro. “It was not as many years ago as I led you to believe.”
“I suspected that, when I realized the truth,” Hiro said. “Toshi heard Yajiro say he lacked the strength to resist the tears. Headaches, sweating, irritability . . . symptoms of opium withdrawal, which you helped him hide with medicinal teas.” He turned to the young shinobi. “Yajiro was not referring to a woman. It was poppy tears that he could not resist.”
“It was a woman.” Toshi flushed. “Fuyu-san confronted him about it. He confessed to the affair and begged us to keep his indiscretion secret from the ryu!”
“A convenient lie,” Kiku explained, “and far less harmful to his reputation than an opium habit.”
“No!” Toshi’s cheeks flushed red. “Yajiro chose you for this mission because the two of you were having an affair!”
“He chose me because I knew about the opium,” Kiku countered, “and could brew the teas required to dull his pain and mute his hunger for the poppy.”
“Why would you agree to such a thing?” Hanzō asked.
“Because I loved him, before the poppy seized control. . . . I did not love him now as I did then, but still I helped him, for the good of the Koga ryu.” Kiku gave Hiro a searching look. “You figured all this out from a secondhand comment about a woman’s tears?”
“That comment made the other facts align. You told me your relationship ended years ago, yet admitted Yajiro persuaded you to join the Koga delegation and to pretend you supported the alliance. That seemed odd, especially considering your reaction to his death.”
“I tried to hide my feelings.”
“You did well, but the facts suggested there was more to the story than you told me,” Hiro said. “Neko heard the argument between Fuyu and Yajiro, before the feast. She was hiding underneath the bedroom window.”
“I knew she was a spy!” Toshi declared.
“Like everyone else in Iga,” Kiku said.
“You’re lying about the affair,” Toshi persisted. “You went to his room every night on the journey.”
“To brew medicinal teas for his headaches and massage the shaking from his muscles.”
“I heard moaning,” Toshi accused.
“The kind that follows vomiting, not passion.” She looked down her nose at him. “If you had ever been with a woman, you would know the sounds are rather different.”
“Surely you didn’t realize all this from Toshi’s comment about tears.” Hanzō gave Hiro a suspicious look.
“Taken together, the facts revealed the truth,” Hiro said. “Kiku denied the affair, but Yajiro admitted it. Clearly, one of them was lying. However, Kiku’s denial sparked additional investigation—denials make people suspicious—while Yajiro’s admission stopped the inquiry completely. According to Neko, Fuyu threatened to expose the affair upon their return to Koga, but did not press for any further information. Until I heard about the tears, I had no reason to believe Yajiro might be lying, but once I realized the deeper truth, I also knew the affair was likely a persuasive lie, with roots in the truth.”
“None of that points to the willow tea,” Kiku objected. “I carried the medicines in my box and prepared each one myself. How did you even know about that tea?”
“One of your envelopes is in my possession,” Hiro said, “or was, until recently. It contained the dregs of a willow tea, tainted with torikabuto.”
“That’s impossible. None of the doses left my possession until he drank them.”
“Are you certain?” Hiro asked. “Not even on the day you arrived in Iga?”
Realization spread across her face. “I only left it alone for a moment, when I went to stop the argument.”
“Who steeped that cup of willow tea?” Hiro asked.
“I prepared the mixture, but Yajiro always steeped the teas himself when others were around. I left the envelope beside his cup. . . .” Kiku turned toward Toshi, eyes ablaze. “You poisoned it when I left the room!”
The young man raised his hands defensively. “I did no such thing. The Iga kunoichi, Neko, must have poisoned the welcome tea. He is making all this up to trick you!”
“You told Fuyu I murdered Yajiro.” Kiku spoke with deadly calm. “That’s why he was searching my poison box this afternoon. You tried to blame your crime on me.”
“I told him to check the box because you killed Yajiro!” Toshi turned to Hanzō. “She’s the murderer, not me. She murdered Fuyu-san because he learned the truth, and then she sneaked to the bathhouse and killed Neko while Hiro and I were moving the body.”
“Impossible,” Kiku said. “I was here with the priest.”
“Both women cannot be guilty.” Dark storms brewed in Hanzō’s eyes. “And how did you know Kotani Neko died in a bathhouse?”
“I-I assumed it,” Toshi stammered. “I overheard the foreigner’s maid delivering a message to Hiro. She said that Neko wanted Hiro to meet her at the bathhouse.” He leaned back as if in sudden realization. “Maybe Hiro murdered her himself, in a lovers’ quarrel!”
Anger burst in Hiro’s chest like a thunderclap, but he forced it down. When he spoke, his voice was deadly calm. “If you listened to that conversation, you also heard Ana mention that Neko had critical information for me. You believed she could identify you as the killer, so you went to the bathhouse and murdered her, to hide the truth.”
“I did no such thing. I attended to Fuyu’s body and then came directly here.”
“His clothing bears no signs of a murder,” Kiku pointed out.
“Most likely, he removed his outer kimono before he entered the bath,” Hiro said. “That is an assumption, but it makes no difference—Neko identified him as the killer.”
“That’s not possible.” Toshi paled.
Hiro spoke over him. “Neko left a message for me, in her own blood, revealing the person responsible for her death.”
“That cloth did not say ‘Koga,’” Hanzō objected. “Or ‘Toshi,’ either.”
“No, because Neko realized her killer acted at the command of someone else. Someone who wants to start a war between Iga and the Koga ryu.”
“Koga would never accept a commission to start a war with Iga,” Kiku said.
“The Koga ryu
would accept no such commission,” Hiro agreed, “but a lesser son of a lesser clan, a man who would never otherwise hold significant power within the ryu, might be persuaded to sacrifice Koga—and his personal honor—for a reward.”
“He is lying!” Toshi declared.
Slowly, Hiro turned. “What did Lord Oda promise you in return for setting Iga and Koga at one another’s throats?”
Hanzō’s eyes flew wide. “Are you telling me Oda Nobunaga is behind this?”
Midori covered her mouth with her hand. “The character . . . ‘rice field.’”
Hiro nodded. “We pronounce it ta, and it means ‘rice field,’ when it stands alone, but when it follows the character ‘O’—a character so complex that any smudging renders it illegible—the pronunciation changes to da . . . and Oda is the message Neko left for me to find.
“So Toshi-san, I ask again: what price did Oda Nobunaga give you to betray your clan and soil your honor?”
“I am not a traitor,” Toshi said. “I am a loyal son of the Koga ryu.”
Kiku looked from one man to the other. “Have you proof of this, aside from letters written by the dead?”
“I believe young Toshi’s last assignment was in Mikawa Province,” Hiro said, “a territory Oda Nobunaga now controls. Also, one of Oda’s agents recently tried to murder Hattori Hanzō, and burned an Iga village in the mountains. Moreover, Lord Oda has made his intention to destroy the shinobi clans quite clear.”
“I went to Mikawa to help assassinate one of Oda’s retainers,” Toshi sneered, “and I succeeded, even though the senior shinobi failed. Why would I do that if I worked for Oda Nobunaga?”
Hanzō snorted. “Daimyō Oda has murdered plenty of his own retainers. He could have allowed you to succeed, or helped you do it, to give Koga a false impression of your loyalty.”
“I am a loyal son of the Koga ryu!”
Hiro caught the hint of desperation in Toshi’s voice.
“So you’ve mentioned,” Kiku said, “but I find it increasingly difficult to believe.”
