Betrayal at Iga

by Susan Spann

  CHAPTER 53

  “Why does everyone keep accusing me? She’s the one with the motive!” Toshi pointed at Kiku. “She opposed the alliance, but pretended she supported it. She used her relationship with Yajiro-san to earn his trust, killed him, and tried to blame Hattori Hanzō for the crime.”

  “Coward!” Kiku hissed. “Accept responsibility for your actions!”

  Toshi continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Fuyu-san knew she killed Yajiro. He searched her medicine box. She caught him at it and murdered him to stop him from revealing the truth!”

  The door burst open.

  Akiko dragged a wide-eyed Tane into the house. The elderly woman froze as she noticed the number and identities of the people in the room. She released her grip on Tane, who immediately wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the floor as if doing so would render her invisible.

  “Hanzō-kun?” Akiko asked. “What are you doing here?”

  The commander faced her. “I could ask the same of you, Grandmother.”

  “I came to warn Hiro-kun that one of the Koga emissaries is a killer.” Akiko opened her hand, revealing a crumpled envelope.

  “Mother!” Hiro objected. “I gave that to you!”

  “And I promised to find out where it came from, if I could.” Midori indicated the woman standing in the entrance. “I gave it to Akiko in the hope that she could find an answer.”

  “And I did.” Triumph rang in the white-haired woman’s voice. “This envelope did not come from Iga. Our paper does not use this much bamboo. More importantly, Tane knows exactly where it came from. She found the envelope at the guesthouse, when she went to retrieve the tray with the welcome tea. She claims it sat beside a cup that did not smell of sencha.”

  She looked at the girl beside her. “Tell them.”

  Tane nodded but did not look up.

  “She brought the tray back shortly after the feast began and left it in the kitchen. When the Koga emissary died, she worried I was responsible and hid the envelope.”

  “She couldn’t have told you that,” Toshi scoffed. “She cannot even speak.”

  Slowly, Tane raised her face, jaw set and fury in her eyes. She looked at each of them in turn. At the sight of Hiro she released her sleeves, gestured to Akiko, and then hugged herself. After briefly glancing at Hiro as if to ensure he was paying attention, she tapped her own chest, hugged herself again, and indicated Akiko, following the series of gestures with another, more complicated set of movements Hiro could not understand precisely, though he guessed their meaning.

  “She loves you, and you love her, too,” he translated. “You wanted to protect her.”

  Tane nodded, biting her lip as her nose turned red and her eyes filled up with tears.

  “Then why deliver the envelope to me?” Hiro asked.

  Tane made the sign of the cross, gestured to Father Mateo, and raised her hands in an attitude of prayer.

  “She is a Christian.” Father Mateo spoke as if in awe.

  Nodding, Tane reached into her sleeve. A tear ran down her cheek as she removed her hand and opened it, revealing a small metal cross in her palm. Fire had charred the surface black. After only a moment, she snapped her fingers shut around the cross and clutched it to her chest.

  “I didn’t know.” Akiko looked from the girl to the priest. “She did seem unusually excited after seeing you at the welcome feast.”

  Tane turned to Father Mateo, bowed, and tapped her fingers to her forehead in the gesture Hiro recognized as an apology. Then, once more, she clasped her hands in prayer and bowed her head.

  “She wants—”

  “Forgiveness,” Father Mateo said. “God has forgiven all your sins. Of that, I’m certain. Do not be afraid, Tane.”

  The girl raised her tear-streaked face and smiled at the priest.

  “Tane was there when Midori brought me the envelope,” Akiko said. “As soon as she realized it wasn’t ours, she explained where she found it. We provided no willow with the welcome tea, which means”—the elderly woman paused dramatically—“the killer is one of the Koga emissaries!”

  “Thank you, Grandmother,” Hanzō said. “We already knew.”

  “You did?” Akiko frowned. “And no one told me?”

  “I deduced that Tane must have found the envelope on the tray with the welcome tea,” Hiro said. “It was the only explanation that made sense. The welcome tea was delivered about an hour before the feast began, which matched the amount of time it would take for torikabuto to take effect. Therefore, I knew he must have ingested the poison at or near that time.

  “Tane retrieved the tray from the guesthouse after the Koga emissaries left for the feast, meaning that she was alone with the tray and its contents. She could have seen, and removed, the envelope without anyone noticing its absence. Had she discovered the envelope elsewhere—in Hanzō’s kitchen, for example—Akiko would have noticed it missing, and Tane might not have connected it with the murder.”

  “May I see the envelope?” Kiku asked.

  Akiko closed her hand around the paper.

  “It’s all right, Grandmother,” Hiro said.

  Slowly, Akiko handed it over.

  Kiku examined the envelope carefully, lifting the flap and peering inside. “This belongs to me, and this is the willow mixture I prepared for Yajiro—but I did not put this poison in it.” She nodded to Hiro. “I am convinced of Toshi’s guilt, but I would like to hear what happened from start to finish . . . if you know.”

  “I do, and I will tell you.” When no one objected, Hiro said, “At some point—likely, during his time in Mikawa Province—Oda Nobunaga persuaded Toshi to join his cause and sent him back to Koga with orders to start a war between the shinobi clans. When Hanzō’s invitation came, Toshi persuaded his father to let him accompany Fuyu on the mission. During the journey, he doubtless looked for each of your weaknesses, trying to decide how best to kill you. Yajiro’s constant headaches, and the packets of willow tea he drank to relieve them, were an obvious place to begin.”

  Toshi listened silently, face unreadable.

  “The afternoon the delegation arrived in Iga,” Hiro continued, “the fight between Fuyu and Yajiro distracted you and gave Toshi the opportunity he needed. As soon as you left the room, he poisoned Yajiro’s envelope of willow tea with torikabuto. The bitter willow would disguise the toxin’s taste, and since it takes about an hour to kill, he knew his victim would drop dead at the welcome feast.”

  “Making it look as if we murdered him,” Midori added.

  “Indeed, it worked out almost perfectly, at least from his perspective,” Hiro said. “Yajiro’s death came close to triggering the war immediately. Even I believed, at first, that Hanzō killed him.”

  Father Mateo bowed to the Iga leader. “I suspected you also. For that, I apologize.”

  “A regrettable, but understandable error,” Hanzō said.

  “Unfortunately for Toshi,” Hiro continued, “the other surviving emissaries agreed to an investigation, rather than simply declaring Yajiro’s murder an act of war. I’ll give him credit—he played the role of helpful observer unusually well, avoiding suspicion and letting the rest of the suspects accuse one another, at least until Fuyu began suspecting Kiku.”

  Toshi scowled.

  “Isn’t that why you poisoned Midori’s tea?” Hiro asked. “To divert Fuyu’s suspicions back to Iga?”

  “How could Toshi have poisoned the tea?” Father Mateo asked. “He went to meet the priests with Fuyu, and by the time he returned, we were here. He came in right after we changed to winter kimono.”

  “Actually, he must have arrived before that,” Hiro said. “Remember, Ana had left and the house was empty when we returned. Toshi could have sneaked into the kitchen while everyone was gone, poisoned the tea, and waited nearby for us to return before making his entrance. In fact, I suspect that Tane might have heard him in the woods—she was looking away from the door when I answered it.”

  “I
accidentally stepped on a branch,” Toshi confirmed. “I hoped the poisoned tea would make Fuyu decide to leave at once, by making it appear that Iga planned to kill us all. Unfortunately, it made him even more convinced of Kiku’s guilt. I tried to persuade him otherwise, but I pushed too hard and he got suspicious.”

  “So you killed him,” Hiro said.

  “Toshi couldn’t have murdered Fuyu,” Father Mateo protested. “He was with me at the guesthouse all afternoon.”

  “Foolish priest,” Toshi sneered. “Your religion makes you blind, and praying makes you deaf as well. I slipped away while you said your rituals over Yajiro’s body and returned before you noticed I had gone.”

  “A risky plan,” the Jesuit said. “How did you know I wouldn’t discover you missing?”

  “If you had, I would have claimed I went to the latrine. As for the plan”—Toshi gestured to Hiro—“that part was his fault. I noticed that you lose track of time when praying or talking about your foreign god. I persuaded Fuyu to agree to let you perform your Christian ritual, planning to kill you both—first him, then you—while you were praying.”

  “After which, you would have claimed that everyone in Iga worked together to murder your delegation?” Hiro asked.

  “Exactly,” Toshi said. “I would have claimed the priest was secretly an Iga agent, too. But you made Fuyu change his mind, and not attend the ritual, which meant I had to alter the plan. I waited for the priest to lose himself in meditation. Then I slipped away, killed Fuyu, and disposed of Kiku’s medicine box, to ensure that if Iga escaped the blame again, I could ensure that she was held accountable. Once Hanzō executed her, I would return to Koga, the sole survivor of Iga’s traitorous plan.”

  Kiku bared her teeth, but Toshi continued, “When I heard the housekeeper telling Hiro that Neko had important information, I thought she must have seen me killing Fuyu. I couldn’t risk her revealing the truth.”

  He smiled at Hiro. “She thought I was you when I entered the bathhouse. Did you know she loved you? It was obvious on her face when she turned. . . . You should have seen her when I cut her throat. She tried to ask me why I did it, so I told her: She was only the first of many. Every shinobi in Iga will die, along with the fools of Koga, leaving Oda Nobunaga free to rule Japan, with me in command of his loyal shinobi spies!”

  He sprang to his feet, dagger in hand.

  Hiro had no time to dodge. Stepping into the attack, he focused on the young shinobi’s throat and focused all his strength into a single punch.

  Toshi’s momentum amplified the force of Hiro’s strike, collapsing his throat.

  The young man crumpled to the floor. His dagger tumbled harmlessly away.

  Hiro reached down and retrieved the weapon as Toshi rolled to his hands and knees, choking and gasping.

  “Have you anything to say before I sentence you to death?” Hanzō asked.

  Toshi nodded and raised a hand. Everyone waited silently as he struggled to control his breathing and pushed himself to a kneeling position. His choking slowed, and he opened his mouth.

  “You are doomed.” Toshi’s voice was harsh and hoarse, barely recognizable as speech. “Lord Oda will prevail.”

  “On the contrary,” Hiro said. “Now that we all know the truth, Iga and Koga will form an alliance. Oda Nobunaga’s plan to destroy the shinobi clans will fail, and a year from now, no one outside your family will even remember that you ever lived.”

  “Traitor!” Kiku hissed. “How could you grovel like a dog at Oda’s feet? What did he promise you?”

  Toshi clutched his throat as he whispered, “Leadership . . . of the only . . . shinobi clan . . . to survive the coming war.” He coughed.

  “You are not only a traitor,” Hanzō said. “You are a fool. Oda Nobunaga would never allow even a single shinobi to survive. Once he claimed the shogunate, you would have shared our fate.”

  “Samurai”—Toshi coughed again—“a samurai . . . always keeps his promise.”

  “True,” Hiro said, “and I have one to keep as well.”

  He drove the dagger into Toshi’s chest, feeling the blade slip cleanly between the ribs.

  Toshi’s eyes flew open wide, and his cough grew wet as crimson foam appeared on his lips. It stained his hand and flecked the floor in front of him.

  He fell, clutching his throat and choking on the blood that trickled from his lips and pooled beneath him on the tatami. In less than a minute, he gave a final choking gasp and stilled. The blood that ran from his mouth slowed to a dribble as his heart stopped beating.

  “That was for Neko.” Hiro looked around the room, daring anyone to argue.

  Tane touched her fingertips to her lips, bowed, and made the sign of the cross before clasping her hands in silent prayer.

  “Perhaps you intended it only for Neko,” Kiku said, “but you have avenged Yajiro and Fuyu also. Koga is grateful.” Softly, she added, “I am grateful.”

  A wave of emotion crashed over Hiro, nearly breaking his control. Without a word, he turned away and stumbled from the house.

  CHAPTER 54

  The moon shone high above the trees, a round, white orb as cold as the ice that clutched at Hiro’s heart. Despite avenging all three deaths, he felt no victory.

  He headed north into the trees, less by intention than from a compelling need to move, as if by doing so he could escape the pain that dogged him from within. Fallen leaves crunched underfoot, disrupting the silence. Suddenly aware of the sound, Hiro walked with greater force, shoving his feet against the leaves in an angry attempt to increase the noise he made.

  A moment later, he realized the foolishness of stomping through the forest like a child resenting the loss of a favorite toy. His emotions ran far too deep for childish rage.

  Hiro stopped and drew a deep, slow breath. The frigid air smelled crisp, with hints of chimney smoke and the deeper, earthy musk of fallen leaves. Though muted by the cold, these were the smells that once meant home.

  Tonight, they brought him only pain.

  Overhead, an owl broke the silence with a haunting cry, and Hiro felt a bitter kinship with the bird—both cursed to ask unanswerable questions.

  One thing he knew: he could not stay in Iga any longer. He had raised a blade against Hattori Hanzō, and though he believed it justified, under the shinobi code his motive did not matter.

  Motive always matters. His own words echoed back to him, this time in Neko’s voice.

  Footsteps crunched in the leaves behind him. Hiro turned around.

  Father Mateo bowed. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  “I do not startle so easily.”

  “Hiro . . . I am sorry about Neko.”

  “I do not wish to have this conversation.” Hiro turned away and continued walking.

  As expected, Father Mateo’s footsteps scurried after him until the priest caught up. “It was a comment, not the start of a conversation.”

  Overhead, a wind blew through the pines and rattled the bamboo stalks.

  “It sounds like rain,” the Jesuit said. “The bamboo in the wind, I mean.”

  “It was her favorite sound.” Hiro’s comment slipped out unbidden.

  “Perhaps because she knew the proverb,” Father Mateo said softly. “‘A mighty wind may fell the cedar, but the bamboo merely bends to rise again.’”

  Hiro stopped and turned to the priest. “Did you come out here to be my conscience?”

  “After you left, Kiku and Hanzō agreed to meet tomorrow morning and work out the terms of a treaty between the clans. Lord Oda’s plot has changed her mind about the alliance.” Father Mateo paused. “You did it, Hiro. You stopped a war.”

  “Neko did it.” He took a breath and continued, “Earlier tonight, I learned that she did not betray me, all those years ago. My uncle made her do it.”

  “I am so sorry.” The Jesuit raised a hand toward Hiro’s shoulder, but withdrew it without making contact.

  Hiro clenched a fist. “She died before she kne
w I’d learned the truth.”

  Father Mateo drew a breath.

  “Do not apologize again!” Hiro barely managed to keep a grip on his emotions. “She is gone, and nothing will bring her back. Now, what matters is ensuring Oda Nobunaga does not succeed.”

  “He has already failed,” the Jesuit said. “By exposing his plans, you assured the treaty.”

  “I was not referring to the alliance. Oda Nobunaga has injured me deeply. I intend to return the favor, by ensuring that he never claims the shogunate.”

  Father Mateo looked surprised. “You’re serious.”

  “I will see you safely to Yokoseura, where you will stay until the war is over, safe among your people. If I survive, I will return. Until then, I must ask you to release me from my oath.”

  “Absolutely not—and I’m not sitting out the action in some Portuguese colony while you do important things. I’m going with you.”

  “This is dangerous,” Hiro said, “and someone pays the Iga ryu—”

  “—good money to keep me safe.” The Jesuit crossed his arms. “I do not care about the wishes of some wealthy stranger who can’t be bothered to introduce or explain himself. You cannot make me stay in Yokoseura, and I won’t do it. Wherever you go, I’m going with you.”

  The following morning, Hiro awoke at dawn to a frosty world.

  He pushed a sleeping Gato off his knees and stroked her gently before sitting up and pulling his kimono around him tightly. The garment had belonged to his father, but despite its age the smoky silk retained its sheen.

  Hiro rose from his futon, careful not to wake either Father Mateo or Ana, a difficult feat, given the tiny size of the Iga guesthouse. After crossing the floor on tiptoe, he slipped outside as the rising sun transformed the frost to diamonds.

  Tiny rainbows sparkled in the ice that rimed the crimson trees. The air smelled cold and clean.

  A floorboard creaked behind him as the Jesuit joined him at the door and looked outside.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It will melt in an hour,” Hiro said, “which is fortunate. It won’t delay us leaving.”