The Samurai's Heart (The Heart Of The Samurai Book 1)

by Walt Mussell

  He moved in front of her, as if to put himself between her and the room. “Were you scared?”

  “No, Nobuhiro. I was expecting to be served miso soup and rice.”

  He laughed, his warm smile loosening the strings of her tension. “There’s no reason to be angry.”

  “Then what’s so funny?” Her voice carried an edge as blood rushed to her face.

  His shoulders drooped. “You’re behaving like your mother, or at least the way she was before your sister died.”

  She exhaled, regretting her harsh words. He provided support through his protection. She stepped forward, reached out, and grasped his hand. She ached to hug him, to thank him for everything he had done, but couldn’t raise her arms. “My apologies. What happened was so senseless.”

  He inhaled and grasped her hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze before letting them fall. “Again, what do you think you we will find here?”

  Sen scanned the room. She hesitated to burden Nobuhiro further, though they had become friends. “I don’t know. Somewhere in here, I hope, there may be an indication of where I can find a local group of Christians. I have to find out.”

  “You are fortunate then.”

  “Fortunate? About my faith?”

  “This building should have been demolished. However, it has become something of a memorial to the dangers of fire. Either someone is keeping the property from being turned over or merchants who might use this property fear tempting fate. For some reason, the building remains.”

  “Forgotten.”

  “No. Sometimes food is left on the steps.”

  Food. An offering to the spirits whose souls might still reside here. It could be local Christians remembering their fallen or family members remembering their friends. No real memorial had been erected in front. Was it fear of angering the fire’s perpetrators or acknowledgement of Christian deaths?

  Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the walls, providing an eerie hue to the debris on the floor. Light. Shadow. Shades of gray in between. Nobuhiro would have no idea what would be important. For this, she was on her own.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a small pile of rubble near one of the mains beams.

  She walked to the pile and knelt, running her fingers across the small ceramic shards. The sharp edges cut lines into her fingertips. “This must be it.”

  “What?”

  “This is what I used to cut Omi’s bonds. It held together just long enough to do the job before breaking.”

  He bent down and picked up a couple of the pieces, examining them. He squinted and moved over to one of the holes in the wall to view them in the light. “It’s got some markings on it, though I can’t make them out.”

  She walked to his side and peered at the item but couldn’t see the markings well. “What do they look like?”

  “I’m not sure. On one side the pieces have parts of an ideograph.”

  “Which one?”

  Nobuhiro turned the pieces over one at a time and studied them, the sweat pouring off his brow. “Hard to tell. It could be any number of things. It’s like a puzzle.”

  “Is there anything on the other side?”

  He wiped his face with the sleeve of his kimono. “I don’t recognize anything.” He handed the first piece to Sen.

  She held the shard in her palm and traced the design with her finger. At one time, the item had possibly been oval or maybe rectangular with rounded edges. She fingered the edges, reminding herself of how she had escaped.

  Perspiration dripped down her cheeks and soaked into the yukata she wore. She coughed and pulled out the collar of her garment but still gasped on the hot air. Not even the holes in the wall offered any hope of catching any breezes.

  “Are you feeling well?” he asked.

  “Sorry. I got distracted. It’s hot in here.”

  She looked up at Nobuhiro, who stared back, his gaze focused on her chin. Did he notice the scars? She hunched her shoulders and turned to avoid his gaze, focusing on the markings on the decoration. She flipped it over and stared at the other side. Nothing.

  He handed her another piece. Her forehead tightened. The lines were familiar. Where had she seen them? What were they?

  Letters.

  A few of the missionaries who visited the old church in Haibara had similar medallions. They had called the letters “Greek.” Whatever this shard was from, it had belonged to one of the Christians who had been here that day.

  “What is it?” Nobuhiro asked. “Is this important?”

  “I think so. What about the other pieces?”

  He shook his head and handed her another shard. “This one makes no sense.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It looks like the back end of a fish.”

  Her eyes flew open and she held her breath as she studied the next piece. He was right. A fish. Her hands shook as she rubbed the pieces in her fingers. She placed them inside her kimono. “Let’s take the pieces back to the house. I think this may be what I’m looking for.”

  “Are we finished here then?”

  She glanced at him. He had his hands on his hips and one foot toward the door. She had imposed on him long enough. “I think we should leave. The sun is low and I don’t want to be in this place after it gets dark.”

  He nodded but didn’t respond. She put the pieces in her belt. She didn’t know what the character on the front was, but was certain that, with help, she could assemble the fish on the back. One step closer to her goal.

  ###

  Nobuhiro sat hunched on a stool, his head over the workbench, gingerly clamping the pieces of the tile in place. He chewed on a millet stalk. Its light sweetness helped his concentration. A cup of oolong tea sat nearby.

  The trip back from the church had taken longer than he thought it would. The heat had slowed them down. They had stopped once to rest, finding some shade on the path by the rice fields. Yet it had done little to cool them.

  He wiped his face with his sleeve and focused on the puzzle in front of him. Did these lines go together? The jagged edges had lost flecks, making the fit imperfect.

  “Do you think it will work?” Sen’s rapid breaths matched the beat echoing in his head. Was it his heart or hers? Maybe it was both. Were their hearts beating in unison?

  Nobuhiro caught the scent of alderwood and turned his head. Sen was leaning over, trying to see. His breath lodged in his throat. Scars? Who did that to her? Her gaze met his and he coughed and turned back. “It’s difficult to say if it will work. This is a small item. Also, I haven’t worked much with clay.”

  “Be careful you don’t damage the design on either side or we’ll never know what it says.”

  Nobuhiro ground his teeth and stiffened his arms. He didn’t need the criticism. It reminded him of his father. “I can do this.”

  Her eyes flew open and she stepped back, crossing her arms.

  His lips rolled in. His voice had carried an edge that he hadn’t intended.

  Her eyes drooped, along with her shoulders. “I was just trying to—”

  “S . . . sorry. I sometimes pass by that place but have not been inside since the day Jiro died. I thought I had made peace with his fate. I overreacted.” He hoped his words would calm her. He had gone with her out of his promise to his master. He had never expected to find anything.

  Now he might be one step closer to finding Jiro’s killers.

  He glanced at her again. She moved closer, a hesitation in her step.

  He tilted his head. The scars she tried to hide slipped into view. Whoever did this to her could have killed her. Still, she was loyal to this foreign religion. If her parents did not stop her, then it was not his place. He would have to marry her to get her to listen.

  Marriage. He balled his hands. He would hurt whoever did this to her if he could. Was that the way a husband would feel?

  He looked at the ceramic pieces, starting with the tail portion in reassembling the carved fish they had
found. Next, he examined the letters. He had never seen them. Sen recognized them but didn’t recall any special order. The outline of the fish helped in that area. The process was slow, but as he added each section, more options occurred to him. Each time, he flipped the piece back to see what was on the other side.

  He looked back at Sen. “It resembles a few characters so far. I’m not sure yet which one it might be.”

  “We’ll get it. Just a few more to add.”

  Nobuhiro’s heart pounded, and each pulse resonated in his chest with the measured rhythm of the three drummers in a four-man Noh ensemble. Each piece brought a new clue into place and a different drum pitch. However, until he understood the puzzle, he was missing the flute player.

  Another ten minutes passed and Nobuhiro added the last piece he and Sen had found. It looked like a pendant, though it was hard to be certain. There was still a piece missing.

  “Finished?” she asked.

  He turned it over, eyeing the ideograph on the other side. “Yes, for now.”

  Sen looked over his right shoulder, her breath caressing his neck. Their closeness broke his concentration.

  “What do you think?” he asked, trying to keep his eyes on the puzzle.

  She leaned closer. A loose tendril of hair brushed the bare skin of his arm. She smelled of plum and alderwood.

  Sen said nothing for a moment, only staring at the partial medallion. “It looks like the character for bitter, and that fits into the clue, though the character is missing one of the marks. Then there’s also that horizontal line on the top.”

  He viewed the piece, rotating it for ideas. Nothing came to mind. “I think you’re right. The last piece will provide an answer.”

  Sen stared at him. He looked into her eyes and then lost track of his thoughts. She was beautiful. Despite the bruise on her temple, despite her disheveled appearance, despite the scars on her neck, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He leaned forward and closed his eyes as his lips found hers in an exchange even better than he had imagined.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sen pulled away. Her body tingled. Her mouth opened. Her eyes closed. The soft touch of Nobuhiro’s warm lips reverberated inside her like the dancing at a festival.

  She had often thought of kissing him but hadn’t known what to expect. When she was younger, she had kissed a boy in the neighborhood out of curiosity.

  This was different.

  She opened her eyes.

  Nobuhiro’s mouth was rounded. His eyes focused on her. His face, startled. “I . . . I am sorry. I did not mean to do that.”

  Her chest lurched. He didn’t mean to do that? What did he mean to do?

  The partially closed door to the shop slid open and her father stepped in. Thoughts of Nobuhiro dissipated as heat flooded her cheeks.

  Father beamed at them. “Your mother was wondering if either of you wanted something else to eat, since neither of you ate much at dinner. She could prepare something.”

  She looked away but in truth looked nowhere. Had her father seen Nobuhiro kiss her? What did he think of it? Her mother had suggested Nobuhiro as a suitor. Her father appeared happier than she had seen him in a while. He likely approved. Still, it didn’t make sense to her, since Nobuhiro wasn’t a Christian.

  Yet he was everything else.

  She glanced away, as looking at Father proved difficult. She saw the ceramic medallion in Nobuhiro’s hand and reached for it gingerly, fearful she would break it again. “Father, we’ve assembled what appears to be a medallion with a monogram of some kind. We’re not sure what it means, as it’s missing a piece. Perhaps you might have an idea.”

  She handed him the medallion. He turned it over in his hands. His face blanched and he staggered. She and Nobuhiro both rushed to his side as her father reached out and pressed his arm against a wall.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Her father took a few slow breaths and rubbed his chest as if his airflow was constricted. Nobuhiro grabbed a stool and brought it over for her father to sit on.

  Sen and Nobuhiro grabbed under her father’s shoulders and eased him down. She then rubbed his shoulders. “Father, what is it?”

  The old man continued to stare at the object, rotating it in his fingers. “I’m sorry. I must be tired. I’m not sure what it is and I may be wrong. It’s just . . . ”

  Confusion lapped at Sen’s brain like waves on a shore. “I don’t understand.”

  Her father handed the medallion back to her and then widened his stance as he rose. Nobuhiro moved to grab his arm, but Sen’s father waved him off. “Follow me.” He motioned to them and then turned and headed for the house.

  She went to the door and then looked backed at Nobuhiro to confirm he was coming. The care he had shown her father just now when he had faltered to the protection of her family when attacked, Nobuhiro supported her family. He behaved more like her parents’ dutiful child than she did.

  She would find no better man than him.

  Sen’s mother sat at the table, enjoying tea and staring at the hearth. She looked up. “Ah, good. You pulled them from the workshop. You both must be hungry.”

  Sen’s father looked at her mother with cautious eyes and her mother set her tea on the table. “The children have assembled a most interesting item. Perhaps it’s nothing, my wife, but I thought you should see it.”

  Sen’s mother nodded but didn’t respond, instead remaining seated cross-legged on the tatami mats. Sen walked over, her feet scraping the soft straw, and handed her mother the medallion fragment. “Mother, this is what we put together.”

  Her mother’s mouth flew open, and she covered it with her hand.

  “What is it?” Sen asked.

  “Wait here.” Her mother glanced at the shrine for Haru and then headed toward the room she shared with Sen’s father. Birds chirped outside, their songs broken by the sound of wood sliding against wood, the opening and closing of a closet. Sen’s mother returned, carrying a small chain necklace with an odd-shaped shard hanging off the end. “Here,” her mother said.

  She handed the necklace to Sen, who ran her forefinger across the sharp edges. The imprint drew her gaze.

  On one side was the head of a fish.

  On the other side, a cross.

  Sen extended her open hand. “Mother, may I have the fragment I gave you?”

  Her mother handed the item over, and Sen put the two parts together.

  They fit.

  Sen held out the pieces to Nobuhiro. “What do you think?”

  He examined them and nodded. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, though his eyes conveyed a heavy burden. A bit of hope breaking through despair. How could this pendant do that to him?

  Nobuhiro handed the pieces back to her. She stared at the cross as she ran her finger across her neck, tracing the scar underneath her kimono. Her breathing quickened. “In the workshop, I mentioned I thought the bottom part resembled the character for bitter.”

  Nobuhiro paused. “Does it fit the clue then? The clue uses the word ground. The cross on your mother’s part of the medallion has nothing to do with that.”

  Sen smiled back at him. “The cross is true joy. However, there’s a line above the character for bitter. Put the cross over the line—”

  “And you create ground,” Sen’s mother offered.

  Sen’s insides churned. Her mother offered help. Were her feelings changing toward Sen’s search? Sen recalled her last day in Haibara. She had chosen the Lord over her parents. Was the Lord preparing them for the day she would tell them? “Yes, and the whole thing assembled—”

  “Resembles the ideograph for happiness,” her father interjected, “though it’s missing a mark.”

  Sen raised her head, staring at her father, though not really looking at him. “You are right. It is strange. Who would have created this clue? When you look at the character for happiness, you think of the top half as the character for ground.”

  Father stepped forward. His
sensei-like gaze overpowered the room. “No Japanese person would have created the clue. None would have thought of it either when they saw the medallion.”

  Sen glanced toward her mother, who stared back at her, though her eyes blinked into nothingness. “Mother, why do you have this cross?”

  Her mother coughed, her eyelids flitting away tears that pushed to flow. “It belonged to Haru. She was wearing it when they found her.”

  Sen’s hands shook and her throat went dry. Haru’s. The pendant was Haru’s.

  Nobuhiro reached out and clasped her trembling fingers. His gentle touch provided support. Just like he did. “Does it help you, Sen? Have you seen this symbol before somewhere?”

  She exhaled, the tension ebbing from her face. “Yes.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She breathed deeply. “Yes.” Her voice echoed the certainty that flowed within her. She closed her eyes and rubbed the symbol in her hands. Her body tingled at the thought of meeting other Christians again. She had found a clue. She knew where to go next.

  However, getting the Christians to reveal themselves was another challenge. Should she even try? She didn’t know who had attacked her and Omi.

  If she found the Christians, would she be bringing trouble to a group who wanted to remain hidden?

  Just as she was bringing trouble to Nobuhiro if she continued to bring him along with her?

  Chapter Twenty

  Sen inhaled the crisp morning air while listening to the rustle of the nearby trees. A few crows cawed in the distance. Clouds still covered the morning sun, remnants of the rains from the night before. Some merchants, their bags over their shoulders, walked the streets. Others carried goods of cloths and vegetables on pushcarts. It was a good day to be outside, unlike yesterday during the search of the church ruins.

  “Nobuhiro, you did not have to come. I told you that before.”

  He grunted but did not look at her. “You are my master’s daughter. I would give my life to protect you.”

  Master’s daughter? Was that all she meant to him? She licked her lips, remembering his warm touch from last night. She had prayed about it but had yet to hear an answer. “Is that why you’re here?”