by Susan Spann
Akira hesitated, torn between slow justice and immediate vengeance. Slowly, he lowered his hand. “Very well, but be quick about it. Someone must pay for this crime, and the shogun is not a patient man.”
Chapter 16
Hiro turned his attention to the office and tried to reconstruct the murder.
He already knew the attack occurred in the doorway between the outer room and Saburo’s inner office. The bloody spatters on the wall to the left of the door suggested the victim lost his fingers early, possibly as he stepped into the room.
“Can you tell what happened?” Father Mateo asked.
Akira seemed curious too.
“We know Saburo didn’t draw his sword,” Hiro said, “which means he either knew his killer or didn’t see the attack in time.
“The killer severed Saburo’s fingers near that door.” Hiro gestured toward the inner office. “The blood that spurted from his hand left all those streaks on the wall.”
“How do you know?” Akira asked.
“Have you never noticed that flying blood makes patterns? It’s harder to see in battle, but still visible if you know what you’re looking for.”
Akira glanced away, embarrassed. “I’ve never fought in battle.”
“That’s something to be proud of,” Father Mateo said.
Akira seemed relieved, though he tried to hide it.
Hiro continued his explanation. “The stains grow denser and more frequent approaching the place where Saburo fell. He was bleeding harder, both from injuries and exertion. We see most of the blood on the west side of the room, which means Saburo was facing the outer door throughout the struggle.”
“There was a struggle?” Akira asked.
Hiro looked at the floor. “I see two sets of bloody footprints—one facing Saburo’s office, the other facing away. Neither moves in a standard linear pattern. That suggests a struggle to me.”
“So Saburo fought with his killer,” Akira said. “What else do you see?”
“I think he knew the murderer,” Father Mateo said, “because he didn’t shout or raise an alarm.”
Hiro agreed, though he didn’t like it. That fact implicated Kazu.
“Of course he knew the killer,” Akira said. “Strangers can’t enter the shogun’s compound at night.”
Hiro knew better, but didn’t say so.
He dropped his gaze to the blackening pool where Saburo’s body fell. The tatami had absorbed more blood since morning, making the hair pin’s presence more distinct.
Hiro wondered again who it belonged to.
“Who else worked here last night?” Father Mateo asked.
“No one,” Akira said. “The maids stay late, and the guards of course, but most officials leave at sunset, or very soon thereafter. Only Saburo and Ito Kazu were in this office after the gates were closed.”
“Do guards patrol the mansion after dark?” Hiro asked.
“No,” Akira said. “We have guards at the gates and on the towers. A few patrol the grounds, and of course the shogun has warriors posted around his personal quarters, but there’s no need for guards inside at night.”
“So Saburo might have called for help,” Father Mateo said, “but no one heard him.”
Akira’s lip curled. “No samurai cries for help.”
Hiro walked to the door of Saburo’s inner office. The coppery scent of blood increased as he crossed the floor.
The corpse was gone, leaving only brownish stains on the white tatami and a fading smell of blood and death in the air, along with an undertone of aging food.
Hiro looked down. The dinner tray remained by the door.
The bloody dagger still sat on the desk beside the ink and inkwells, but Saburo’s marble seal had disappeared.
“Who moved Saburo’s inkan?” Hiro asked.
Akira and Father Mateo joined him in Saburo’s office.
“Hisahide took it,” Akira said, “to keep it safe.”
Father Mateo walked to the bookcase nearest Saburo’s desk. He pointed at a shelf near the top. “There were six ledgers here earlier. Now there are five.”
“Are you certain?” Akira asked.
Father Mateo looked at Hiro. “Absolutely.”
Akira joined the Jesuit by the bookcase. He took down a ledger and opened it, keeping the contents hidden. After a brief examination he closed the book and returned it to the shelf.
“These are the secret duty schedules of the shogun’s personal guards.”
“Secret?” Father Mateo asked. “Anyone could walk in here and read them. You just did.”
“These aren’t the current schedules,” Akira said. “These are records from previous months.”
“The current schedule seems to be missing,” Hiro said.
“How do you know that?” Akira demanded, suddenly suspicious.
Hiro nodded toward the ledgers. “The spines are numbered one through five, for the first five months of the year. I haven’t seen this month’s ledger anywhere in this room or the outer office, and if it was here this morning someone must have taken it since we left.”
Akira’s eyes widened. A look of horror spread across his face. “I must report this to Hisahide immediately.”
Hiro nodded. “We will speak with Ozuru while we wait.”
“Come with me,” Akira said, “I will escort you there.”
When they reached the nearby audience chamber, Ozuru had not returned. Akira walked halfway across the room but stopped far enough from the workers to avoid getting dust on his kimono.
“Where is the master carpenter?” he demanded.
The workmen dropped to their knees and laid their heads on the floor. After a moment, one of them raised his head just enough to prevent the floorboards from muffling his words.
“The master’s favorite chisel broke. He went to buy another.”
Akira looked suspicious. “When did he leave?”
The workman didn’t look up. “Just over an hour ago. We expect him back very soon.”
“I didn’t ask when he would return,” Akira said.
Hiro thought the reaction unfair. The carpenter’s answer was reasonable and probably anticipated exactly what the samurai would have asked.
“I know you are in a hurry,” Hiro told Akira. “We can talk with the apprentices and wait for Ozuru while you speak with Matsunaga-san.”
“As you wish,” Akira said, “but do not leave this room until I return.”
He gave the construction site a wide berth and left through the southern door.
Father Mateo approached the carpenters. “Please stand up. You don’t have to kneel for us.”
The workmen slowly got to their feet but continued to watch the floor. The youngest man fidgeted nervously. The other two stood straight and still.
“We are investigating Ashikaga Saburo’s murder,” Father Mateo said.
The oldest carpenter nodded. His bushy gray eyebrows sported more hair than the rest of his head put together. Hiro remembered the carpenter’s name was Goro.
“Master Carpenter Ozuru helped us greatly earlier,” Father Mateo said. “He told us you left work at sunset yesterday and returned this morning at the usual time.”
Hiro stifled a sigh. The priest had an excellent intellect and passable social skills, but he still hadn’t learned that questions should not reveal the desired answer.
As Hiro expected, Goro nodded. “Yes, we left and returned at the usual time.”
“Have you worked with Ozuru long?” Hiro asked.
“Several years,” Goro said without looking up.
“Is he a difficult master?”
Goro bit the inside of his lip.
“We will not tell him what you say,” Father Mateo added.
All three carpenters shook their heads, though only Goro answered. “Stern, perhaps, but artisans always are. He is fair when we work hard and do not complain.”
“And when you do complain?” Father Mateo asked. “What then?”
&nb
sp; The carpenter looked up. “Complaints, like failures, have consequences. But this, too, is always so.”
“Did Ozuru leave work with you last night?” Hiro asked.
The carpenter tilted his head to the side. “You already know he didn’t.” He straightened as if realizing his slip into familiarity. “Ozuru remained to work on the transom carvings.”
“Do you know what time he left?” Hiro asked.
Goro shook his head. “We report to Ozuru, not the other way around.”
“Thank you for your assistance,” Hiro said. “You may return to work.”
The carpenters bowed. As they picked up their planes, Hiro turned away and walked toward Saburo’s office.
Father Mateo hurried after him. “Akira told us to stay in that room.”
“And Hisahide gave us permission to investigate without interference.”
Hiro stopped in the doorway of Saburo’s outer office.
A woman knelt beside the bloody pool with her back to the door. As Hiro watched, she slipped something into the sleeve of her kimono.
Chapter 17
“Is that your hair pin?” Hiro asked.
The woman startled. She jumped to her feet and whirled to face the door.
“Jun, isn’t it?” Hiro asked, though he already knew the answer.
She bowed, “Yes, sir.”
“Was it your kanzashi?”
Her gaze shifted from Hiro to Father Mateo and then to the floor.
The shinobi expected her to lie, but she nodded and said, “Yes. It must have fallen out when I found Ashikaga-san. I noticed it when I came to retrieve the dinner tray.”
She started to point to the inner office but returned her hand to her side.
“Do you remember anything else about last night?” Hiro asked. “Anything you forgot to tell us earlier?”
“No.” She forced a smile. “I am very sorry. If you will excuse me … the cook wants me to return the tray immediately.”
“Of course,” Hiro said. “You may go.”
Jun bowed and walked to Saburo’s office with mincing steps that avoided the bloody stains on the floor. She knelt in the doorway, retrieved the tray, and hurried out without another word.
When Hiro was sure she had gone he said, “I wonder why she lied.”
“What do you mean?” Father Mateo asked.
“Had the hairpin fallen out when she discovered Saburo’s body, it would have landed on the corpse or possibly beside it. Either way, the pin would have been on top of the blood. But Jun’s kanzashi was thoroughly coated—that pin was on the floor when Saburo died.”
“Perhaps it rolled through the blood when the body was moved,” Father Mateo said.
Hiro shook his head. “The pin lay in the center of the pool, where the blood was thick and largely undisturbed.
“Also—did you notice how many hair pins Jun is wearing?”
Father Mateo thought for a moment. “Two.”
“The normal number for the way her hair is styled,” Hiro said. “Had she lost one this morning and only now discovered it missing, she wouldn’t have two clean ones in her hair.”
“She did go home,” Father Mateo said. “She might have replaced it then.”
“Too distraught to work, but aware enough to replace a missing hair pin?” Hiro shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”
“Perhaps her parents noticed?”
“Possible…” Hiro heard footsteps approaching. He turned to face the door.
Hisahide stepped into the room with Akira behind him.
“Ito Kazu did not come to work this morning,” Hisahide said, “a fact which does little to persuade me of his innocence.”
“The carpenter, Ozuru, is also missing,” Akira said.
“Is this true?” Hisahide asked.
“The workmen said he went to replace a chisel,” Father Mateo said.
“Nonetheless,” Akira continued, “he hasn’t returned, and, as Hiro pointed out, a guilty man would not leave his own weapon behind.”
Hiro found the young samurai’s shifting opinion entertaining. It seemed Akira was willing to blame whoever seemed most likely at the moment—a common trait among men whose rank exceeded their intelligence.
“You no longer believe Kazu left the dagger by accident?” Hiro asked.
“A samurai does not forget his blades,” Akira said.
“Then why has Kazu not come to work today?” Hisahide asked.
Akira looked to Hiro for support, or perhaps an explanation.
“Daggers can be stolen,” Hiro said, “and we can inquire about Kazu’s tardiness when we find him.”
“We checked his home,” Hisahide said. “He wasn’t there.”
Hiro raised an eyebrow. “Unmarried men do not always sleep at home.”
Akira’s lip curled with distaste. “A samurai should not consort with prostitutes. I thought Kazu was an honorable man.”
“Even saints can sin,” Father Mateo said.
“What?” Akira asked.
“He means that all men commit errors in judgment,” Hiro said.
“He could have said so directly.”
“Irrelevant.” Hisahide waved a hand to dismiss Akira’s comment. “Find Ito Kazu—and also Ozuru, if he has disappeared … though I hope the artisan didn’t commit this crime.”
“Why?” Father Mateo asked.
Hisahide’s lips twitched. “The shogun is fond of Ozuru,” he said. “It would be inconvenient and embarrassing to execute the carpenter for this crime.”
“Embarrassing?” Father Mateo asked.
“To admit that a commoner killed a samurai inside the shogun’s compound,” Hiro said.
Hisahide nodded. “Lord Oda’s spies must not learn that such a thing is possible. It makes the shogun’s security seem dangerously weak.”
“But Ozuru was already here,” Father Mateo said. “He didn’t breach the walls.”
“Any successful murder demonstrates a security weakness,” Hisahide said. “If a workman can kill the shogun’s cousin, assassins may believe they too can infiltrate the shogunate, and belief is the first step toward success.
“Your suspicions about the carpenter must not become widely known.”
“We will not speak of this to anyone,” Father Mateo said.
“No, you won’t,” Hisahide replied, “particularly if the evidence proves you correct.”
Hiro heard the unspoken threat. Hisahide would rather kill them both than risk their revealing the shogunate’s vulnerability. That fact concerned him even more than finding the killer in time.
The shinobi changed the subject. “Did Akira tell you about the missing ledger?”
“It isn’t missing,” Hisahide said. “The shogun asked me to bring him the ledger, and also Saburo’s seal. Is anything else missing from this office?”
“Not that we’ve discovered,” Hiro said.
“Then I suggest you turn your attention to finding Kazu—and also our missing artisan.”
“Precisely my intention,” Hiro said. “Kazu spends his evenings at Ginjiro’s, drinking sake. The brewer may know where Kazu spent last night.”
“And the carpenter?” Akira asked.
“It’s possible that he really did just go to replace a chisel,” Hiro said.
“Very well,” Hisahide said, “you may start with Kazu. Akira, go with them and report to me as soon as you return.”
Chapter 18
Hiro stepped out of the bakufu mansion into a fine-misted drizzle that hung in the air as if a cloud had settled onto the courtyard. After the death-scented air of Saburo’s office, the gentle drops felt pleasant and refreshing, though Hiro knew the rain would soon increase.
The earthen road outside the shogun’s compound already sported a sticky layer of mud. The three men had barely left the gates when Akira said, “We should have taken horses. Didn’t you ride here?”
Hiro smiled. “Father Mateo does not own a horse.”
“Why not?”
Akira asked. “Only poor men and commoners walk.”
“God walked, when he was on the earth,” Father Mateo said.
“Your foreign god wins no arguments with me,” Akira sneered. “No man of worth would walk when he could ride.”
Father Mateo did not reply.
In Hiro’s experience, value seldom equated to social standing, though he sensed the younger man’s frustration went beyond religion and muddy sandals. Only samurai had the legal right to ride horses, and only the wealthiest samurai could afford them.
The young Miyoshi wanted his status symbol.
* * *
They reached Ginjiro’s brewery at midafternoon, late enough for the shop to be open but early enough to avoid the evening crowd.
As they approached the raised floor that stretched the length of the open brewery storefront, the rain increased from a misty drizzle to heavy drops. Hiro paused at the edge of the elevated floor just long enough to draw his katana and lay it safely on the tatami inside the shop. Gathering his kimono, he knelt up onto the brewery floor.
Akira and Father Mateo followed.
No customers sat by the low wooden counter that ran along the left side of the shop. The long, tatami-covered floor was empty except for a pile of stained brown cloth in the right front corner of the brewery. It looked like a heap of rags set out to await a passing beggar, but Hiro noticed the pile rose and fell in the gentle rhythm of sleep.
Hiro shifted his gaze to Ginjiro, the brewer, who stood in the lowered space behind the wooden counter and wiped the honey-colored wood with a cloth while he waited for customers. Behind Ginjiro, a doorway led to the kitchen where the brewer’s wife and daughter cooked food for the patrons. The brewery and storage rooms lay beyond the kitchen, though Hiro had never seen them. A noren of indigo cloth hung in the narrow doorway, blocking the view of the private rooms beyond.
Ginjiro looked up as Hiro approached the counter. He smiled and bowed but didn’t call out his usual greeting. Hiro returned the bow in silence. He knew Ginjiro didn’t want to wake the mendicant monk asleep in the opposite corner of the shop.
Akira and Father Mateo joined Hiro at the counter. All three knelt and offered their swords across the wooden countertop.
