by Susan Spann
The door closed and Hiro stopped listening. The merchant’s words held no further interest.
Gato ran halfway across the room and flopped down on her side. She stretched herself in a backward arc, legs splayed out and claws extended. She finished the stretch, rolled upright, and looked at Hiro.
He snapped his fingers. The kitten jumped up and trotted toward him with a trill. Hiro stroked her fur as she padded back and forth, purring in a low but constant rumble reminiscent of a temblor. Hiro smiled. At least her rumbling wouldn’t set the room to shaking.
When Gato wandered off, the shinobi exchanged his gray kimono for a dark blue surcoat and black hakama trousers. He slipped a shuriken into the tunic’s inner pocket and tied an obi around his waist. As he passed a hand over his hair, he decided to retie his chonmage. The morning’s hurried dressing had pulled the knot out of place, and the leather tie pinched when he turned his head.
Hiro removed the outer tie that secured the knot but left the second, inner band in place. Retying the outer knot was hard enough without assistance.
He ran a comb through his hair until the well-oiled tail hung smoothly to his waist. He set down the comb and twisted the hair in his hands, preparing to double it over the top of his head. Most samurai used a hairdresser, and Hiro preferred that option too, but necessity had forced him to learn to tie a passable knot on his own.
The attack came from behind and without warning.
A dozen tiny daggers punctured Hiro’s shoulder and upper back. He grunted with surprise and pain and tried to twist away, but the effort made Gato sink her claws even deeper into his flesh. Her free paw batted his hand and grabbed at the swaying tail of hair.
“Ow!” Hiro grabbed for Gato, determined to pry the kitten away before her efforts ruined his hair completely. He felt her claws release as the kitten slithered away through the oiled strands, clawing furiously as she slid to the floor.
He whirled to prevent a second attack, but the kitten moved even faster. She sprang for his back, and once again he felt her needle-sharp claws dig into his skin.
When he finally managed to grab the kitten, she purred at him through a mouthful of oiled hair.
“Stop it!” Hiro maneuvered Gato’s paws into one hand and used the other to extract the overexcited kitten from his hair. As he finished, Gato wrapped her paws around his wrist and sank her tiny teeth into his thumb. Her green eyes glowed with excitement. She kicked his sleeve with her legs. Her purr crescendoed.
“No!” Hiro dislodged the kitten from his wrist and set her on the floor. She fell to her side, paws extended, eager to continue the wrestling match.
Hiro looked for something to distract her.
A piece of rumpled parchment sat in the discard pail beside the desk. He grabbed the paper and crumpled it into a ball.
Gato mewed and jumped to her feet.
Hiro tossed the paper across the floor. Gato sprang after it, purring loudly, and tackled the target as it hit the ground. Kitten and parchment somersaulted across the floor and rolled to a stop. Gato clutched the paper between her paws and kicked contentedly at her captured prey.
Hiro took advantage of her distraction to fix his chonmage. By the time he finished, Gato had shredded the parchment and started to eat it.
The shinobi scooped up the scraps and dropped them into the discard pail, imagining Ana’s fury if Gato threw up parchment on the clean tatami floor. The maid wouldn’t blame the cat. Ana believed that Gato, like Father Mateo, could do no wrong. Hiro would bear the brunt of her wrath for feeding the kitten paper in the first place.
He tucked his swords through his obi and left the room as Gato curled up for a nap.
As Hiro passed through the common room, Father Mateo asked, “Will you join us?”
The Jesuit and Luis sat by the hearth enjoying a cup of tea. It smelled expensive, almost certainly ichibancha from Luis’s personal supply.
“No thank you,” Hiro said. “I need something stronger than tea.”
Father Mateo’s smile faded. “You’re going to Ginjiro’s?”
Hiro ignored the obvious, and familiar, disapproval. “Care to join me?”
“I have a worship service here in an hour. Why don’t you stay?”
“Another time.” Hiro avoided the Jesuit’s preaching as diligently as the priest avoided sake.
* * *
Hiro walked up Marutamachi Road as the darkening sky turned the clouds from gray to black. The evening air smelled of earth and smoldering fires, and though the rain had stopped for the moment the rainy season had definitely arrived.
The torii gate at the entrance to Okazaki Shrine glowed red, reflecting the charcoal fires in the braziers at its base. A whiff of acrid smoke from the coals made Hiro think of hell. He wasn’t sure he believed in the flaming pit of the Christian god or the multilayered Buddhist hells where evil met a variety of peculiarly twisted punishments. He was more concerned with avoiding the torments inflicted upon the living—and ensuring that Father Mateo did the same.
Hiro crossed the Kamo River and continued south along the river road. As he walked, he considered what he knew of Saburo’s murder.
The body’s condition indicated that Saburo died around midnight. By that hour, all visitors would have left the shogunate grounds. Kazu and Ozuru, as well as Jun, admitted to staying after the gates were closed, though each of them claimed no knowledge of the murder.
Saburo hadn’t drawn his sword, which suggested the dead man knew the killer and didn’t question his appearance in the office so late at night.
All of which looked increasingly bad for Kazu.
Hiro hoped Ginjiro, and possibly Suke, could fill in some of the gaps in Kazu’s evening. If not, the shinobi might have to depend upon Kazu’s word and inferences drawn from the younger man’s story, and though Hiro trusted Kazu more than almost anyone else in the world, the shinobi’s distrust of assumptions ran even deeper than his faith in friends.
Chapter 24
As Hiro approached Ginjiro’s brewery, the hum of masculine voices told him the evening crowd had arrived. Most of the regulars knew one another on sight and Hiro was no exception. A samurai patron called a greeting, echoed by several others, and the shinobi acknowledged the welcome with a polite if not heartfelt smile.
Suke sat in his usual corner farthest from the counter, but the monk seemed too absorbed in a flask of sake to notice Hiro’s approach.
The shinobi noted Kazu’s absence with relief. Ginjiro might talk more openly without the younger man present.
Unfortunately, the brewer was absent too.
Ginjiro’s daughter, Tomiko, stood alone behind the counter waiting on patrons. She wore a purple kimono with a repeating pattern of bamboo and paulownia leaves. Its trailing sleeves revealed her unmarried status, unusual in a girl of twenty years, and though Tomiko’s face would not stop a man in the street, she had an understated beauty that appealed to those who preferred a real flower to an artificial bloom.
Tomiko looked up as Hiro approached. Her eyes lit and she smiled in recognition, though the shinobi noticed her gaze flicker over his shoulder. He didn’t have to guess who she hoped to see. To her credit, the girl’s smile didn’t waver much when she saw that Hiro arrived alone.
The shinobi handed his sword across the counter. Tomiko accepted it with both hands. She bowed. “Good evening, Matsui-san. May I draw you a flask?”
“Thank you,” Hiro said, “but not this evening. I hoped to speak with your father.”
She bowed again, this time in assent. “Please wait. I will get him for you.”
Hiro remembered the noren fluttering during his visit that afternoon. He glanced along the counter. The other patrons had already turned back to their conversations.
“Before you go,” he said softly, “perhaps you will answer a question for me. Did you see Ito Kazu last night?”
The girl looked down at the countertop as a blush darkened her cheeks. “Yes, Ito-san was here.”
&nbs
p; “What time did he arrive?” Hiro hoped Tomiko’s feelings for Kazu would make her helpful rather than deceptive.
She looked up before answering. “After sunset. I don’t remember the time exactly. It was already dark. First he was not here, and then he was. I am sorry I can’t be more specific.”
Her answer matched her father’s, as well as Kazu’s. More importantly, she looked the shinobi in the eye and showed no discomfort as she answered the question.
“Do you remember what time he left?” Hiro asked.
She glanced at the counter. “He was here when I left the shop for the night.” She bit her lower lip. “Is he well?”
“He is fine,” Hiro said. “I am sure he would appreciate your concern.”
Tomiko nodded. The blush returned.
Hiro couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. She wasn’t the first to fall for the dashing Kazu, and she would fare no better than the others, though the shinobi suspected Tomiko knew her crush was a hopeless cause. No samurai ever married a brewer’s daughter. As far as Tomiko knew, Ito Kazu lay beyond her reach.
The noren ruffled as Ginjiro entered the shop from the kitchen. He bowed to Hiro and straightened with a smile.
“Thank you, Tomiko,” he said. “You may join your mother.”
The girl gave Hiro a look that suggested she wanted to say something more. She changed her mind and departed with a bow.
As Tomiko disappeared through the noren Ginjiro lowered his voice and asked, “Does Ito-san need help?”
Ginjiro had dealt in sake, and with its drinkers, long enough to develop a nose for trouble.
“I don’t think so,” Hiro said, “but I do need to know what time he really left last night.”
“Half an hour before the temple bells rang midnight.”
“Before midnight,” Hiro repeated.
“Should I have said so earlier?” Ginjiro asked. “I didn’t like your samurai companion. He looked like a man in search of someone to blame. I heard about the murder at the shogunate and didn’t want to cause trouble for Kazu. Was he involved?”
“How did you hear about the killing?” Hiro asked.
The brewer shook his head. “I’d no more betray my sources to you than I’d turn Ito-san over to that preening shogunate monkey.
“Before you ask,” Ginjiro continued, “I don’t know who killed the shogun’s clerk, and I have no intention of getting involved. What Ito-san does—or doesn’t do—outside my shop is none of my concern.”
“Why tell me this?” Hiro asked. “I can make trouble for Kazu as easily as the shogun’s men.”
A knowing smile curled the brewer’s lips. “You won’t. I know men as well as I know my flasks, and your flaws don’t run to betrayal.”
Hiro raised an eyebrow but changed the subject. “Are you positive Kazu left before midnight?”
“My wife goes to sleep when the bells ring the midnight hour,” Ginjiro said. “I make the last call for snacks half an hour before that. Kazu left the shop as I made the announcement. I’m certain about the time.”
“One last question,” Hiro said.
Ginjiro didn’t even need to hear it. “Kazu wasn’t drunk.”
The brewer’s words fell on Hiro like stones. Kazu had left the brewery in time to kill Saburo, and he hadn’t told Hiro the truth about his actions.
The shinobi clenched his jaw to fight the anger that rose, unbidden and unexpected, in his chest. He didn’t care about killing Saburo—assassination was a shinobi’s trade—but Kazu’s lies endangered a fellow shinobi’s mission, a serious offense against both Hiro and the ryu.
“Have my answers upset you?” Ginjiro looked across the counter, concerned by Hiro’s silence.
The shinobi forced a smile. “No. I appreciate your assistance and discretion. You need not worry about Kazu. He was robbed last night, by the river, but he’s unharmed.”
Ginjiro frowned and swiped the counter with a towel. “The police should patrol that river at night. The thieves are getting bold.”
“Desperate men are always bold.” As he spoke the words, Hiro felt his anger evaporate, replaced by a sudden chill. If Kazu had murdered Saburo on Hattori Hanzo’s orders, the ryu would also condone the death of everyone who knew or suspected that Kazu committed the crime. Kazu knew that Hiro and Father Mateo had solved the Akechi murder and could have suspected the shogun would ask for their help with this one. His plea for assistance might have been a ruse to throw them off the track.
But Hiro hadn’t fallen for it, and if his persistence threatened to expose Kazu as the killer … a trained shinobi would have to counter that threat with lethal force. Hiro fought better than Kazu did, but Kazu also knew that Hiro’s greatest weakness lay with the Jesuit priest.
Hiro wanted to believe that kinship—and friendship—would stay Kazu’s hand, but the master shinobi was too well-trained to fool himself with hopes. Kazu would kill Father Mateo if he thought his mission required it.
And Hiro had left the Jesuit unguarded.
He hurried home, barely restraining his pace enough to avoid undue attention. He wanted to run but held himself to a rapid walk. Stopping to answer a curious policeman’s questions would only delay him more.
He let himself break into a run as he passed Okazaki Shrine. His geta squished in the gummy street and spattered his robe with mud, but at that moment he didn’t care about cleanliness.
Only once before in his life had Hiro wished so desperately to be wrong. To his regret, he hadn’t been—and this time the life at risk was more important than Hiro’s own.
Chapter 25
As Hiro approached the Jesuit’s home, he heard voices wailing. He froze, stomach cold and churning like the muddy street beneath his wooden sandals.
In the silence the wailing took on a familiar sound—voices singing a hymn in Japanese. As always, Hiro found the music mournful though the lyrics spoke of praise.
The shinobi bent forward, weak with relief. His breathing slowed and his thoughts grew clear. He berated himself for falling prey to ill-founded worries. Illogical thinking guaranteed failure as surely as an assassin’s blade.
He slipped through the gate in the garden wall and entered his room through the veranda door. He decided not to tell Father Mateo that Kazu had lied. Not until he knew why and whether the Jesuit was in danger. Fortunately, the worship service made the priest unavailable anyway.
A few minutes later Hiro emerged from the house wearing special trousers that tied at the ankles, a midnight-colored surcoat, and a cloth that obscured his face.
He pulled himself onto the damp veranda roof and climbed the sloping thatch all the way to the heavy wooden beam at the peak of the house. Mumbling prayers and off-key singing wafted up from the rooms below, covering even the minimal noise of his movements. As he straddled the beam, Hiro glanced at the cloudy sky and hoped the rain had finished for the night.
Inside the house the silent mumble increased to a babble. The front door opened, discharging the chattering congregants into the street. Their lanterns bobbed like fireflies in the gathering darkness.
Hiro bent over the beam. In the cloudy twilight, and without the moon to betray him, only an owl’s eyes would see the shinobi perched on the roof, but Hiro didn’t believe in taking chances. Not unnecessary chances, anyway.
Angry barking burst from the yard across the street, startling the parishioners. A group of women clustered together as if their numbers might deter attack. A child cried out in fear. The barking increased, and Hiro half expected to see the neighbor’s massive akita run into the road. The vicious beast had escaped before, but the owner had always recaptured the dog before it caused any harm.
This time the dog did not appear.
After a moment, the women giggled nervously and dispersed. The barking slowed as the street grew still. Eventually the akita gave a final peevish bark and then fell silent.
Hiro allowed himself a moment of envy for the dog. The akita’s world held only friends and
enemies, and the lines between the two remained distinct.
* * *
Dawn found Hiro still on the roof, damp from the rain that emptied the clouds and allowed the rising sun to send golden streamers through the sky. He yawned and stretched his muscles, stiff from exhaustion but satisfied. Even if guilty, Kazu would go back to work to keep up appearances, which meant that Father Mateo was safe until nightfall.
Hiro slipped down from his perch and into the house. He shed his wet clothes and lay down on his futon for a nap. Gato joined him almost at once, and the shinobi fell asleep to the kitten’s rumbling purr.
An hour later, Father Mateo’s morning prayers woke Hiro from a sleep that diminished exhaustion but not concern. Foregoing both breakfast and explanations, Hiro put on his gray kimono and left the house by the veranda door.
When the shogunate gates swung open for the day, Hiro was there and waiting. But before the guards could ask his business, he saw a familiar figure in the road.
“Please excuse me,” Hiro said to the puzzled guards, “I have already found the man I need to see.”
He turned away and walked toward Kazu at a pace designed to ensure that he would meet the younger man far enough from the gates to prevent the guards from hearing their conversation.
Kazu saw him approaching and stopped to bow.
“Have you eaten?” Hiro asked. “I know a good noodle cart nearby.”
“Is there one in Kyoto you don’t know?” Kazu smiled. “I can’t. I’ll be late for work.”
“Not as late as you will be when I accuse you of killing Saburo.”
Kazu’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “I told you I didn’t do it.”
“You lied.”
Kazu’s face revealed nothing.
“You left Ginjiro’s before midnight,” Hiro said. “You had plenty of time to kill Saburo.”
“You checked my story?” Kazu’s left hand balled into a fist. “You didn’t trust me.”
