Blade of the Samurai: A Shinobi Mystery (Shinobi Mysteries) (2 page)

“Is Lord Oda advancing on Kyoto?” Hiro felt a surge of concern.

“Not openly,” Kazu said, “but he’s sent an embassy to the city. Officially, it comes bearing gifts for the emperor and the shogun.”

“And unofficially?” Hiro asked.

“Everyone knows Lord Oda’s intentions. Saburo feared an assassin among the ambassadors.”

“Apparently not without reason,” Hiro said. “When did Lord Oda’s men arrive?”

“They’re not here yet,” Kazu said.

“Then how did Saburo die?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Kazu shook his head. “I went to Ginjiro’s brewery for a drink, and when I returned to the office I found Saburo dead.”

“Killed with your dagger.”

“But not by me,” Kazu said. “I accidentally left the weapon on my desk. Anyone could have picked it up and used it.”

“Did you alert the shogunate guards?”

“They would have killed me on the spot!”

“You had just returned from Ginjiro’s,” Hiro said. “The gate guards could have vouched for your innocence.”

“I didn’t use the gate.” Kazu paused. “Saburo ordered me not to leave the compound until I finished my work, but that could have taken all night. I slipped out over the wall and returned the same way. I’ve done it before. No one’s ever noticed.”

Hiro shook his head. “You have to leave Kyoto at once.”

“I can’t,” Kazu said. “I left my travel pass at the shogunate, and there’s no way to get through the checkpoints at the city exits unnoticed. The shogun has every barricade guarded because of Lord Oda’s embassy.”

“Go back to the shogunate and retrieve the pass,” Hiro said.

“Someone will have discovered the body by now. They’ll have guards in the office.” Kazu shook his head again. “I can’t risk it. Not even over the wall.”

Hiro thought for a moment. “Itinerant monks don’t need papers to travel. I have a
komus
ō
’s robe and hat you can borrow. If you’re careful, the disguise will get you all the way to Iga.”

He opened his clothing cabinet and retrieved a dingy robe and a pair of fraying sandals, along with a woven basket-hat that smelled faintly of reeds and disuse.

Kazu gave Hiro a grateful smile. “I’m sorry I put you in danger.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hiro said, “especially to Hanzo.”

Hiro lifted the lid of his ironbound weapons chest and withdrew a bamboo shakuhachi flute. He offered it to Kazu. “There’s a dagger hidden inside.”

A loud knocking echoed through the house. Hiro froze. Someone was at the Jesuit’s front door.

“You were followed!” Hiro hurried across the room and threw open the large wooden chest that sat on the floor beside the clothing cabinet. “Get in.”

Kazu wrapped the monk’s robe around his kimono and climbed into the chest. Hiro pulled the quilt off his futon and laid it over the younger man. It wasn’t a great disguise, but they had no time for anything better.

“If anyone finds you,” Hiro whispered, “you’re on your own.” He pulled the quilt over Kazu’s face and closed the chest.

The knocking increased in volume.

Hiro shoved the basket-hat back into the cabinet, slipped on a long-sleeved tunic, and slid open the paneled shoji door separating his room from the
oe
, or common room, beyond.

Father Mateo had just emerged from the adjacent room. His shoulder-length hair stuck out at odd angles, mussed from sleep. He bit his lower lip in concentration as he tied an obi sash around his hurriedly donned kimono.

Even after three years in Kyoto, the Jesuit had trouble dressing quickly.

Father Mateo looked up as he tightened the sash. “Who could it be, at this hour?”

Hiro shrugged and forced a smile. He didn’t want to guess.

A little over a year before, a predawn visit had summoned the men to a teahouse where an entertainer stood accused of murdering her samurai guest. When Father Mateo intervened to save the girl, the dead man’s son had forced them to find his father’s killer or share the condemned entertainer’s fate.

Hiro hoped this visitor wouldn’t make a similar demand.

He followed Father Mateo into the tiny foyer that opened off the southern side of the common room.

“Who is there?” the Jesuit called through the carved front door.

“God’s peace be with you, Father Mateo,” a voice called, “it is Izumo. Father Vilela sent me.”

Hiro breathed a silent sigh of relief. Izumo was an acolyte at the official Jesuit mission in central Kyoto. Since Father Mateo’s work among the commoners would alienate the samurai elite whose support was requisite for the Catholic Church’s presence in the capital, the Jesuits kept their missions separated. Hiro had never met Gaspar Vilela, the senior Jesuit in Kyoto and Father Mateo’s nominal superior. However, the shinobi knew Izumo, and he recognized the acolyte’s voice and accent.

Hiro withdrew to his room as Father Mateo opened the door for Izumo. The shinobi left his shoji slightly ajar to ensure the Jesuits’ words would carry clearly through the air. Father Mateo considered eavesdropping sinful, but Hiro considered himself exempt from the priest’s religious rules.

The shinobi shed his jacket and trousers in favor of a smoke-gray kimono cut in the latest samurai style. As he dressed, he listened to the conversation taking place in the common room.

“I apologize for waking you so early,” Izumo said.

The acolyte sounded uneasy. Hiro knew why. The Japanese considered an unplanned predawn visit exceedingly rude.

“No need for apologies,” Father Mateo said. “What’s happened?”

“There has been a murder,” Izumo said, “and the shogun requests your help in finding the killer.”

Chapter 3

Hiro froze, stunned by Izumo’s words.

“Hiro!” Father Mateo called.

The shinobi grabbed his swords from the weapon stand.

Although trained as assassins, Hiro’s family descended from samurai, which gave Hiro the legal right to wear two swords—an exclusive privilege that also provided quite an effective disguise. He thrust the shorter
wakizashi
down the left side of his obi and pushed the katana’s longer scabbard upward through the same side of the sash. Only then did he answer Father Mateo’s call.

Hiro returned to the common room and bowed to Izumo, who seemed undisturbed by Father Mateo’s voluble breach of manners. Either the other Jesuits also yelled like overexcited children or the Japanese convert had learned to ignore their rudeness. Hiro guessed the latter.

“There has been a murder,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro feigned ignorance. “One of the foreign priests?” He caught a whiff of incense from the visitor’s faded robe.

“No.” Izumo shook his head. “A senior clerk at the shogunate—a man named Ashikaga Saburo. He was also a second cousin to the shogun.”

“Most unfortunate,” Hiro said.

“The shogun requested Father Mateo’s assistance in solving the crime,” Izumo added.

“I don’t understand,” Father Mateo said. “I’ve met the shogun only once, and that was years ago. I didn’t think he even knew my name.”

“When the body was discovered, the shogun summoned Father Vilela to pray for the dead man’s soul,” Izumo said.

“When did the shogun become a Christian?” Father Mateo asked.

“He isn’t,” Izumo said. “After the prayers, Shogun Ashikaga mentioned hearing that you had captured Akechi Hideyoshi’s killer a year ago. Father Vilela was summoned so that the shogun could politely ask for you.”

The acolyte’s tone suggested that he—and, by implication, Father Vilela—was not entirely pleased with this turn of events.

Hiro wasn’t either. “I am very sorry, but Father Mateo must decline.”

“Hiro!” Father Mateo turned to Izumo. “We would be honored to assist the shogun.”

“I apologize,” Hiro said, “but I must insist. Father Mateo is a priest. I am a translator. We are not qualified to investigate murders.”

Izumo smiled, but his shifting feet betrayed discomfort.

“My translator speaks out of turn,” Father Mateo said in perfect Japanese. “Please tell Father Vilela that Hiro and I will obey the shogun’s command.”

Izumo smiled stiffly. “While I appreciate your willingness, the shogun requested you … and you alone.”

“But I did not solve the Akechi murder alone,” Father Mateo said. “I require Hiro’s assistance.”

Izumo looked from Father Mateo to Hiro as if wishing the shinobi would renew his objection. Hiro said nothing.

“If there is no alternative,” Izumo said at last, “but please explain to the shogun that the Jesuit mission delivered his request without alteration.” He bowed. “When you reach the shogunate, ask for Matsunaga Hisahide. He will supervise your investigation.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to Father Vilela.”

Father Mateo and Hiro escorted the visitor back to the door. Izumo stepped outside, slipped on his sandals, and hurried away.

The Jesuit closed the door and spun around quickly. Hiro jumped back to avoid a collision.

“Why did you refuse him?” Father Mateo demanded.

The Jesuit’s rare but genuine frustration startled Hiro, and it took the shinobi a moment to recover.

“We are not in the business of solving murders,” Hiro said at last. “The Akechi incident almost got us killed, and that was only a teahouse. The shogunate is infinitely more dangerous.”

“The shogun requested our aid,” Father Mateo said, “and Father Vilela seconded his request. Refusal is not an option.”

“Father Vilela seconded it unwillingly,” Hiro countered. “Not even you could have missed Izumo’s discomfort—and neither Vilela nor Izumo understands the danger fully. I will not allow you to risk your life in this manner.”

“Fortunately, your consent is not required.” Father Mateo paused. “What makes you think my life is at risk?”

“Have you forgotten the details of the Akechi murder? The dead man’s family tried to hold you responsible.”

“That was different. My converts aren’t involved this time.” Father Mateo stepped backward warily. “Hiro, what haven’t you told me?”

Before the shinobi could answer, a woman’s scream echoed through the house.

Chapter 4

Hiro ran to his room with Father Mateo close behind. They paused in the doorway, seeking the source of the sound.

The Jesuit’s aging housekeeper, Ana, stood beside Hiro’s futon chest with her back to the door and her hands in the air. A rumpled quilt lay on the floor at her feet. She shrieked again and bent to pummel Kazu, who cowered inside the chest, eyes wide and arms raised in self-defense.

He noticed the other men in the doorway. “Hiro, please!” he called.

The housekeeper whirled. A scowl added even more lines to her wrinkled face. Her black eyes glittered with fury and uncomfortable surprise.

“Hiro,” she said. “I should have known.”

The shinobi opened his mouth to deny involvement, but changed his mind. “It’s Kazu,” he said, then added, “you know Kazu.”

“I know he does not belong in the futon chest.” Ana gave Hiro a sideways look and waggled her finger as if at a naughty child. “You put him there to scare me, didn’t you?”

“He did not.” Kazu stood up and straightened his robe. “He put me there so I wouldn’t.”

“Hm.” Ana gathered up the fallen quilt and muttered, “Didn’t work.”

She started toward the door and paused directly in front of Hiro. “Your kimonos need airing too. Will I find a pair of dancing girls in your wardrobe?”

“Only if he’s lucky,” Kazu quipped.

Ana shot a glare over her shoulder and bustled from the room.

Father Mateo looked from the departing maid to Hiro. “Why was he hiding in the futon chest?”

“A foolish prank,” Kazu said, “for which I apologize. I stopped by to see if Hiro had a message for his family in Iga. I am heading there this morning.”

“You work at the shogunate.” Father Mateo’s gaze shifted from Kazu to Hiro. “This is why you don’t want us involved.”

Hiro nodded once in silent admission.

The Jesuit looked at Kazu. “Did you kill Ashikaga Saburo?”

“No,” Kazu said.

“But the shogun thinks you did.” It wasn’t a question.

Hiro admired the priest’s quick inference but hoped Mateo wouldn’t ask why Kazu had chosen the Jesuit’s house to run to. The priest didn’t know that Kazu was also shinobi, and Hiro had no intention of explaining.

“The murderer used my dagger,” Kazu said, “but I swear—by all the kami in Japan—my hand did not wield it.”

“There is only one God,” Father Mateo said, “in Japan or otherwise. But if you are innocent, as you claim, His truth will set you free.”

Kazu laughed. “The shogun doesn’t care about your god’s truth.”

Father Mateo bowed. “Forgive my rudeness. I would like to speak with Hiro—alone.”

The Jesuit backed out the door. When Hiro followed, Father Mateo closed the shoji that separated Hiro’s room from the common room and crossed to the central hearth. A smell of dead ashes rose from the sunken pit where the fire usually burned.

Father Mateo lowered his voice and switched to Portuguese. “God’s house does not shelter murderers.”

“Kazu claims innocence,” Hiro replied in the Jesuit’s native tongue, “and I didn’t offer him shelter. He arrived unannounced and will leave the same way, at dawn.”

“This is serious.” Father Mateo raised his right hand but stopped just short of running it through his hair. He returned the hand to his side, refusing to give in to the nervous habit. “The shogun permits me to live in Kyoto and preach God’s word because I abide by Japanese law. If he learns I harbored a fugitive he will banish me from the city, and probably banish Father Vilela as well.”

“He won’t banish you.” Hiro switched back to Japanese. “He’ll kill you.”

Before the Jesuit could reply Hiro continued, “I understand the danger. I would not have consented, had Kazu asked, and I would have prevented him from coming here if I could.”

“I didn’t think you invited him,” Father Mateo said, “but you let him stay. I begin to suspect he is more than merely a friend from the sake shop.”

The door to Hiro’s room slid open. Kazu emerged, still wearing the dingy robe and carrying a pair of fraying sandals. A wicker basket-hat covered his head and rested on his shoulders. The narrow slit at the front of the basket allowed him to see but completely obscured his features.