The Ninja's Daughter (26 page)

“Do not use his name,” Mika said. “It is dangerous.”

“You've been following us for days.” Hiro lowered his voice and looked around. “Is Kazu with you?”

“He's not in the city.” Ichiro extended his hand to the crow, which fluttered its wings and hopped across to the young man's arm. “Hanzo sent us to you, with a message. You must return to Iga immediately.”

Hiro wondered when and where the young samurai had obtained a crow and trained it to follow him so well. Unfortunately, more pressing concerns prevented that particular line of questions. “Has Hanzo terminated my assignment to guard the priest?”

He hoped the answer was no, though he couldn't imagine another reason for the head of the Iga ryu to summon him home.

Mika shook her head. “On the contrary, Hanzo says you must bring the priest and leave as soon as possible—today, if you can.”

The order seemed legitimate, but Hiro found it hard to trust the girl. She looked too much like the woman who had betrayed him. “If Hanzo sent you with a message, why did you wait so long to deliver it?”

Ichiro stepped forward to answer. “Hanzo ordered us not to approach, or reveal ourselves, unless we could speak with you alone. We tried . . .”

“You were the beggar outside Pontochō.” Hiro glanced at the crow. “The bird attacked the dōshin to protect you.”

Ichiro looked at the crow with pride. “He did.” He gestured to the slender boy. “And Roku tried to contact you at Shijō Bridge, but a yoriki reached you first.”

“It looked like you were in trouble,” Roku said. “I planted a charge by the bridge to distract him.”

“It worked.” Hiro paused, remembering. “I saw the crow in the Jesuit's garden also.”

Ichiro nodded. “I put him there hoping you would approach the wall, but you stayed too close to the house. I couldn't reveal myself.”

“Why make contact now? I'm not alone.”

“We've waited too long as it is. We had to risk it.” Ichiro stroked the crow. It closed its eyes and ruffled its feathers in response.

“Only the priest is here,” Roku added, “and he's supposed to go with you anyway.”

Hiro was almost ready to believe them, but not quite. “Why would Hanzo send such an important message with a group of children?”

“A test, to see if we're ready for bigger assignments,” Mika said. “If you don't reach Iga in time, we fail.”

Father Mateo frowned. “In time for what?”

“Someone tried to kill Hattori Hanzo.” The tall boy sounded worried.

“Shut up, Roku,” Mika hissed. “Hanzo told us to deliver the message and nothing more.”

“Who tried to kill Hanzo?” Hiro asked.

“A traitor,” Roku answered, “but he failed.”

“The Koga ryu is sending a delegation to Iga to discuss an alliance,” Ichiro said. “Hanzo wants two of his best shinobi to observe the negotiations and to protect him—and the visitors—from harm.”

“Who's the other bodyguard?” Hiro dreaded the answer because he suspected he already knew it.

Mika smiled. “My sister, Neko.”

“Of course.” Hiro wondered whether Hanzo remembered the last time his “best shinobi” had seen one another. Neko was covered in Hiro's blood—and Hiro had sworn to avenge the betrayal.

Blood for blood. It was the shinobi way.

Hanzo doubtless expected Hiro to put his personal issues behind him. Hiro wasn't certain he could . . . or that he wanted to.

“Will you go to Iga?” Ichiro sounded hopeful.

Hiro nodded. “We will leave this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” Ichiro bowed, causing the crow to spread its wings for balance. He looked at the others. “We should go.”

Mika and Roku bowed, and all three of them disappeared into Okazaki Shrine.

CHAPTER 49

Hiro turned to Father Mateo. “At least that ends the argument about where to go when we leave Kyoto.”

Father Mateo frowned. “There was an argument?”

Hiro resumed his course toward the river.

Father Mateo hurried to catch up. “Hattori Hanzo may lead the Iga ryu, but he has no authority over me.”

“Only a dead man refuses an order from Hanzo,” Hiro said. “Some refuse because they are dead, and the rest are dead because they refused. Which one are you?”

“I didn't say I wouldn't go. . . .” Father Mateo paused as if distracted by another thought. “How did they enter the city without travel papers?”

“Ichiro and the others?” Hiro asked. “Who says they had no papers? The shogun's seal is easy to forge, for those with the proper training.”

Father Mateo didn't answer because they had reached the bridge.

The samurai on guard stepped out to meet them. “Good morning. Business in the city? Or another bowl of noodles?”

“Noodles,” Hiro lied, though his stomach wished otherwise.

The guard stepped sideways to let them pass. “Perhaps, one day, you will show me the cart you favor.”

Hiro bowed. “I would be honored.”

On the opposite side of the river, Hiro turned south on the road that followed the western bank. Father Mateo fell in step without comment.

Sunrise burnished the trees and buildings with an orange glow. Crimson curls of sunshine danced across the river's surface, glinting off the ripples like embroidery on silk.

Hiro inhaled the scents of the city: wood smoke, fish, and here and there the rancid smell of trash. As they passed an alley, the stench of ammonia wafted from night soil buckets awaiting collection. As usual, Kyoto's riot of smells made Hiro long for the mountain air of Iga.

“The Yutoku-za sits east of the river,” Father Mateo said, “but we're on the west. Are we going to talk with Jiro?”

Hiro nodded, impressed by the priest's deduction.

“Don't tell me he's guilty after all.”

“Not of Emi's murder,” Hiro said, “although if I have deduced correctly, he is not entirely innocent either.”

By the time they reached Shijō Market, the shops had opened. People thronged the narrow street. Noren fluttered in the breeze as merchants stood before their shops, arranging the displays to best advantage.

Hiro and Father Mateo stopped in front of the expansive store whose noren read “BASHO—BEST RICE IN KYOTO.”

“Is that a new noren?” Father Mateo nodded at the indigo banner.

Hiro took a closer look. “It does seem new.”

“What happened to the old one?”

Hiro gestured to a line of birds that roosted on the building's eaves. Their tails hung over the entrance to the shop. “Most likely, unwanted embellishments from above.”

Father Mateo laughed. “Can't you wash a noren?”

Hiro considered the delicate calligraphy on Basho's sign. “Yes, but extra spots and streaks can change the meaning of the words. Also, merchants consider the noren a symbol of their business. No one wants a stained or faded sign.”

Basho's wife, a heavyset woman in dust-covered robes, emerged from the shop. She recognized Hiro and Father Mateo, but didn't look pleased to see them. “Good morning. With apologies, the shop is not yet open. Please return later.”

“We don't want rice today,” Hiro said. “We have come on other business.”

She frowned. “We've barely repaired the damage from the last time ‘other business' brought you here.”

The floorboards creaked behind her.

“These men had nothing to do with that, Hama.” Basho laid a hand on her shoulder. “I will handle the matter from here.”

Hama gave her husband a doubtful glance, but bowed and walked away.

Basho stepped forward. The merchant was tall and burly, and his robe had a coating of fine, pale dust. His graying hair was in need of a trim.

He bowed. “May I help you this morning?”

“We have come to speak with Jiro,” Hiro said.

“I'm afraid I cannot permit that,” Basho replied.

When Hiro didn't respond, the merchant added, “Yoriki Hosokawa said I didn't have to speak with you, and Jiro doesn't either.”

“How much did you pay him for that protection?” Hiro asked. “And what are you trying to hide?”

Basho glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “How did you know the yoriki asked for money?”

Hiro didn't answer.

After a moment, Basho continued, “He said he knew about the girl, and if I paid, he'd make the trouble go away—as long as I didn't tell anyone, including you and the priest, what really happened. If I talked, or didn't pay . . . I know it was wrong to pay him, but we would lose everything if the magistrate told the guild about Jiro's loan.”

“His loan?” Father Mateo asked. “What loan?”

“The loan he made to the girl.” Basho looked confused. “That isn't why you're here?”

“Let me talk with them, Uncle.” Jiro appeared behind Basho. “I can set this right.”

“The yoriki ordered us not to speak with them,” Basho said.

“Hama told me I had to, so they wouldn't cause more trouble.” Jiro glanced toward the back of the shop.

Hama stood by the warehouse door, arms crossed and glaring at the men like a witch about to cast a curse.

“The yoriki doesn't want Magistrate Ishimaki learning that he steals from the people he's supposed to protect,” Hiro said. “But we know what he's doing.”

“That doesn't excuse the loan,” Basho replied. “If the guild discovers we made a loan to a woman . . .”

“What loan?” Father Mateo repeated.

“Please?” Jiro asked Basho.

The merchant looked nervous, but nodded. “All right, you can tell them what you know.”

“I arranged for Basho to make a loan to Emi, before she died.” Jiro looked at the ground as if ashamed.

“He told me the client was a man,” Basho added. “I would not have made the loan if I knew the truth before I gave my word.”

“Why won't you make a loan to a woman?” Father Mateo asked.

“I cannot,” Basho replied. “The guild has rules. A different moneylender has the rights to lend to women in the entertainment wards. By the time I learned the truth, we had the collateral and the payment had been made.”

“Collateral?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro nodded. “A mask, for nō, unless I miss my guess. Do you still have it?”

“Emi stole the mask?” Father Mateo sounded shocked.

“The mask was stolen?” Basho turned on Jiro. “This gets worse and worse! You said she owned it.”

Jiro refused to meet his uncle's gaze. “That's what she told me—she said it was an inheritance, the only thing she had left from her father. She wanted to sell it in order to buy her freedom from the teahouse.”

“And you believed that story?” Hiro asked. “You told us she had ‘finally' found a way to buy her freedom—why not sell the mask before, if she had owned it all along?”

Jiro's shoulders sagged. “She said she didn't want to sell it because it was the only thing she had from her parents, but she had no other choice. The teahouse owner wouldn't let her go unless she paid in gold.

“I didn't think she would lie to me. We loved each other—at least, I thought she loved me too. We planned to use the rest of the money to run away to Edo”—he glanced at Basho—“I'm sorry. I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

Basho nodded. “It doesn't matter now.”

Hiro wondered whether Emi truly cared for Jiro or if she had used him. The facts suggested the latter, but in the end Basho was right. It made no difference anymore.

Father Mateo looked at Hiro. “When did you figure out what really happened to the mask?”

“Last night, after Yuji left. He wanted the coin so badly, but I didn't believe his story about giving it to Emi. Also, he had to know that we'd tell Satsu about his claim. Yuji is selfish, and arrogant, but not even he would take a risk like that for the sake of greed alone. There had to be something more he didn't tell us.”

“But how did you connect the coin to the mask instead of the murder?” Father Mateo asked. “We had no evidence of that.”

“The evidence told us nothing about the coin,” Hiro said, “and the killer should have taken it off the body. Everyone with a motive to kill her also wanted, or needed, money. In addition, Satsu kept talking about the coin, and Yuji wanted it badly enough to risk his reputation to obtain it. Again, that suggested the coin had value beyond the price of gold.”

“But how did you make the connection between the golden coin and the missing mask?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro smiled. “Once I realized who killed Emi, I knew the killer was not the source of the coin. The only answer that fit the facts was that Emi stole the mask herself, and the coin was the only way to get it back.”

CHAPTER 50

“How could the coin return the mask?” Father Mateo asked. “That makes no sense.”

“It does to a samurai,” Hiro said. “We often take out loans and use our heirlooms as collateral. Emi couldn't hide the mask at home. She needed somewhere safe to put it while she found a buyer. No place in Kyoto is safer than a moneylender's storehouse.”