Ghost of the Bamboo Road Read online

  “Do not pretend at innocence with me,” the samurai accused. “There is no traffic on the travel road this time of year and, since the landslide, no one takes this route. Why did you come here?” He took a threatening step toward Hiro. “Are you spies?”

  “Not good ones,” Hiro replied, “if your words are true.”

  Otomuro seemed to have trouble deciding whether or not to take offense.

  “The foreigner has business in Edo,” Hiro continued. “As for the route, our map indicated this was the travel road.”

  “Not since the landslide,” Otomuro repeated. “What kind of business does a foreigner have in Edo?”

  “With respect,” Hiro said, “that is his business.”

  “You think yourself clever,” Otomuro sneered. “A worthless ronin who follows a foreigner like a dog.”

  Hiro squared his shoulders. “If you wish to fight me, feel free to repeat those words.”

  Father Mateo stepped between them. “With respect, Otomuro-sama, we will gladly leave the village, if you let my servant go.”

  Hiro glanced at the Jesuit, taking care to keep his surprise well hidden. Father Mateo never willingly walked away from a murder investigation. That said, he recognized the priest’s suggestion as a wise one. Despite his distaste for failure—and abandoning an investigation constituted failure in his eyes—Ana’s freedom, and the lives of Iga agents on the travel road, meant far more than saving a village from a nonexistent ghost.

  “Will you repay the coins she stole?” Otomuro asked.

  Father Mateo appeared to undergo a silent struggle. At last, he said, “I assure you, Ana did not steal—”

  Otomuro raised a hand to silence him. “Unless you pay, your servant will suffer the maximum penalty for her crime.”

  “Please forgive my interruption,” Hiro said. “But the discovery of Masako-san’s unfortunate death interrupted my master’s morning prayers. Perhaps we could discuss this matter privately, as samurai, while the foreigner returns to the ryokan?”

  “There is nothing to discuss if he will not pay,” Otomuro declared.

  “With respect,” Hiro said carefully, “I believe that we could reach an understanding.”

  Otomuro pursed his lips as if trying to parse the meaning behind the words. “Very well.” He flicked his hand at Father Mateo as if brushing away an annoying fly. “The foreigner may go. And as a token of my goodwill, he no longer requires a guard—so long as you give your word that he will not run away.”

  “I give you my word,” Hiro said. “He will not flee and leave his servant here.”

  “Very well,” Otomuro said. “Your master may go and say his prayers, and I will inform Akako that he need not guard you any longer.”

  To Hiro’s immense relief, the Jesuit bowed and departed without an argument.

  As Father Mateo disappeared around the corner of the teahouse, Otomuro continued, “So. Do you think I cannot recognize your kind?”

  Hiro waited for the samurai to continue, fairly certain the comment related to his status as a ronin rather than his true identity.

  Otomuro tried to cross his arms, though his bulk prevented him from doing more than laying one atop the other. “Don’t think I cannot see the disrespect in your eyes. You think yourself superior to me, a country samurai, even though I serve a daimyō while you trail after an honorless foreign master. You think, if you snap your fingers, I will free his thieving servant free of charge.”

  “I would never disrespect an intelligent man.” But I will happily tell half-truths to a fool.

  “Then why did you ask to speak with me alone?” Otomuro waited expectantly.

  “The foreign priest believes his housekeeper is innocent, and his religion prevents him from paying bribes. However, I do not follow the foreigner’s religion.”

  Otomuro’s gaze remained devoid of understanding.

  Hiro shifted his hand to the purse that hung from his obi. “As I said, I hoped that you and I could reach a private understanding. One that would free the foreigner’s servant, so my master—and the rest of us—would trouble you no longer.”

  Otomuro blinked.

  Clearly, subtlety wasn’t going to work.

  Hiro leaned forward conspiratorially. “How much silver do you want to let the foreigner’s housekeeper go free?”

  A shrewd expression passed over Otomuro’s face. “How much do you have?”

  “Enough to repay what Noboru lost, as well as a generous gift in recognition of your aid.”

  Otomuro raised a hand and rubbed his fleshy jowls. “Very well. I desire a hundred gold koban. Or the equivalent in silver, if you wish.” Hiro chose his words with care. “It seems quite difficult to believe a rural ryokan earned so much silver.”

  “Everyone knows the foreign priests are wealthy,” Otomuro said. “Gold coins mean nothing to a wealthy man.”

  “But a great deal to a greedy one.”

  “First you attempt to bribe me, and now you insult me.” Otomuro pointed a fat finger squarely at Hiro’s chest. “Your eagerness to pay reveals the truth: your master’s housekeeper is guilty, as I suspected. Either the foreigner pays me one hundred and fifty gold koban, or I will hang his thieving servant in two days’ time.”

  “A moment ago, you set the price at one hundred,” Hiro said.

  “Your master should pray I do not increase it further.” Otomuro laughed. “Do you get the joke? The foreign priest should pray.”

  Hiro longed to draw his sword and carve the smile off Otomuro’s face. Instead, he forced a smile. “I will deliver your message to Father Mateo.”

  “And when you do,” Otomuro added, “remind him that, in Japan, a master is responsible for his servants’ crimes. He will pay for your arrogance, and the woman’s theft, and I will have my gold.”

  “Do not worry,” Hiro said, “I will personally ensure that you receive what you deserve.”

  Chapter 27

  “One hundred and fifty golden coins?” Father Mateo knelt beside the guest room table, Bible open on his lap and a horrified expression on his face. “Why did you try to bribe him?”

  “You tried it first,” Hiro objected.

  “I offered to replace the missing silver, to get us out of here.” Father Mateo closed his Bible. “When I saw Masako’s body, I realized that you were right. My eyes were playing tricks on me last night. It has also become clear to me that these people do not want an investigation. I fear they might even refuse to believe the truth, no matter what evidence we manage to produce. And I fear the same might happen with the theft. While I hate allowing anyone to believe that Ana is a thief, I am not willing to risk her life for principles.”

  “Unless you have a hundred and fifty golden coins that I don’t know about, we have no choice but to keep investigating the murders and the theft.”

  The Jesuit set his book on the table. “Unfortunately, it does appear that way.”

  Hiro looked around. “Where’s Gato?”

  Father Mateo pulled a scrap of cloth from his sleeve and wiped his nose. “I took her down the hall to Ana’s room. She tries to sit in my lap when you’re not here.”

  “She tries it when I am here, too.” Hiro gestured to the holy book. “If you’ve finished talking with your god, we have a trap to set.”

  “This plan of yours had better work.” The Jesuit stood up. “And, in the meantime, I do not want Ana learning that her life is on the line.”

  Pale sunshine streamed over the treetops. Its feeble brilliance sparkled on the thin veneer of snow. Only scattered wisps of cloud streaked through the clear blue sky.

  Father Mateo’s breath made clouds in the chilly air. “Where should we start?”

  Hiro gestured to Mume’s house. “We need to speak with everyone, to be certain the information reaches both the killer and the thief. We might as well start here.”

  The door swung open in response to Hiro’s knock, but instead of the woman they expected, they found themselves facing a man of unusu
al height, with a heavily muscled frame that looked strong enough to wrestle bears. But for the few faint lines around his eyes, Hiro might have mistaken him for a man in his early twenties.

  “Good morning gentlemen.” As he bowed, a swirl of warm air escaped the house, redolent with the musky scents of wood smoke, oxen, and manure. “I am Taso. Mume mentioned your visit, and that you spoke about Ishiko-san.”

  The priest returned the bow. “Good morning. I am Father Mateo Ávila de Santos, and this is my scribe, Matsui Hiro.”

  Etiquette neither required nor permitted a samurai to bow to a laborer, so Hiro merely nodded.

  “Thank you for honoring me with a visit,” Taso replied, “but, regrettably, I doubt I can add anything to what my wife has told you.”

  Hiro noted the unusual refinement of the large man’s speech. “You do not speak like a man who carries burdens on the travel road.”

  Taso’s cheeks flushed pink as he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “My father works as an artisan woodcrafter in Hakone. As a child, I studied with a tutor there.”

  “And yet, you did not continue as an artisan.” Hiro’s observation carried the weight of an inquiry.

  “I did not wish to spend my life inhaling lacquer fumes, and these paws”—he raised his enormous hands—“were not built for delicate joinery. I ran away as soon as I was old enough to bear a load.”

  “How did you end up here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Father Mateo asked.

  “In the village?” Taso looked up the narrow street. “One of the men I worked with on the travel road became like a father to me.” His gaze returned to the Jesuit. “He had no wife, and no children, so I moved into this house with him and cared for him until he died. He left the house to me, and I remained. By then, this was my home.”

  Hiro shifted the conversation. “You chose not to work today?”

  “My wife was frightened by what happened to Masako-san.” Taso glanced at the teahouse. “She asked me not to leave her alone, in case the ghost returns.”

  “I suspect the killer is a living person and a thief, and not a yūrei,” Hiro said. “Although the foreign priest intends to offer prayers tonight in the hope that the spirit will not disturb your village any longer.”

  He chose his words carefully, opting for partial truths in place of outright lies.

  Taso looked concerned. “Was something stolen from the teahouse?”

  “From the ryokan,” Hiro corrected. “Noboru’s silver.”

  “We have begun an investigation,” Father Mateo added, “because I do not wish my own silver to suffer a similar fate when I go to offer evening prayers at the burial ground tonight.”

  Not the most subtle delivery, Hiro thought, but it will do.

  “An unfortunate occurrence, but, with respect, silver hardly equates to a woman’s life.” Taso closed the door a fraction, as if hoping they would take the hint and leave.

  “Otomuro-san authorized the foreigner’s investigation,” Hiro said.

  Taso seemed unmoved. “Regrettably, I know nothing about any missing silver.”

  “What time did you come home the last two nights?” Hiro watched the laborer carefully, more interested in his reaction than his response.

  Taso cast his gaze toward the sky as he thought, but lowered it to Hiro as he answered. “A couple of hours after dark.”

  “Which direction did you come from?”

  “Hakone.” Taso gestured toward the travel road. “I carried a burden over the hill for a merchant, along the detour route. I presume you’ve heard about the landslide.”

  Hiro nodded. “Did you see anyone on the road, or in the forest, when you returned?”

  “After dark?” Taso shifted in the doorway. “Who would I see?”

  “I give you my word, as a servant of God, that we will not identify you as the source of any information,” Father Mateo said. “You may speak to us in confidence.”

  Hiro hadn’t expected the Jesuit to realize the subtle change in the laborer’s posture suggested the man knew something after all.

  “A man should not make accusations without evidence.” Taso looked at the houses across the street.

  Mume approached him from behind. “Please tell them. Please. Just tell them what you saw.”

  “They asked about last night.” Taso told her gently. “Last night I saw nothing.”

  “He has seen Chitose-san in the woods, at night,” Mume said earnestly. “We should not go in the woods at night. The priest from the mountain told me so.”

  “I have seen him in the forest after dark on several occasions,” Taso agreed, “when I returned from work unusually late.”

  “Did you ask what he was doing?” Father Mateo asked the question before Hiro could.

  “Wise men do not involve themselves in other people’s business.” Taso crossed his massive arms. “But Chitose-san carries loads on the travel road all day, as I do. If he wants to hunt, or gather firewood, he must do it at night—as I do also. I have known Chitose-san his entire life. He would not harm, or steal from, anyone.”

  “Is he married?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Not yet.” Mume spoke eagerly. “He was going to marry a girl from Hakone. But her father changed his mind when he heard about the yūrei. Kane says—”

  “We have talked about gossip.” Taso’s voice held gentle disapproval. “I will handle the conversation from here.”

  Mume bowed and returned to the back of the house, head low.

  “I assure you,” Taso said, “Chitose-san would not steal or kill.”

  “Do you believe a yūrei killed Ishiko and Masako?” Hiro asked.

  Taso pressed his lips together. His brow furrowed. “I believe there is an evil in this village. Precisely what it is, I cannot say.”

  Chapter 28

  “Why didn’t we ask him more about the murders?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese as he and Hiro crossed the road.

  “He told us what he knew,” Hiro replied, “or, at least, what he’s willing to divulge. For the moment that will have to do.”

  “He seemed nervous when he talked about Chitose.”

  “I noticed that also.” Hiro knocked on the door of Akako’s house.

  A shuffling approached, and the door swung inward.

  “You again!” Saku stabbed a gnarled finger at the Jesuit. “You need to go away. You don’t belong in this world anymore.”

  Akako appeared behind the elderly woman. “Mother, please—”

  Saku clenched her fist and shook it. “Don’t ‘mother’ me. This village does not need another ghost.”

  “I am not a ghost!” Father Mateo protested.

  “You are.” The elderly woman leaned on her cane. “You just don’t realize it yet.”

  “May I help you with something?” Akako asked.

  “Don’t talk to the ghost,” Saku admonished. “If you encourage it, it will never leave.”

  “Mother.” Akako gestured back inside the house. “Go drink your tea. I will make sure they leave.”

  She hobbled off, grumbling under her breath.

  “I apologize for my mother,” Akako said. “Sometimes her mind. . .”

  “She’s not the first to mistake me for a ghost.” Father Mateo smiled.

  “We would like to talk with you about the recent theft, and Masa-ko’s murder, as well as helping us protect the foreigner’s gold,” Hiro said. “Perhaps, if you are not busy. . .”

  “Of course.” The porter glanced over his shoulder. “With apologies. . .could we talk at the ryokan?”

  “Of course,” Hiro said. “I had hoped your son, Chitose, could also join us?”

  Akako froze for a moment before answering. “Regrettably, he cannot. He has left for work on the travel road.”

  “That is not leaving.” Saku shouted from the back of the house. “That is the opposite of leaving.”

  Akako ignored her. “My son will be tired when he returns this evening, but I could bring him to the ryokan tomo
rrow morning, if you wish?”

  Hiro briefly considered talking with Akako alone, but decided against it. “Certainly.” Upon reflection, he doubted Chitose’s explanation for the nocturnal ramblings would get them any closer to the truth—even if the porter’s son chose not to lie.

  Hiro and Father Mateo returned to the ryokan.

  “The more I consider it,” Father Mateo said in Portuguese as he closed the guest room door behind them, “the more I suspect Chitose of the thefts, if not the killings. A man needs money to find a wife, and young men often find an easy coin more tempting than the one that requires labor.”

  “You now believe the thief and the killer are different people?” Hiro asked.

  “I hate to admit it,” the Jesuit said, “but after last night. . .”

  “Do not tell me you have changed your mind, and now believe in ghosts.”

  Father Mateo reached up and grasped the cross that hung around his neck. “The honest answer is I do not know.”

  “Then let’s focus on the thief.” And on leaving here as soon as possible.

  “We should find out if anything was stolen from the teahouse,” Father Mateo said. “Either recently or in the past.”

  “Indeed. Masako may have startled the thief.”

  “Perhaps. . .” Father Mateo sounded doubtful.

  Hiro wished he had seen what the Jesuit saw. He found it hard to believe, and profoundly disturbing, that something could change a reliable man’s opinion so completely and so quickly. Even worse, the change made Father Mateo unreliable, which left Hiro feeling very much alone.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” Hiro called.

  Noboru opened the door. Kane stood behind him, right hand fidgeting with the hem of her obi.

  “I spoke with your servant again,” Noboru said. “She still refuses to confess her crime.”

  “You want a confession?” Hiro took a step toward the door. “I confess that I grow weary of your tiresome behavior. I confess profound dislike for your refusal to believe the truth. And I confess that, unless you learn some manners quickly, you will find yourself confessing to the judges of the afterlife.”