The Ninja's Daughter Page 12

  Tani looked up. “Do you play the instrument, sir?”

  “I know the sound will suffer if the skin gets damp.” Hiro paused. “What do you know about Emi’s murder?”

  “Nothing about the killing,” Tani said, “but a man who wanted to learn the truth might ask if anything else of value disappeared from this place the night that Emi died—or the night before.”

  “Something of value,” Father Mateo said. “Like golden coins?”

  “Gold?” The old man shook his head. “Perhaps, to a priest, that seems a treasure. Sir, I speak of something irreplaceable—a mask. A sacred mask for nō, bestowed by the kami on the Yutoku-za as a sign of special favor.”

  “The mask disappeared—it was stolen?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Unless the kami took it back.” Irony weighted Tani’s words. “Or, possibly, someone sold it.”

  “Sold it? For what purpose?” Father Mateo seemed confused.

  Tani looked over his shoulder, as if to ensure the room was empty. “A mask so important that only the head of the za is allowed to touch it? Sir, an object so important to us would never disappear, unless its owner needed the money for something . . . vital.”

  A shoji at the back of the room rustled open, revealing Yuji. The actor now wore a light blue tunic and gray striped pants beneath a patterned kimono. He hadn’t bothered to bind his hair, which flowed down his back like a waterfall.

  Hiro silently cursed the young man’s timing. He wanted to learn more about the mask.

  Yuji approached and bowed. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. If you please?” He gestured toward the exit and offered them a nervous smile.

  Hiro nodded farewell to Tani and turned to Yuji. “Lead the way.”

  CHAPTER 29

  As they left the Yutoku-za, Hiro glanced across the street and through the gate of Chugenji. An elderly woman bowed before the shrine, in fervent prayer. Hanging lanterns illuminated her face and shoulders, rendering her features clearly visible.

  Hiro spoke in Portuguese. “See the woman standing by the shrine?”

  Father Mateo turned. “I do not know her.”

  “Neither do I,” Hiro said in the Jesuit’s language. “I merely find it interesting that we can distinguish her features at this distance and after dark.”

  “You think the . . . man who took the gold . . . might have seen the victim praying.” Father Mateo took care to use words that Yuji would not recognize.

  Hiro nodded. “And that might have made the girl a target.”

  The teahouse sat just half a block from the Yutoku-za. Its narrow, unassuming entrance featured an indigo noren painted with simple characters: “TEA” on one panel, “SAKE” on the other. Wooden slats covered the single window that faced the street, and the flickering light seeping out through the noren suggested a dim interior.

  Hiro paused in the doorway and removed his sandals. The teahouse smelled of grilling fish, the tang of sake, and the overly grassy scent of decent, but not high-quality, tea. To his relief, he didn’t notice the stench of urine and stale food so common in lower-end establishments.

  He looked at Yuji and nodded consent. With a bow, the actor led the way inside.

  Past the narrow entry, the teahouse opened into a nine-mat room with wood-paneled walls and medium-grade tatami on the floor. A sliding door in the opposite wall led off to an unseen room beyond.

  A pair of braziers flickered in the corners, filling the room with gentle light.

  The mats on the floor gave off a feeble scent of drying grass, suggesting age, but Hiro saw no visible stains or crumbs of food.

  The door across from the entrance opened, revealing an aging man in a striped kimono and pleated trousers.

  “Good evening, Yuji.” He bowed, with the extra-welcoming smile that shopkeepers offered the first guests of the evening. “May I bring tea and food for your party?”

  Yuji nodded. “Thank you.”

  The teahouse owner bowed again and disappeared back through the door as Yuji led Hiro and Father Mateo to the corner with the best view of the entry. The actor knelt with his back to the wall and faced the entrance.

  Hiro’s opinion of Yuji, not high to begin with, dropped even further.

  “Do not reprimand him,” Father Mateo murmured in Portuguese, with a gesture to the brazier as if discussing the decor.

  Hiro forced a smile. “He should have offered you that seat.”

  “We want his cooperation.” The Jesuit knelt to Yuji’s right, with his back to the entrance.

  Hiro knelt to the actor’s left and angled his body to watch the entry as well as the sliding door at the back of the room.

  Father Mateo switched to Japanese. “This is a pleasant teahouse. Thank you for showing it to us.”

  Yuji nodded. “Of course. The honor is mine.”

  The teahouse owner returned with a tray that carried a steaming teapot, a trio of cups, and several plates of food. He set the tray before Yuji, bowed, and disappeared back through the sliding door.

  The steam that rose from the teapot smelled too sharply grassy for Hiro’s taste, but he hadn’t expected a delicate tea in a business of this stature. Fortunately, the cups seemed clean, and the snacks looked good enough to excuse the less-than-average tea.

  One of the plates held fried tofu, the second, thin-sliced fish, and the third, a pile of umeboshi. Hiro suppressed a smile. Father Mateo hated pickled plums. The priest had never acquired a taste for the salty, sour treat.

  “May I pour you tea?” Yuji reached for the pot. “Please help yourselves to the delicacies.”

  Hiro accepted a cup of tea and selected a pickled plum. He liked them, and the flavor would take the edge off the bitter drink.

  After filling the teacups, Yuji said, “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me away from the house.”

  Hiro nodded but did not answer.

  Father Mateo had already started to drink his tea, so Yuji continued, “I admit, it surprised me to see you, since the yoriki forbade an investigation of Emi’s death.” He shook his head. “Regrettable, but also understandable, under the circumstances.”

  “Which circumstances are those?” Hiro asked.

  “May I speak freely?” Yuji asked. “Without consideration of social status?”

  Father Mateo lowered his teacup. “No one objects to honesty.” He glanced at Hiro. “And no one will punish you for it.”

  Yuji nodded. “Thank you, sir. The circumstances of which I speak relate to Emi’s behavior before her death. Women who act improperly often come to violent ends. Her death, though unfortunate, did result from her own inappropriate choices. No one else should have to bear the blame.”

  “How, precisely, do ‘improper’ choices justify a woman’s death?” Father Mateo’s voice held a warning edge.

  Hiro cleared his throat and switched to Portuguese. “Need I remind you of your recommendation not to provoke the suspect?”

  Father Mateo frowned but nodded.

  Hiro turned to Yuji. “The priest does not understand what you meant by ‘inappropriate choices.’”

  “A woman who spoils her virtue has no value,” Yuji said. “A girl who meets men by the river deserves her fate.”

  “Did Emi engage in such behavior?” Father Mateo asked.

  “My mother said she spoke with you this morning.” Yuji selected a slice of fish. “Regrettably, I know nothing more than she has shared already.”

  “We would like to hear it from you,” Hiro said.

  “With respect, I cannot see why it matters, since there will be no investigation.” Yuji wore the arrogant expression of a man who believed he had made a critical point.

  “We seek to return a valuable item found at the scene of Emi’s death.” Hiro helped himself to another plum. “The girl’s behavior may offer a clue to the object’s owner.”

  Yuji lowered his teacup. “What kind of object?”

  “Are you missing something of value?” Hiro asked.

  “Of
course not.” Yuji leaned back as if offended. “I merely wanted to know.”

  “Unless the item belongs to you, its nature does not concern you,” Hiro said. “Now, tell us what you know of Emi and the men she met by the river.”

  He duplicated Yuji’s use of the plural—men—even though Chou had mentioned only one.

  CHAPTER 30

  Yuji refilled the teacups—a delay that, Hiro noted, gave him time to formulate an answer.

  “I learned about the situation a little over a week ago,” the actor said as he set the teapot down. “Chou came to me, worried about her sister meeting men by the river in the evenings. She didn’t believe that Emi had become a prostitute—not yet—but worried she might, in order to earn the money she needed to buy a place in a teahouse.”

  The story didn’t match Chou’s precisely, but Hiro accepted the differences for the moment.

  Father Mateo didn’t. “Are girls required to purchase positions in a teahouse?”

  “Quite the opposite,” Yuji said. “A teahouse normally pays the parents of girls who become apprentices there. Emi misunderstood how the system works, or else she lied. Speaking freely, and in confidence, I think she wanted to become a prostitute. Chou mentioned some of the teahouse owners suggested it.”

  “Why would Emi make that decision?” Father Mateo asked.

  “I could not tell you,” Yuji said, “but Emi didn’t want the things that other girls desire. She wanted to make decisions for herself. As one might expect from a woman’s decisions, many of them were ill-advised.”

  “Did you speak with anyone else about Emi’s behavior?” Hiro asked.

  “Aside from Chou?” Yuji shook his head. “Only Mother. I did not want to interfere. I did, however, tell Chou to speak with her father at once, before Emi caused us trouble with the police.”

  “The police?” Father Mateo asked.

  Hiro selected a third umeboshi. They tasted uncommonly good.

  “Prostitutes cannot legally ply their trade on the riverbank,” Yuji said. “If the dōshin caught Emi doing so, they would arrest her. The magistrate would expose her connection to the Yutoku-za at her trial, and that would ruin our reputation as a legitimate theater troupe.”

  After a pause, he added, “I am a rising star on the stage. I cannot have people whispering that my troupe allows its women to prostitute themselves by the river.”

  Or that you married a prostitute’s sister, Hiro thought. Aloud, he said, “That would indeed be most unfortunate.”

  Yuji gave him a grateful look. “Thank you, sir, I knew you would understand. Like samurai, we actors must avoid disgrace and public humiliation at all costs. My talent will make me a great shite. I can lead the Yutoku-za to fame. But a scandal involving my future sister”—he shook his head—“such a thing would ruin my reputation at this critical point in my career. I could end up relegated to the chorus, without a chance of securing the roles my skills deserve.”

  He took a sip of tea. “Emi’s death is regrettable, but prevented a greater tragedy. The less attention it receives, the better.”

  “The death of a child is never a fortunate event,” the priest said sternly.

  “Even when it saves two families permanent disgrace? Prevents the financial ruin of a guild?” Yuji met the Jesuit’s stare without repentance. “I humbly apologize, but we must differ on that point.”

  Hiro shifted the conversation before the priest could argue. “Do you know whether Chou discussed Emi’s actions with Satsu?”

  “She did,” Yuji said. “I told her to do it, and, unlike Emi, Chou does as she’s told.”

  “Are you certain?” Father Mateo asked, brow furrowed in disapproval.

  “Do you ask because Emi didn’t stop meeting men by the river?” Yuji shrugged. “With respect, unruly women find ways of straying, no matter what men do.”

  “One last question,” Hiro said, “and then we really must leave. If Emi’s behavior hadn’t stopped, would you have broken your betrothal to Chou?”

  “I do not have that option.” Yuji’s voice held unexpected bitterness. “When Botan retires, or dies, control of the Yutoku-za will pass to the eldest eligible male in the troupe. Satsu is an outsider and not sufficiently talented to lead. I have the skills, and looks, required, but without Chou I lack the proper connections. Only a fool would surrender the chance to marry Botan’s granddaughter and inherit control of the troupe.”

  “Assuming he chooses you and not another,” Father Mateo said.

  Hiro hoped the Jesuit wouldn’t mention their conversation with Chou and Haru.

  “There is no other candidate.” Yuji smirked. “The day I marry Chou, it is decided.”

  Father Mateo opened his mouth, but Hiro cut him off. “You are certain you know nothing more of Emi’s male companions?”

  Yuji shifted his gaze to Hiro. “If I did, Matsui-san, I would tell you, though I assure you we are all better off with her gone.”

  Father Mateo stood up. “That is enough.” He looked at Hiro. “Time to go.”

  Yuji bowed from a seated position as Hiro followed the Jesuit from the teahouse. For the first time in Hiro’s memory, Father Mateo did not bow, or say farewell, before departing.

  “He killed Emi,” Father Mateo whispered as they put on their sandals and returned to the street.

  “Yuji?” Hiro glanced back at the noren hanging in the teahouse entrance. “I don’t think so.”

  “He did,” the priest insisted. “He wanted her dead, and he had a motive to kill her. Weren’t you listening?”

  Hiro started toward the Yutoku-za. “Yuji is a pathetic, self-centered fool, but not a killer.”

  “He said we were all better off with Emi dead,” the priest objected.

  “I do not argue that he had a motive.” Hiro paused, remembering Yuji’s interest in the unnamed object found with Emi’s body. “But he doesn’t seem the type to soil his hands. Especially since the coin and the killing might not be related after all.”

  Father Mateo looked confused. “Not related? Why do you say so?”

  “What if Emi saw the samurai who extorted money from Botan?”

  “He concealed his face,” the priest protested.

  “Yes,” Hiro said, “but he would have removed the mask when leaving the Yutoku-za, to avoid attracting attention in the street. Emi might have seen him from the shrine, and we now know it’s possible that he could have recognized her as well.”

  “The murder didn’t happen the night the samurai demanded money, or even the morning that Botan gave it to him.” Father Mateo paused and raised his head as if remembering something. “But the mask disappeared the night before she died.”

  “Precisely,” Hiro said. “Do you know how much that mask would sell for?”

  “Enough to prevent a samurai from killing Botan’s family, I presume. Also, Botan didn’t mention giving the mask away.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Hiro said. “The shame would be too great to bear.”

  “But was it stolen, or sold, or paid to the samurai with the gold?” the Jesuit asked.

  “I think I know who can tell us.” Hiro paused outside the Yutoku-za. “The question is whether or not he will.”

  As Hiro knocked on the door, the priest said, “Satsu may not know the mask is missing.”

  “He knows,” Hiro said, “and I also think he’s the reason Botan had the mask in the first place.”

  Father Mateo looked confused, but the door swung open before he could ask a question.

  CHAPTER 31

  Satsu answered the door himself, and quickly enough that Hiro suspected the actor had seen them coming.

  “Good evening.” Satsu bowed. “How may I help you?”

  Hiro smiled. “The weather is mild and pleasant. We hoped you would join us and walk by the river.”

  Satsu looked at the darkened sky and then at Hiro. “I sense a chill. However, I must be mistaken. I would not presume to contradict a samurai.”

  He stepped outs
ide and closed the door behind him.

  They walked toward the river, but no one spoke until they reached the bridge. As usual, the armored samurai stood on the opposite side, with his back to the river and his face toward Pontochō.

  “Shall we cross?” Satsu asked with a nod.

  “No need.” Hiro started south along the road that paralleled the river.

  “Why this direction?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese.

  “To take us out of Yoriki Hosokawa’s jurisdiction. The ward ends two blocks south of Shijō Bridge.” Hiro answered in Japanese. Satsu would have recognized the names and guessed the topic anyway.

  They continued south until Hiro knew the guard could no longer see them from the bridge. A breeze fluttered the leaves of the cherry trees along the path. It carried the odor of grilling fish, along with drying leaves and the tang of the river.

  Hiro’s stomach rumbled. Umeboshi and tea didn’t pass for a meal.

  “I’m going no farther.” With no one around to hear him, Satsu let his voice take on a suspicious edge. “What news do you bear that can’t be said where other ears might hear?”

  Father Mateo stiffened, but Hiro took no offense from the actor’s words. Despite his assumed identity, Satsu ranked as Hiro’s senior within the Iga ryu.

  “What do you know about the missing mask?” the priest demanded.

  “Less than subtle,” Hiro remarked in Portuguese, though he didn’t mind. Satsu would expect politeness. Unexpected accusations might provoke an honest answer—or, at least, a useful one.

  “What mask?” Satsu turned to Hiro, his face in shadow. “What does he mean?”

  Father Mateo stepped forward. “The one that disappeared from the Yutoku-za the night before Emi died.”

  “Who told you about the mask?” Satsu demanded. “Botan wouldn’t, and I didn’t . . .”

  He trailed off, as if expecting Father Mateo to answer. When no one spoke, the actor said, “It must have been Tani.” He sighed. “You are correct, a mask was stolen the night before Emi died.”