The Ninja's Daughter Read online

  “Stolen?” Father Mateo asked, “or sold to pay a samurai bribe?”

  “Sold—” The frustrated edge left Satsu’s voice. “Did someone admit to selling it, or is this just conjecture?”

  “Botan has not confirmed the theory,” Father Mateo admitted.

  Satsu shook his head. “Then it did not happen. Botan would never sell that mask.”

  “Why not?” Hiro asked.

  At the same time, Father Mateo said, “Not even to save Emi’s life?”

  “The mask was sacred to the Yutoku-za,” Satsu replied, “our most important and divine possession. It once belonged to a famous actor—a master, revered within our art. Botan valued the mask so much that he kept it locked away in his personal office. Only he—as head of the troupe—ever touched it or wore it on the stage.”

  “Which means no one would notice it missing if Botan didn’t want the troupe to learn about the samurai’s demand,” Hiro said.

  “Botan would never sell that mask or give it to anyone, let alone a thieving samurai.” Satsu paused. “Botan acquired that mask from me. I brought it to Kyoto in order to purchase a place in an acting family.”

  “I suspected as much,” Hiro said. “No outsider marries a shite’s daughter unless he has something exceptional to offer—and you mentioned that your skills did not suffice.”

  “How would its origin stop Botan from selling it?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Botan believed the kami sent him the mask, through me, as a sign of favor,” Satsu said. “However, the Yutoku-za has fallen on hard times in recent months. After Shogun Ashikaga’s death, our wealthiest samurai patrons left the city. Without them to hire us, Botan depends even more on the kami’s favor to see us through.

  “In dire circumstances, Botan might sell a mask to pay our debts—or even to pay a samurai’s demand. However, he would never sell that particular mask for any reason. No, I am convinced the mask was stolen.”

  “If he did want to sell a mask, who would buy it?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Any theater troupe in Kyoto would want that mask,” Satsu replied, “and samurai collectors would buy it also. Special masks of proven provenance are valuable and difficult to find.”

  “I still think Botan sold it,” Father Mateo said, “or gave it to the samurai.”

  “Either way”—Satsu looked from the priest to Hiro—“I do not understand why you needed to bring me out in the dark to discuss it now.”

  “We need to find the samurai who threatened Botan,” Hiro said. “We think you know his name.”

  “If I knew it, I would tell you.” Satsu shook his head. “I never saw him. No one saw him. Botan said he wore a mask.”

  “Do bandits normally steal from actors’ families?” Hiro asked.

  “No—and generally speaking, bandits are not samurai.”

  “Any man can wear a pair of swords,” Father Mateo said.

  “Robbing a man with a dagger is just as effective,” Satsu answered, “and it carries far less risk of beheading if a samurai catches you in the street.”

  “If you want us to find the person who killed your daughter,” Hiro said, “you must make Botan tell you more about the samurai who threatened him.”

  “We have to find that samurai in order to identify Emi’s killer,” Father Mateo added.

  Satsu bowed. “I owe you both an apology. When I asked you to find my daughter’s killer, I did not realize the danger you would have to face. The yoriki will not tolerate you asking further questions. I could tell when he tried to arrest you at the temple. I cannot have your arrest—or worse—on my conscience. Although I appreciate your efforts, I release you from your pledge to find the killer.”

  Hiro stared at the actor, momentarily at a loss for words.

  “Do you still have the golden coin?” Satsu asked. “I would like it back, if you do.”

  “We do not have it with us,” Hiro lied, “but we can return it tomorrow morning, if you wish.”

  “Thank you.” Satsu bowed again. “No coin can repay my daughter’s blood, but it was hers—and the Yutoku-za does need the gold. Tomorrow morning I must attend a dress rehearsal at Fushimi Inari Shrine, to the south of the city. If you don’t mind, perhaps you could bring the coin to me there. I would rather my wife did not have to see it again.”

  A samurai’s shadowed form appeared on the path.

  “You there!” a familiar voice called. “Stop! By order of Yoriki Hosokawa!”

  Satsu dropped to his knees and bent his forehead to the ground.

  “Run,” Hiro whispered.

  “He’s already seen us,” Satsu whispered back. “I cannot risk it.”

  CHAPTER 32

  As the samurai approached, Hiro recognized the scruffy dōshin who followed them from the magistrate’s office earlier in the afternoon. He wondered how the samurai had found them, since he hadn’t noticed anyone following since they left the Jesuit’s house.

  “The two of you are under arrest,” the dōshin snarled, “and this commoner’s life is forfeit.”

  Father Mateo stepped forward. “You have no cause to take his life.”

  The dōshin grasped the hilt of his sword. “A samurai needs no cause.”

  “Only an honorless coward would kill a man without a reason.” Father Mateo spoke in a voice as calm as the burbling river, but firm as a mountain.

  “His family told me he left the house with a foreigner and a ronin.” The dōshin spat out the final word as if it tasted foul on his tongue. “Yoriki Hosokawa told him what would happen if he spoke with you again.”

  “He threatened whipping, not execution,” Father Mateo countered. “I was there—and you have no business harassing innocent people outside your jurisdiction.”

  The dōshin ignored the Jesuit’s words. He crossed to Satsu and drew his sword with a motion that would have severed the actor’s neck—but at the final moment Satsu ducked and rolled away.

  The dōshin’s blade swished harmlessly through the air.

  “How dare you!” The samurai started for Satsu, but Hiro stepped between them.

  “The foreigner is correct,” Hiro said. “I will not let you kill this man.”

  “Then you condemn yourself and the priest as well.” The dōshin raised his sword.

  Satsu lunged for the samurai with unexpected speed. A dagger glinted in his hand.

  The dōshin leaped away, avoiding Satsu’s blade by inches.

  “You filth!” The dōshin swung his sword, but once again the actor dodged.

  “Kneel and accept your punishment,” the dōshin ordered, “or your entire family will die!”

  “Sheathe your sword and forget this happened,” Father Mateo said.

  Hiro shook his head. “Too late for that.”

  The dōshin raised his sword and leaped toward Satsu. This time, Hiro’s katana blocked the strike.

  The dōshin slashed at Hiro, but the shinobi avoided the blade. As Hiro counterattacked, the policeman grunted, but not enough to confirm a successful strike. Hiro jumped away, suspecting a trick—and felt a wave of air on his face as the dōshin’s sword passed by.

  He circled sideways, into the shadow of an overhanging branch. The dōshin countered Hiro’s movement, maintaining the space between them. Lanterns along the path cast flickering spots of light and shadow over the samurai’s scowling features.

  Hiro froze, awaiting an opening.

  The dōshin swayed from side to side, weaving like a snake. He stamped his foot, but Hiro did not flinch or jump to attack.

  A moment passed. Hiro drew a silent breath and felt his senses sharpen.

  Overhead, the cherry branches rustled with a breeze. The river burbled past within its banks.

  The dōshin stamped his foot again and lunged.

  This time, Hiro stepped aside and countered with a sideways strike. He felt the blade slice through the air. He missed.

  He spun to avoid the counterstrike, which came more quickly than expected.

 
Hiro traded blows with the dōshin. Some passed harmlessly through the air. Others ended with a clash of steel on steel. Despite his loathing for the dōshin, Hiro admired his opponent’s skill with a sword.

  “You fight well,” Hiro said when the combat paused. “It is unfortunate that you must die.”

  The dōshin lunged and swung his sword. As Hiro jumped away, he spun and aimed a lethal strike across the dōshin’s neck. This time, Hiro felt his blade strike home.

  The dōshin’s grunt became a cough, and then a ragged gasp. He dropped his sword and clutched his throat. Blood pattered down on the earthen path with a sound like falling raindrops.

  Hiro stepped to the side and raised his katana. “Your skill has earned you a rapid death.”

  In a single motion, he cut off the dōshin’s head.

  Before Hiro could sheathe his katana, Satsu ran forward and grasped the dead man’s hands. “We have to get him off the road.”

  He dragged the body into the shadows beneath a cherry tree.

  Hiro picked up the dōshin’s head and followed.

  “You killed him,” Father Mateo said. “What are we going to do?”

  “Dispose of the body,” Hiro replied. “And quickly.”

  “You killed him,” Father Mateo repeated.

  Hiro nodded. “An established fact.”

  Father Mateo stared at the body. “We have no way to bury him.”

  “And the river’s too shallow and slow at this location,” Satsu added. “However, I know a place. There is a bathhouse around the corner—it closed about an hour ago.”

  “You want to leave the body in a bathhouse?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Trust me.” Satsu looked at Hiro. “My other work in Kyoto involves the disappearance of unwanted people—alive and dead.”

  “Very well,” Hiro said. “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t understand.” Father Mateo looked from one man to the other. “It doesn’t seem appropriate to hide a samurai’s body in a bathhouse.”

  “I’ll explain when we get there,” Satsu said. “Let’s go—and don’t forget his head.”

  The bathhouse sat just east of the river, on a street whose businesses were closed and shuttered at this time of night. Despite the lack of passersby, Hiro and Satsu remained in the shadows as they carried the dōshin’s body between them. Father Mateo followed with the head, holding it as far away from his body as he could manage.

  “This way.” Satsu turned into a narrow passage between the bathhouse and the business next door.

  A double line of trees separated the back of the building from the open common space at the center of the block. In daylight the trees offered privacy and enhanced the lovely setting for bathhouse patrons. In the darkness, they provided perfect cover for three men and a samurai’s headless corpse.

  Satsu paused in front of the undersized door that led to the bathhouse boiler room. “Set him down for a minute.”

  Hiro helped the actor lower the body to the ground.

  “What’s going on?” Father Mateo whispered as Satsu opened the little door and ducked inside. “Isn’t that where they . . .”

  A rustling came from the boiler room, followed by a metallic creak. Sparks flared to life in the house’s wood-burning oven as Satsu stirred the coals with a poker. The actor’s silhouette blocked the glow as he tossed a handful of kindling into the oven. The sparks grew into flames.

  Father Mateo’s mouth fell open in horror. He shook his head, the motion barely visible in the shadows.

  Satsu returned to the yard. The orange glow of tiny flames emerged from the darkened room beyond.

  “As I hoped, the fire was banked but came to life at once with a little kindling.” Satsu extended his hands to the priest. “We’ll start with the head.”

  Father Mateo backed away.

  “This isn’t the time for argument,” Hiro whispered. “We have no choice.”

  “The bathhouse owners will find him in the morning!” Father Mateo sounded close to panic. “The flames may burn his flesh, but not the bones.”

  “The owners will bury the bones and ask no questions,” Satsu said. “Now hand it over.”

  Father Mateo turned his face away and handed the dōshin’s head to Satsu. When the burden left his hands, he made the sign of the cross and bowed his head to pray.

  Satsu ducked into the boiler room and tossed the head into the fire. He added another handful of kindling; moments later the air was filled with the odors of scorching hair and burning flesh.

  Father Mateo coughed and retched.

  “The smell will attract attention,” Hiro said.

  “Fortunately, this bath is known for its scented waters.” Satsu grabbed a fresh pine bough from a pile beside the boiler room. He tossed it onto the fire, and though the smoke that rose from the oven didn’t completely hide the acrid, fatty smells of burning samurai, it did reduce the stench to a level that wouldn’t raise alarm.

  “One more problem,” Hiro said. “The body won’t fit in the oven in this condition.”

  Satsu reached inside his tunic and withdrew a wicked-looking dagger. “That’s a problem I can solve. It’s time for you to take the foreigner home.”

  Father Mateo raised his head. “We cannot leave you here alone.”

  “With respect, you also cannot stay.” Satsu turned to the priest. “One of my duties in Kyoto is handling inconvenient corpses. This is not my first dead samurai. I am better trained, and better able, to address this problem. I appreciate your sense of honor, but I promise your concern is quite misplaced.

  “Please bring my daughter’s coin to Fushimi Inari tomorrow morning. After that, we must not ever speak again.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Hiro and Father Mateo returned to the river and walked along the bank in silence. Discomfort dripped from the priest like heavy rain from a temple’s eaves. Even so, Hiro did not speak. No words can change the things a man has seen.

  Just before they reached the bridge at Marutamachi Road, Father Mateo said, “I do not blame you for killing him.”

  “Blame me?” Hiro asked, surprised. “He would have killed us all.”

  “I know that.” Father Mateo nodded. “I cannot thank you for taking a life, but I deeply appreciate you saving Satsu.”

  “And you also.”

  “I do not want you to kill on my behalf,” Father Mateo said.

  “You know that’s why I came to Kyoto: to guard your life at any cost.”

  “Now that I have seen you kill, the cost is far too high.”

  “It will happen again,” Hiro said, “and more than once, unless you leave the city.”

  Father Mateo struggled for words. “Perhaps it is you who should leave. Alone.”

  “That, I cannot and will not do. The oath I took can be broken only by death—either yours or mine.”

  “An oath you made to a man we do not know, whose motives I cannot understand.” The Jesuit shook his head. “I release you from that oath.”

  “Only death can release me,” Hiro said. “Once given, this oath cannot be retracted.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you? Pledging your life at the request of a man you do not know?”

  “On behalf of a man I have come to know quite well.” Hiro paused. “But, to answer your question, no. Hattori Hanzo trusted your benefactor enough to accept the contract and to honor his request for anonymity. I accepted Hanzo’s judgment on the matter—this is not the first such contract I’ve fulfilled.”

  The question that followed was not what Hiro expected.

  “Why did you lie to Satsu about the coin? You know I have it with me.”

  Hiro found the Jesuit’s change of subject interesting. Samurai used the tactic to avoid a fight with important family members or lifelong friends.

  He honored the priest’s decision to leave the previous topic at an impasse. “I found it strange, and also suspicious, that Satsu asked us to stop the investigation. I wanted time to think before I had to return the coin
.”

  The samurai on guard at the bridge stood halfway across the span, in order to watch both sides of the river effectively. He nodded, but did not approach, as Hiro and Father Mateo turned onto Marutamachi Road.

  The wind sent a cluster of fallen leaves swirling across the road like tiny specters. In the distance, a dog began to bark.

  Hiro and Father Mateo walked in silence until they reached Okazaki Shrine.

  There, a priestess stood beside the torii. She held a basket of amulets, and nearby braziers cast their flickering light across her face. The priestess bowed. “Good evening.”

  “And to you.” Father Mateo nodded as he passed.

  Hiro wondered if the Jesuit knew the woman’s name. They passed her at the gate quite often, but the priest had never stopped to talk.

  After they left the shrine behind them, Father Mateo said, “Yuji must have killed her.”

  “Emi?” Hiro asked.

  “Yes, it must be him. He worried that Emi would damage his reputation and career, but he also couldn’t break his betrothal to Chou. I think he went to the river and took care of the problem . . . personally.”

  “How do the coin and the missing mask fit into that scenario?” Hiro asked.

  “Unrelated,” Father Mateo said. “I think Botan sold the mask to pay the samurai’s demand, or gave it to him as a partial payment. I don’t know how the coin fits in—or doesn’t, as the case may be—but Yuji had the motive, and the chance, to kill the girl.”

  “That doesn’t make him a murderer,” Hiro said. “He’s an actor—and a selfish fool—but a crime like this is probably beyond him.”

  “You don’t know much about actors, do you?” Father Mateo asked.

  Hiro wasn’t used to hearing his own expressions turned against him. “And you do?”

  “As it happens, yes.”

  “How does a priest know anything about actors?”

  Father Mateo glanced at Hiro. “Because I almost became one.”

  CHAPTER 34

  “An actor?” Hiro couldn’t believe it. “You planned to become an actor?”