The Ninja's Daughter Read online

  Hiro appreciated the choice of words. Most of the samurai in Kyoto were sworn retainers of various daimyo, so calling them dogs was not far off the mark.

  “As you wish.” Father Vilela nodded slowly. “Yesterday afternoon I had a message from the magistrate, Ishimaki. He asked me to inform you that the Kyoto police have sole authority over crimes in the capital. Your investigative assistance is not required and will no longer be tolerated.”

  “I spoke with the magistrate yesterday, myself,” Father Mateo said. “I assured him I would let the matter drop.”

  “This is not about a single matter.” Father Vilela sighed. “Mateo, I care for the Japanese people as much as you do. Had I not, I wouldn’t have granted permission for you to establish this ministry and preach God’s Word to the common classes. But you have exceeded your mandate. You have no authority to investigate crimes or bring killers to justice. Leave those matters to the authorities.”

  “The authorities do not care—”

  Father Vilela held up a hand for silence. “For three years, I have supported you, defended you when samurai took offense. I allowed you to hire a translator and to finance your work through the efforts of Luis Álvares, in order to give you more freedom than the Church could formally approve.”

  The senior Jesuit folded his hands and laid them in his lap. “Now, the situation has changed. I do not have the ear, or the friendship, of Shogun Matsunaga. He keeps his distance in ways that make me fear for the Church’s future in Japan. We must not anger him, or the magistrate, at this crucial time.”

  “Are you ordering me to turn a blind eye to injustice?” Father Mateo’s voice revealed frustration.

  “I am warning you,” Father Vilela said, “that I cannot protect you any longer.”

  “Protect me?” Father Mateo repeated.

  “I have reason to believe that Matsunaga Hisahide intends to expel the Jesuits from Kyoto,” Father Vilela said, “and that he will do it before the Miyoshi reach the city.”

  “You know about the Miyoshi army?” Father Mateo asked.

  “The samurai speak of little else. Most of my congregants pray for the chance to distinguish themselves in the coming war.” Father Vilela smiled sadly. “I tell them, time and again, that those who live by the sword will die by its blade. . . .”

  “Yet samurai aspire to such an end,” Father Mateo finished.

  “Indeed. But that is not my mission here today. You will promise not to involve yourself in any more investigations.” Father Vilela looked at Hiro. “Both of you will make this promise.”

  Hiro raised his chin and didn’t answer. He rarely appreciated orders, especially from men without authority to command him.

  Father Vilela frowned. “If you refuse to give your word, then I must ask you both to leave Kyoto.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Hiro could hardly believe his luck.

  “Leave the city?” Father Mateo protested. “But my work is here.”

  “Not if Shogun Matsunaga bans our order from Kyoto,” Father Vilela said, “and if he does, our lives will be in danger. I am sending the younger acolytes into the countryside to keep them safe. I think it wise for you to leave as well.”

  “Matsunaga Hisahide cannot ban us from Kyoto,” Father Mateo argued. “The emperor granted us permission to live and work in the capital, and he outranks the shogun.”

  “In name, perhaps, but not in power,” Father Vilela said. “My assistant, Izumo, received a warning that Hisahide does not want us in the city. He will not tell me how he knows this, but I trust his sources and his instincts.”

  Hiro wondered which of the shinobi clans had warned Izumo, and whether the trusted acolyte was also a shinobi in disguise. If so, he must belong to the Koga ryu.

  Father Vilela turned to Hiro. “You do not come from Kyoto.”

  Hiro nodded agreement. “My family lives in Iga.”

  Relief washed over the senior Jesuit’s face. “The shogun does not control that province. Would you take Mateo for a visit to your family home?”

  Hiro paused in surprise before answering. “This is a most unusual request.”

  But a welcome one.

  “Pardon me,” Father Mateo said, “but I would prefer to remain in Kyoto. I will not abandon my congregation.”

  Father Vilela turned back to the hearth. “Do not become a fool for the sake of pride.”

  “This has nothing to do with pride.” Father Mateo stood up. “I will not abandon my work because a warlord threatens exile. I will wait until I have no other choice.”

  “Then wait no longer.” Father Vilela rose to his feet, as calm as a pond on a summer evening. “Under the authority vested in me by the Holy Catholic Church, I hereby order you to leave Kyoto no later than sunset tomorrow. You may not return until I rescind this order.”

  “Tomorrow?” Father Mateo sounded shocked. “Impossible. I need more time—”

  “You have until the barricades close tomorrow evening.” Father Vilela brushed an invisible speck of dirt from his kimono. “Luis Álvares may remain to watch the house and run his business. If he chooses to leave along with you, the Church will care for the property in your absence. I will also arrange for a Japanese priest to lead your congregation. Prepare a list of your gathering times and Masses. Leave it here for him when you go.”

  Father Mateo looked horrified, but Hiro felt relieved. He only hoped Luis’s replacement didn’t reach the city ahead of schedule.

  Father Vilela bowed. “I am sorry it came to this. Goodbye, Mateo. Dominus vobiscum.”

  Father Mateo bowed in return. “And may the Lord be with thy spirit also.”

  Father Vilela nodded and left the house.

  “How can I leave my congregation?” Father Mateo turned to Hiro. “Not to mention abandoning the search for Emi’s killer?”

  “Can you refuse to obey him?” Hiro asked.

  “Not without risking expulsion from the Church,” Father Mateo said.

  “Then it appears you have no choice.” Hiro shrugged. “As for finding the murderer, we have today and tomorrow.”

  Father Mateo frowned. “Last night you’d given up. What changed?”

  “A man who takes advantage of blood deserves to have it spilled,” Hiro said.

  “Satsu?” Father Mateo asked. “Did you solve the murder in the night?”

  “Not exactly, but I strongly suspect there’s more to this killing than just a girl who wanted her independence. Also, I don’t understand what Satsu hoped to gain from our investigation or what changed to make him call it off last night.”

  “Perhaps he really is worried about your safety,” Father Mateo suggested. “He is your uncle, after all.”

  Hiro shook his head. “That’s not our way. Do you have the coin?”

  Father Mateo looked surprised. “You want to return it?”

  “I want you to bring it,” Hiro said, “but don’t admit to having it with you, unless I tell you otherwise.”

  It took well over an hour for Hiro and Father Mateo to reach Fushimi Inari Shrine, which lay southeast of the city proper and east of the Kamo River.

  Hiro approached a bald-headed monk at the enormous torii gate that marked the entrance to the shrine. “Good morning. Can you direct us to the stage where the nō rehearsal is taking place?”

  “With respect, you’ve come too early,” the monk replied. “The performance won’t take place until tomorrow.”

  “Forgive me.” Hiro bowed. “We did not come to watch the show. The foreign priest is curious. He hoped to see the actors in rehearsal.”

  “Ah.” The monk nodded. “Forgive my error. They finished setting up the stage this morning. The actors should be starting practice now.” He turned and gestured to the east. “If you follow the path in that direction, around the base of the mountain, you will find them. Or, if you prefer, I can escort you.”

  “Thank you,” Hiro said, “but we can find the way ourselves.”

  The monk bowed. “Of course, s
ir. As you wish.”

  Hiro and Father Mateo walked along the tree-lined path. The golden beams of the rising sun filtered through the branches as the scents of dust and pine perfumed the air.

  Father Mateo looked at the pine trees towering overhead. “What a lovely place.”

  “Inari is one of the most important kami,” Hiro said.

  “The god of foxes, unless I’m mistaken,” Father Mateo replied.

  “As well as rice, and tea, and sake,” Hiro added, “and other things.”

  “I wonder why the Yutoku-za is performing here, instead of in a private home.”

  “Most likely, the samurai wanted to garner favor with Inari Ōkami as well as friends and family,” Hiro said. “That, or he lacked the space to host a performance in his home.”

  A wailing chant echoed through the trees from somewhere up ahead.

  “I am a courtier in the service of Emperor Shujaku. You must know that the prime minister’s daughter, Princess Aoi, has fallen sick . . .”

  Father Mateo stopped walking. “What is that?”

  Hiro smiled. “Rehearsal has begun.”

  They continued along the path until they emerged from the trees and entered a clearing large enough to hold at least a hundred people. On the opposite side of the clearing, a trio of drummers knelt across the back of a large, raised platform, which served as a stage. A line of men in matching blue kimono knelt along the right side of the stage, facing inward toward the platform’s center. A masked performer wearing a white outer tunic knelt in front of the group. His face tilted downward, toward a folded gold kimono that lay near the front and center of the stage.

  Yuji stood near the back of the stage, wearing a patterned surcoat over white hakama. He held a fan and wore a courtier’s tall, cylindrical hat atop his head.

  “Stop here,” Hiro murmured. “We don’t want to interrupt.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Yuji continued his warbling chant as Hiro and Father Mateo watched.

  “What play is this?” Father Mateo whispered. “Do you know it?”

  Hiro nodded, still watching the stage. “Aoi no Ue. It’s based on The Tale of Genji. Do you know the work?”

  Father Mateo shook his head.

  Hiro glanced at the priest and whispered, “Yuji is playing the role of the courtier, who narrates this part of the play. The actor in the mask is playing the role of Priestess Teruhi, who has come to exorcise the demon plaguing Lady Aoi.”

  “Where’s Lady Aoi?” Father Mateo whispered back.

  Hiro nodded toward the stage. “The kosode.”

  “You mean, the kimono with no one in it?” Father Mateo asked.

  Hiro nodded again and whispered, “Yes. It represents Lady Aoi.”

  “Will Haru play that role in the performance?”

  Hiro looked at the priest. “Lady Aoi is the kimono.”

  “Yes—but who wears it?”

  Hiro shook his head. “No one. It just lies there.”

  “How is that Lady Aoi?”

  “A painting of a mountain is not a mountain,” Hiro said, “and yet you recognize the image as a mountain. In similar fashion, that kimono represents the Lady Aoi.”

  “So, no one wears it.”

  “Watch for a moment,” Hiro whispered. “You will understand.”

  Yuji finished his opening speech, and the actor playing the priestess began to chant.

  “Pure above; pure below. Pure without; pure within. Pure in eyes, ears, heart, and tongue . . .”

  “I don’t understand what he’s saying,” Father Mateo whispered.

  Hiro continued watching the stage. “It’s a chant of exorcism, calling the demon out of Lady Aoi.”

  “So it’s a possessed kimono . . .”

  Hiro shot the priest a disapproving look but did not reply.

  The drummers beat a measured cadence as another actor stepped up onto a narrow walkway that connected to the left side of the stage. He wore a red kimono and an obi adorned with a scaled pattern, along with a mask that looked like a woman with golden teeth and eyes. He carried a fan and moved with a shuffling walk that barely raised his feet.

  As the actor moved along the walkway toward the stage, he chanted, “In the Three Coaches that travel the Road of Law, I drove out of the Burning House. Is there no way to banish the broken coach that stands at Yugao’s door?

  “This world is like the wheels of the little ox-cart; round and round they go, till vengeance comes . . .”

  “What’s happening?” Father Mateo asked. “I’m lost.”

  Hiro nodded toward the actor on the walkway. “That is Botan.”

  “I recognized his voice,” the Jesuit said, “but the chant doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does, if you know the story. He’s playing the shite’s role—the lead—the angry ghost of Lady Rokujo.”

  “Let me guess . . . she’s the one possessing Lady Aoi.”

  Hiro nodded.

  “Will the words make sense later on?” the Jesuit asked.

  Hiro sighed. “You have to know the story and how it’s told. Lady Rokujo’s vengeful spirit is sad because Genji—her lover—shunned her in favor of his wife, the Lady Aoi. Lady Rokujo’s jealousy became an evil spirit that drove out Lady Aoi’s soul, resulting in this illness.”

  “The one the kimono is suffering.”

  “I don’t have to continue,” Hiro said.

  “I apologize. Please, go on.”

  “In the second half of the play, the family calls upon a priest, who prays to restore the soul of Lady Aoi,” Hiro said. “At that point, Lady Rokujo’s jealousy takes on the form of a female ogre—the actor uses a different mask—and the ogre attacks both Lady Aoi and the priest, who then invokes the kami to ward off the ogre. In the end, the priest is victorious, and Lady Rokujo’s spirit becomes a Buddha.”

  Botan had reached the stage. He stood at the back, beside the drummers, as the actor playing the priestess began to chant.

  “I see a fine lady I do not know, riding in a broken coach. She clutches the shafts, from which the oxen have been unyoked.

  “In the second coach sits a lady who appears to be a new wife. The lady in the broken coach is weeping, weeping. A piteous sight.”

  “This is the part where they identify the demon as Lady Rokujo,” Hiro said.

  “What’s all the talk of coaches?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Lady Rokujo intends to confront Genji at a festival, but her carriage is pushed aside and broken. The wife in the unbroken carriage is Lady Aoi.”

  “How does the audience know all this?” Father Mateo asked. “It’s quite confusing.”

  Before Hiro could answer, Haru approached. When he reached a respectful distance, he stopped and bowed.

  “Good morning,” Haru said quietly. “My father told me to watch for you and receive the coin on his behalf. He offers his apologies, but he’s busy on the stage.”

  “Is your father playing the priestess?” Father Mateo asked.

  Haru grinned, as if he found the comment funny. “No, sir. Father sings in the chorus.”

  On the stage, Botan was chanting, “Long ago I lived in the world. I sat at flower-feasts among the clouds . . .”

  “Should I give him the coin?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese.

  “No,” Hiro said in the Jesuit’s language. “Let me handle the conversation. As it happens, I’d hoped to speak with the boy.”

  He turned to Haru. “Is there a noodle cart in the area?”

  Haru’s forehead wrinkled. “Father said you were coming to leave a coin.”

  “But I am hungry.” Hiro knew the child could not refuse a samurai’s request. It wasn’t an original trick, but it was an effective one—and he was hungry.

  Hiro glanced at Father Mateo. The Jesuit didn’t like udon, but Hiro needed an excuse to speak with the child away from the rehearsal.

  Haru thought for a moment. “I saw a vendor just outside the shrine.”

  “Show us,” Hiro s
aid, “and I will buy you a bowl as well.”

  “I’ve never eaten noodles with a samurai.” Haru led them back along the path. “Or a foreigner.”

  Haru’s memory proved correct. The vendor’s cart sat just outside the shrine. Hiro ordered three bowls of noodles and watched the vendor ladle dark, rich broth across the piles of steaming udon. After adding a sprinkling of scallions and several slices of fish that bore the lines of a charcoal grill, the vendor handed the bowls to Hiro and the others one by one.

  The savory scents of noodles, fish, and salty sauce set Hiro’s mouth to watering. He led the others several steps away to eat their meal.

  Haru devoured his udon with obvious relish. He finished his bowl and slurped the broth from the bottom in startling time.

  For a moment, Hiro felt sorry he couldn’t acknowledge they were cousins.

  “Thank you for the noodles.” Haru bowed. “They’re my favorite, and I don’t get them often.”

  “Your father mentioned the troupe had fallen on difficult times of late,” Hiro said.

  Haru nodded. “Most of the samurai cancelled performances after the shogun died. We hope, when the emperor names a new shogun, the work will come back as well.”

  “How does your troupe earn money when samurai do not have performances?” Hiro asked.

  “I don’t know.” Haru shrugged. “We were lucky Hosokawa-sama hired us for this one.”

  CHAPTER 39

  “The Hosokawa clan arranged this performance?” Hiro asked.

  The words had no sooner left his lips when a voice shouted, “You! What are you doing here?”

  Yoriki Hosokawa hurried toward them, scowling.

  “What if he recognizes the boy?” Father Mateo whispered in Portuguese as the yoriki approached.

  “He won’t,” Hiro replied in kind. “Samurai rarely notice commoners’ children, and the boy has not appeared on the stage.”

  As he finished speaking, he realized that Haru had disappeared.