Betrayal at Iga Read online

  Worse, it seated him next to Neko. The scent of her jasmine hair oil sent a rush of heat through his body, which once again reacted to her against his will.

  She gave him a sideways glance, but he looked away.

  “Thank you for accepting my invitation,” Hanzō told Yajiro. “Treaty negotiations will begin tomorrow morning—”

  “Koga has not agreed to a treaty,” Fuyu interrupted. “We know you only invited us here to steal our independence. Do not think we will fall for your verbal tricks!”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Fuyu, be silent!” Yajiro rested his hand on his stomach. “Do not make me apologize for your behavior at a welcome feast.”

  The door slid open, revealing Hiro’s grandmother, along with a slender teenage girl who Hiro didn’t recognize. The girl wore dark blue trousers and a tunic, like a servant—but there were no servants in Iga village. More likely, the girl was training to become a female assassin—a kunoichi.

  Hiro wondered what prompted Akiko to take a new apprentice, since his grandmother had retired from teaching several years before.

  The women carried lacquered trays with plates of sashimi beautifully garnished with thin-cut vegetables in the shape of flowers. Each plate’s garnish differed from the others, to better display the creator’s skills.

  The women moved along the sides of the table on their knees, serving the guests in order of rank. Akiko served the Koga emissaries, starting with Yajiro, while her apprentice set plates in front of Hanzō and the Iga side of the table. The girl focused on her tray with intensity, never raising her face or looking directly at anyone in the room. When placing a plate in front of Father Mateo, she started visibly, almost dropping the dish at the sight of his pale, scarred hands. Fortunately, she recovered the plate without spilling and set it carefully before the priest. She bowed her forehead to the floor, as if in silent apology, before following Akiko from the room.

  Hanzō gestured to the plates. “Please enjoy a selection of Iga’s delicacies.”

  Father Mateo dipped his head in momentary, silent prayer and raised his chopsticks to his plate. “This looks delicious.”

  Koga Toshi nodded agreement. “Thank you, Hattori-sama, for your generous welcome.”

  The comment drew a disapproving glance from Fuyu.

  Yajiro sampled a piece of the garnish. Hiro followed suit. The vegetables tasted crisp but tender, gently steamed and lightly pickled to enhance their flavors.

  “Forgive my ignorance,” Father Mateo said to Yajiro, “but does your family lead the Koga ryu?”

  Before Yajiro could answer, Fuyu set his chopsticks down and hissed, “No single clan controls the Koga ryu.”

  “The foreigner meant no harm.” Hiro’s tone held both a warning and a promise. He would not start a fight at the feast, but would gladly teach the Koga shinobi a lesson in manners, should it be required. He glanced at Yajiro, wondering why the delegation’s leader did not intervene.

  “Foreigners are like children,” Neko added. “They are curious, but mean no insult.”

  Fuyu scowled at the Iga woman. “Even a child knows when to hold his tongue.”

  “Koga is the name of our home province,” Yajiro told Father Mateo, ignoring the others’ hostility, “as well as that of my—our—family. The clans who compose the Koga ryu govern the province, and the ryu, by cooperative efforts.”

  “Thank you,” Father Mateo replied in formal Japanese, “and I humbly apologize. I did not intend my question to cause offense.”

  “Then you should not have asked it,” Fuyu said.

  In the awkward silence that followed, Hiro focused on his plate. The sashimi tasted cold and pure, like the river from which it came, and the vegetables provided a perfect palate-cleansing complement.

  He noted that Kiku and Toshi enjoyed the food without hesitation, but Fuyu sniffed each bite and inspected it carefully before raising it to his mouth. Yajiro ate slowly, though not unwillingly—more as if something had ruined his appetite.

  The door slid open. Akiko entered on her knees, balancing a tray that held a set of covered lacquer bowls. Steam escaped around the lids, and Hiro caught the faint but unmistakable scent of fish in savory broth.

  His stomach rumbled. Despite its lack of noodles, the dish was one of his personal favorites.

  The middle-aged woman who followed Akiko into the room was not an apprentice. She wore a brown kimono embroidered with a pattern of green and silver bamboo stalks. The undersides of the delicate leaves were an almost perfect match to the silver strands in the woman’s hair. She kept her face turned toward the floor, but Hiro knew her instantly.

  Like all sons, he’d recognize his mother anywhere.

  “Koga-san, may I present my aunt, Hattori Midori.” Hanzō nodded at the woman in the bamboo-patterned kimono. “She prepared the dishes we enjoy tonight.”

  Hiro’s mother set her tray on the floor and executed a lovely bow. “Welcome to Iga. Please enjoy our local specialties.”

  This time Akiko served the Iga side of the table, while Midori served the visitors, placing new dishes on the table and removing the empty sashimi plates. When finished, they bowed and left the room.

  Hanzō raised the lid from his bowl, and everyone else did also.

  Hiro inhaled the fragrant steam, which carried a briny tang along with the slightly musty scent of the mushrooms that floated atop the pale broth. A piece of fish sat half submerged in soup, its flesh pale white beneath a paper-thin layer of crispy skin.

  They ate in silence. When Hiro raised his bowl to drain the last of the savory broth from the bottom, he looked around the table, noting that everyone but Fuyu had finished the dish.

  Yajiro looked down at his empty bowl, made an awkward noise—half burp, half swallow—and vomited his meal across the table.

  Chunks of fish and bits of vegetables showered the tabletop and spattered Father Mateo’s face and kimono. The acrid odor of bile filled the air.

  Fuyu leaned back to avoid the spray as Hanzō jumped to his feet with a cry of disgust and alarm. Yajiro retched and sent a second pungent wave across the table. He clutched his stomach, leaning forward, his face a mask of pain.

  A dagger appeared in Fuyu’s hand. Hiro reached for the shuriken in his sleeve, but stopped as he realized Neko was already on her feet and brandishing a tanto of her own.

  Kiku pushed Toshi and the bald shinobi aside and crawled to Yajiro. “Toshi, get my box from the guesthouse, now!”

  Toshi glanced at Fuyu as if for instructions.

  “Now!” Kiku commanded.

  Toshi started for the door.

  Father Mateo slowly wiped his face with his hand, and lowered the hand to his kimono, all the while staring in horror at Yajiro, who continued to retch and heave.

  Bile dripped from the emissary’s mouth. Strings of saliva dangled from his lips. He trembled, teeth chattering as if from cold, although the room was warm.

  Hiro doubted Toshi would return in time, assuming he even remembered the way to the guesthouse.

  Yajiro’s shaking intensified. Kiku helped him lie on the floor and rolled him onto his side mere moments before his body began to seize. His eyes rolled backward into his head, and his back went rigid. He bucked and shuddered. Foam appeared at the corners of his mouth.

  As the seizure passed, Yajiro’s lips turned blue. His breathing faltered. He blinked, and his eyes flew wide as he clutched his throat and gasped for air. He tried to speak, but Kiku laid a hand on his chest.

  “Lie still.” She sounded calm, but Hiro saw the terror in her eyes. “Relax and breathe. Toshi has gone for my medicine box.”

  Yajiro tried to nod. He struggled to breathe and attempted to roll over.

  “Keep him sideways,” Hiro warned. “He’ll asphyxiate on his back.”

  Kiku looked over her shoulder, as if surprised.

  “He’s choking.” Hanzō gestured. “Sit him up. We’ll pound his back and free the food.”

  “He isn’t choking,�
� Kiku said.

  “He’s poisoned.” Hiro and Kiku spoke together—earning him yet another startled look from the kneeling woman.

  Yajiro gagged and moaned as bile trickled from his lips. He clutched his chest again and flopped on the floor like a fish on a riverbank.

  A second, stronger seizure arched his back. His body went rigid, and his arms flew away from his chest as if no longer under his control.

  Kiku grabbed a pair of chopsticks off the table and forced them between Yajiro’s teeth. Fortunately, he didn’t bite through them, but as the seizure ended his jaw fell slack and the chopsticks fell to the floor.

  Yajiro’s breath escaped with a sigh. His eyes went dark and still as the spirit left them.

  “No!” Kiku shook her head, and then his body. “Breathe! You have to breathe!”

  Father Mateo made the sign of the cross and bowed his head in prayer.

  “What is he doing?” Fuyu pointed at the priest. “Stop that!”

  “He is praying,” Hiro said. “It cannot hurt Yajiro-san.”

  Nothing anyone did could hurt Yajiro any longer.

  “No. . . .” Kiku’s voice held a strangled plea. Her eyes grew red, though she struggled to control her emotions. She pounded a fist on Yajiro’s chest. “You have to breathe!”

  “With respect,” Hanzō said gently, “you cannot help him. He is dead.”

  “Dead?” Venom dripped from Fuyu’s voice. “He is not merely dead. You murdered him.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Toshi returned, clutching a wooden medicine box. He paused on the threshold, struck by the scene, and hurried to Kiku without a word.

  Moments later, Akiko appeared in the doorway. She stopped short at the sight of the dead man and the table in disarray, and then withdrew.

  Toshi knelt and extended the box to Kiku. “I brought . . .” He trailed off at the sight of Yajiro’s body.

  Hiro leaned toward Father Mateo. “We should go.”

  “Stay where you are!” Fuyu raised his dagger. “No one leaves this room.”

  “You were right, Fuyu-san.” Toshi looked up, face stricken. “It was a trap, and now he’s dead!”

  “Nonsense.” Hanzō sounded unusually relaxed for a man whose guest had just collapsed and died at the dinner table. “It wasn’t a trap, and it wasn’t poison. The way Yajiro-san clutched his chest, it’s clear his heart gave out.”

  Hiro looked at the vomit strewn across the table. Half-chewed vegetables, bits of fish, and other slimy fragments floated in a pool of soup and bile. He saw no poisonous roots or leaves, but, even so, he disagreed with Hanzō.

  “Yajiro’s heart was healthy,” Kiku said. “He showed no weakness on the journey.”

  Fuyu gave the woman a look that Hiro couldn’t read, but the glare she returned required no translation.

  “Lack of an obvious weakness tells us nothing,” Neko countered, “as shinobi don’t complain of minor pains.”

  Kiku leaned over the table and inspected the vomit, nudging the chunks around with the end of a chopstick. She poked at a slimy leaf. “What did your people use to prepare the garnishes?”

  “Vegetables and edible flowers,” Hanzō replied, still calm. “My relatives prepared this feast. I assure you, you will find no poison here.”

  Hiro noted the response did not exactly deny the use of poison.

  “Koga-san did not look well,” Father Mateo said. “I saw him sweating.”

  Hiro gave the priest a warning look.

  “You murdered him!” Fuyu shook his knife at Hanzō. “I demand immediate vengeance!”

  Neko leaped across the table and pressed her dagger to Fuyu’s throat. “No one threatens Hattori Hanzō! As he said, there was no murder. Clearly, your companion’s heart was weak.”

  “I will tell you only once: withdraw that blade.” Kiku had risen up on her knees, and the point of her eight-inch tanto rested against the other woman’s ribs.

  Neko narrowed her eyes as if evaluating Kiku’s fortitude.

  At that unfortunate moment, Toshi coughed.

  Neko jumped away from Fuyu, slashing her dagger down toward Kiku’s neck. The Koga woman somersaulted backward, barely avoiding the lethal strike.

  Hiro jumped over the table, knocking Neko to the floor so she could not assassinate the Koga woman. He felt the rush of air as Fuyu’s dagger passed above his head.

  As he landed on top of Neko, Hiro pinned her hands to the tatami and rested a knee atop her chest. She thrashed like a viper. Behind them, angry shouting filled the room.

  Expecting a blade in his back at any moment, Hiro tried to strip the knife from Neko’s hand. Suddenly, she shifted her weight and pitched her hips toward the ceiling. He counterbalanced—awkwardly, and barely fast enough to hold her down.

  “Lie still,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

  She smiled. “That’s not what you said the last time.”

  Against his will, his mind returned to that night—and the sight of Neko, naked, covered in his blood.

  She bucked again and shoved him hard, rolling out from beneath him as he fell, off-balance, to his side.

  Neko rose to her hands and knees, still in possession of her knife.

  “Enough!” Hanzō’s furious shout rang out above the chorus of angry voices.

  Hiro stood up cautiously and backed against the wall.

  The Iga commander glared at Neko, face flushed angry red. “You shame yourself, and the Iga ryu, fighting on the floor like a wild beast!” He turned to Hiro. “You as well!”

  Neko smoothed the wrinkles from her kimono and executed a graceful bow. “I sincerely apologize, Hattori-sama, for obeying your order to protect your life.”

  Hiro bowed as well. “Thank you for a most unusual evening. Regrettably, Father Mateo and I must go.”

  Fuyu blocked the exit. “I told you, no one leaves until Yajiro is avenged.”

  “How, precisely, do you plan to avenge him?” Hiro asked. “Legitimate vengeance would require proof of the killer’s identity.”

  Fuyu pointed his knife at Hanzō. “He poisoned Yajiro!”

  Hanzō sighed. “I am not in the habit of murdering guests with whom I wish to negotiate an alliance.”

  “Even so,” Kiku intervened, “he was your guest, which means, by law and custom, you are responsible for his death.”

  “Whoever killed him is responsible, not me.” Hanzō made a dismissive gesture. “Put away your weapons. I want no violence—”

  “You began the violence!” Fuyu yelled.

  “With respect, and without intending offense,” Toshi said softly, looking to the others as if for support, “we must insist on justice.”

  Neko made a derisive noise. “You’d die before your finger touched the hem of Hanzō’s robe. But, if you insist, feel free to try.”

  “Neko!” Hanzō snapped. “The Koga emissaries have the right to ask for justice.”

  “This has nothing to do with justice,” Fuyu said. “Yajiro’s murder is an act of war.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “This was not an act of war.” Hanzō’s voice now held a warning. “We do not know what happened here, and though I do respect your rights, no man threatens me in my own home.”

  Hiro noted with relief that Father Mateo had backed away from the table, but everyone in the narrow room remained within the reach of several blades.

  “If you will listen,” Hanzō added, “I would like to offer a solution.”

  “Your death is the only solution acceptable to me,” Fuyu replied.

  Hanzō smiled. “Then I fear you will be disappointed.”

  “Perhaps we could hear his proposal?” Toshi offered.

  Fuyu glared at the youth, but Kiku nodded. “I agree. Listening does no further harm.”

  “You have no right—” Fuyu began.

  “I have as much as you have, if not more.” Kiku cut him off with force. “I have decided. Let him speak.”

  Fuyu and Toshi blinked, mouths open, but said nothin
g more.

  “My cousin”—Hanzō gestured to Hiro—“specializes in the investigation of suspicious deaths. With the help of the foreign priest, he has captured a number of murderers in Kyoto.”

  “Leave us out of this,” Hiro began, but Fuyu’s derisive laughter drowned his words.

  “You expect us to trust an Iga assassin to find the truth?” the bald shinobi scoffed.

  “With great respect, I must agree—it is impossible,” Toshi said.

  Kiku nodded. “An Iga agent cannot conduct an impartial investigation.”

  “Let the foreigner lead the investigation,” Hanzō proposed. “He has no loyalty to Iga.”

  Hiro opened his mouth to object, but Kiku spoke before he could.

  “I would like to discuss the matter with my fellow emissaries—privately.”

  “Of course.” Hanzō started across the room. “We will return when you have reached consensus.”

  Fuyu stepped away from the door. “Take the foreigner with you.”

  Hiro waited for Hanzō and Father Mateo to leave, and then backed slowly through the door behind them.

  “The matter is far too risky, and the politics too complex, for him to investigate.” Hiro gestured to Father Mateo, who knelt to his right in Hanzō’s private study. The Jesuit’s kimono had large damp patches on the front from Akiko’s efforts to clean the vomit after they left the feasting room.

  Returning his gaze to Hanzō, Hiro continued, “I will search for the killer, if you require it, but the priest will not.”

  He had no intention of risking the Jesuit’s life to solve Yajiro’s murder—no matter what Hattori Hanzō said.

  “I have given my word, and I will not break it.” Hanzō knelt across from the priest, with his back to a decorative alcove. The scroll that hung in the tokonoma showed a winter scene of snowy mountains, rendered with expert skill.

  “If you didn’t want the priest involved, you should not have brought him to Iga.” Neko stood to Hanzō’s left, on guard and alert even though the four of them were the only ones in the room.

  Hiro drew a long, slow breath before responding. “Father Mateo came to Iga at Hanzō’s invitation, not my choice, and the ryu has a contractual obligation to keep him safe.” He shifted his attention to Hanzō. “Surely you would not want the man who pays to ensure the foreigner’s safety learning that you put his life in danger?”