Ghost of the Bamboo Road Page 2

  Hiro found it curious that the brazier in this room was lit, despite Hanako’s claim that she expected no visitors. However, he supposed an intelligent businesswoman would always have at least one room prepared for unexpected guests.

  Despite the unpleasant decor, Hiro followed Noboru and Father Mateo across the threshold. He knelt on a cushion beside the priest, across the table from the innkeeper.

  “Please make yourselves comfortable,” Hanako said. “I will send Masako-san to entertain you while I prepare your meal.” She bowed and closed the door.

  “Thank you for arranging this.” Father Mateo nodded to Noboru. “Although I feel I must apologize for the inconvenience. It appears this evening has an important meaning, of which we are not aware.”

  “Do not concern yourselves.” The innkeeper made a dismissive gesture. “Hanako serves excellent food. I appreciate the opportunity to enjoy a meal here.”

  He gestured to the painted walls. “Quite lovely, don’t you think?”

  Hiro raised an eyebrow. “I have never seen their equal.”

  He ignored the Jesuit’s sidelong glance.

  A silent rapping came from the other side of the painted shoji. Moments later, the door slid open, revealing a slender, kneeling girl of about eighteen. She wore her hair in a simple arrangement accented by a pair of silver kanzashi adorned with dangling strings of tiny scarlet beads. An embroidered scene of snowy mountains flowed down the side of her dark kimono.

  Hiro’s hope of delivering Hattori Hanzo’s message melted away like frost on a sunny morning. The girl before him was not Emiri either.

  “Good evening.” The entertainer bowed her forehead to the floor. “My name is Masako. May I have the honor of playing for you this evening?” As she straightened, she gestured to a shamisen on the floor beside her knees.

  “Thank you, Masako-san.” Noboru gestured for the girl to enter.

  She crossed the threshold on her knees, lifted her instrument into the room, and closed the door. As she joined them beside the table and arranged her robes, Hiro noted that Masako moved with unusual, fluid grace.

  She raised her instrument, removed a plectrum from her sleeve and began to play.

  Shivering notes rose from the strings and filled the room with a haunting melody that conjured mental images of barren landscapes filled with icy trees. A shudder ran down Hiro’s back as the music, skillfully played, grew even darker. The shamisen took years to learn, and even then most students played it badly. In Masako’s hands, it sang like an extension of her soul.

  When the song came to its quavering end, Noboru’s eyes were full of tears.

  Father Mateo looked down at his own scarred hands as if lost in thought.

  Masako began another song, even lonelier and more haunting than the first.

  As the songs continued, Hiro lost himself in the music and the memories it evoked of people he had loved, and lost, and would never see again.

  Eventually Masako laid the instrument in her lap, removed the plectrum from the strings, and raised her face, which held no sign of an entertainer’s usual desire for praise.

  If anything, the girl seemed almost frightened.

  “Thank you, Masako-san.” Noboru wiped his eyes and looked at the other men. “Forgive my emotions. Today is the one-year anniversary of my sister’s death.”

  Masako’s hands flew to her mouth.

  “Thank you for the entertainment, Masako-san,” the innkeeper said. “Under the circumstances, perhaps I should entertain my guests with conversation instead of music, for a while at least. I believe Hanako-san could use your assistance with the meal.”

  The girl bowed politely, collected her instrument, and left the room with ill-disguised relief on her frightened face.

  After the shoji slid closed behind her, Noboru continued, “Forgive my rudeness in sending away our entertainment, but I believe I owe you an explanation.”

  Chapter 4

  “You have no need to apologize, or to explain,” Father Mateo said. “We deeply regret imposing on your family tonight.”

  “Guests are never an imposition.” The innkeeper gave an uneasy laugh. “Especially in winter. My mother is preparing an offering for my sister’s grave, so I would have eaten here this evening anyway.”

  Hiro doubted that, but dismissed the harmless lie.

  “We will leave early tomorrow morning,” Father Mateo said, “so you can take the offering to your sister’s grave in peace.”

  “There is no need,” Noboru replied. “My mother will take the offering tonight. In fact, she has probably gone and returned already.”

  “In the dark?” the Jesuit asked.

  Hiro found that curious, too. Most people feared the dead too much to enter a burial ground at night.

  Noboru looked at the painted wall behind them. “She wanted to prepare a special evening meal, as an offering, on the anniversary of my sister’s death.” In a voice too forced to be truly casual, he added, “A foolish woman’s notion, but a harmless one.”

  “Is it safe for your mother to go alone at night?” Father Mateo indicated Hiro. “My scribe believed he saw someone in the trees as we entered the village.”

  “A man in white?” When Hiro nodded, Noboru said, “Zentaro-san, the yamabushi who lives on the mountain. He comes to the village to warn us about showing proper respect for the mountain deities. He is harmless, if not completely sane.”

  A quiet knock at the door announced Masako’s return. The young entertainer carried a wooden tray with plates of fresh sashimi, a teapot, a saké flask, and cups for both saké and tea.

  “Hanako-san did not know what you like to drink, so she prepared both tea and saké.” Masako set the tray on the table and served the sashimi plates.

  “You do not need to stay and serve,” Noboru said. “But please return and play the shamisen during the final course.” He turned to the others. “At least, if my guests have no objection?”

  “We would enjoy the music,” Father Mateo said.

  When Hiro nodded his assent, Masako bowed and left the room.

  “I hope you do not mind me sending her away.” The innkeeper poured a cup of tea for Father Mateo and filled a saké cup for Hiro. “I enjoy her music, but do not feel like idle talk with a girl her age tonight.”

  Hiro did not mind. He disliked idle chatter every evening—and at other times as well.

  The shinobi eyed the Jesuit’s tea with silent envy as Father Mateo bowed his head in silent prayer. Hiro’s ronin disguise required him to feign a preference for astringent saké, but in truth he preferred the fragrant warmth of tea.

  Some time later, Hanako returned to present a steaming bowl of soba noodles, fish, and mountain vegetables in savory broth. Masako had clearly conveyed Noboru’s request for privacy because the woman served the dishes, bowed, and left the room without a word.

  Unexpectedly, the Jesuit refrained from asking his usual litany of questions about the innkeeper’s village, life, and family. Instead, the three men ate in a silence that, though slightly strange, did not interfere with Hiro’s enjoyment of the delicious food.

  Eventually Hanako returned to replace the empty plates with bowls of rice and miso soup to complete the meal. As the teahouse owner departed, Masako entered the room with her shamisen.

  The young entertainer knelt beside the table, bent over the instrument, and plucked the strings. Once again, her music conveyed a sadness that transcended words.

  Also as before, she paused for only an instant between her songs.

  Hiro preferred light-hearted music—or none at all—but respected Masako’s skill enough to listen without interruption, as he attempted to ignore the mental ghosts her music conjured.

  The girl continued playing long after the final grains of rice and sips of soup had disappeared. Hiro had just begun to consider asking her to stop, despite the rudeness of such a request, when Hanako returned to the room to clear the bowls.

  Noboru stood and bowed. “Thank you fo
r serving us tonight.”

  Masako ended her song and looked up, confused.

  Hanako also seemed perplexed. “You intend to leave so soon?”

  Hiro rose to his feet.

  Father Mateo took the hint and stood up also. “Thank you for a splendid meal.”

  Hiro decided to risk a final question. “This house seems large for two entertainers. Have you more apprentices as well?”

  “No. . .” Hanako hesitated. “Before Yuko-sama—that is, before I inherited the house from her, we had two other girls as well. Regrettably, they are no longer here.”

  Hiro noted her discomfort. Unfortunately, a samurai would have no interest in unknown teahouse girls, making additional questions out of place. Whether or not Emiri was one of the girls Hanako referenced, it appeared the kunoichi had moved on. This happened often enough with the agents who spied for the Iga ryu that Hiro saw no cause for great concern. If Emiri no longer lived in the village, he and Father Mateo could continue on to Edo, and the next names on the list of Iga spies.

  As they left the teahouse, Hiro discovered thick mist obscuring the village, as if clouds had descended like nesting birds to settle on the houses for the night. He followed Noboru and Father Mateo across the road, keeping close to avoid losing sight of them in the fog. He thought of the innkeeper’s mother, carrying offerings to the dead, and felt a wave of relief at the lack of superstition it implied. People who did not fear the dead were few and far between.

  After leaving their shoes in the ryokan’s entry, Noboru led Hiro and Father Mateo into the reception room beyond, and paused before a shoji on the right side of the space. “Our finest guest room.”

  He drew the door open.

  The six-mat room had clean tatami on the floor and a brazier glowed beside the door. Two futons lay in the center of the space, covered with winter quilts that still bore the lines of recent folding. A low wooden table sat against the wall on the far side of the room, beside a solid, wooden shoji that presumably led outside. The wall to the right of the entry featured a built-in cupboard and a small tokonoma that displayed a painting of bamboo in winter snow. Remarkably, the scroll showed even less artistic merit than the paintings in the teahouse.

  “I know our country ryokan cannot compare with city inns,” Noboru said with obvious pride, “but I do hope the room does not offend.”

  He gestured to the sliding door on the far side of the room. “You will want to keep the outer door both closed and barred tonight.”

  Hiro’s traveling bundle, and Father Mateo’s, lay on the floor beside the table, but Hiro saw no sign of the basket or the cat. “Where is Gato?”

  “Most likely with Ana.” Father Mateo sniffled. “And I cannot say that I object. With this cold, I can barely breathe as it is.”

  “If the village has no trouble with bandits,” Hiro asked Noboru, “why insist that we bar the door?”

  “Animals,” the innkeeper answered, a little too quickly. “Nothing to worry about. Merely a precaution. May I bring you tea before you sleep?”

  “No, thank you,” Father Mateo said. “We do not wish to disturb you any longer.”

  Noboru bowed and stepped across the threshold. “Then I hope you will sleep soundly.” As he closed the door, he added, “and undisturbed.”

  Chapter 5

  Father Mateo stared at the door. “Did that seem strange to you?”

  “No more than half a dozen other things.” Hiro opened the cupboard and peered inside. A futon lay on the wooden shelf, along with a carefully folded quilt. He closed the cabinet and gestured to the tokonoma. “Like the local fascination with inferior paintings of bamboo.”

  “It does look a lot like the ones in the teahouse.” Father Mateo paused. “A gift from the founder. . .Yuko-san?”

  “Perhaps.” Hiro studied the scroll more closely. “Although this one shows less skill. More likely, the work of an apprentice.” He crossed the room, raised the pin that secured the exterior shoji, and opened the door enough to look outside.

  The door opened onto a narrow ledge, more a catwalk than a true veranda, that ran the length of the ryokan. The building’s eaves extended past the ledge, preventing rain from leaking beneath the door. Heavy mist obscured the view, though Hiro guessed the faint glow to the west was the lantern beside the teahouse steps on the opposite side of the travel road.

  He closed the door and dropped the wooden pin back into place to secure it.

  Father Mateo switched to Portuguese. “Speaking of apprentices, do you think the woman we’re looking for is one of the two who moved away?”

  “I suspect so,” Hiro replied in kind. “She should have reported the move to the clan, but. . .” Given that he was currently also in breach of protocol and orders, he felt disinclined to criticize Emiri’s choices. “We’ll continue to look for her on the way to Edo.”

  “We could ask about her again before we leave,” the priest suggested.

  “Not without attracting unwanted attention.”

  “Something might have happened to her,” Father Mateo said. “Wouldn’t. . .your people. . .want to know?”

  “Not at the risk of exposing my own identity,” Hiro answered. “Once we get to Edo, I can send a message to my cousin, telling him that we undertook this mission ourselves, in Ringa’s place, and letting him know of Emiri’s disappearance.”

  Father Mateo seemed to accept that answer. “What animals can open an unbarred shoji? Bears?”

  “They can. But normally, if a bear wants in, he’ll simply break the door.”

  “How comforting.” The Jesuit knelt beside the futon farthest from the outer wall.

  Hiro removed his swords from his obi and set them on the tatami beside his futon. “More likely, the problem lies with foxes coming in to hunt for mice.”

  “Mice?” Father Mateo looked around as if expecting hordes of furry rodents to emerge from the walls at any moment. “If this place has mice, I think I might prefer a fox.”

  “Trust me, you wouldn’t.” Hiro lay down. “They stink.”

  Hiro woke to the muffled sound of urgent whispers. The room was dark, but his internal clock suggested dawn.

  Father Mateo’s silent breathing told him the priest still slept, but the voices outside the door made Hiro curious. Silently, he pushed his quilt aside and grasped his wakizashi, leaving the longer katana on the floor.

  Despite their urgency, the voices seemed too loud for people planning an ambush.

  Slipping the scabbard through his obi, he crossed to the door and slid it open just a crack.

  The reception room was empty.

  The voices came from the far end of a hall that led from the reception room to the rear of the ryokan. Hiro slipped out the guest room door and crept across the floor to the hallway entrance.

  Half a dozen shoji opened off the right-hand wall of the narrow passage, their locations and spacing suggesting guest room entrances. At the far end of the hall, an open doorway led to another room, most likely the kitchen. A shadowed male figure stood in the opening with his back to the hall.

  Flickering light and the sound of voices drew Hiro down the hall. He stopped halfway to the kitchen door, not wanting to make the speakers aware of his presence.

  Unlike the living areas, which sat on a raised foundation, the ryokan kitchen sat at ground level, where the earthen floor reduced the risk of fire.

  Noboru stood on the lower of the two short steps that led to the kitchen, holding a lantern. “She isn’t here.”

  The innkeeper’s words held an accusation.

  “It was only a guess.” Kane’s whispered answer came from the kitchen. “I already told you, I went to sleep right after she left last night.”

  “And she told you to remain awake, so you could help clean up when she returned.” Noboru hissed. “When I came home, and found you sleeping, I assumed—”

  “I was tired”—a whine edged Kane’s voice—“and your mother didn’t want my help. She just couldn’t stand the tho
ught of me getting any rest.”

  “It was your duty.” Noboru sounded frightened. “Now she’s missing!”

  “She probably just went to the latrine,” Kane replied.

  “I’m going to find her,” Noboru said. “You start preparing breakfast for our guests.”

  Hiro retreated to the guest room and closed the door.

  “Hiro?” Father Mateo whispered. “Is something wrong?”

  “It sounds as if the innkeeper’s mother did not return from the burial yard last night.”

  Quilts rustled as the priest sat up. “If she is missing, we should help them find her.”

  “We have no time to involve ourselves in other people’s problems,” Hiro said. “We have to warn the Iga agents on the travel road about—”

  “A woman might be dead!”

  “If she did not return last night, she almost certainly is dead, and will remain so—making our help entirely unnecessary.”

  “Hiro!” Father Mateo’s disapproval carried clearly through the darkness.

  Loud banging echoed through the inn as someone pounded on the ryokan’s front door.

  Footsteps hurried past the guest room door as Noboru murmured, “Who could that be? It’s barely dawn.”

  Hiro retrieved his katana from the floor and thrust the long-sword’s scabbard through his obi next to the wakizashi. He moved to the shoji and drew it open just as Noboru opened the inn’s front door.

  A wild-eyed Masako stood on the veranda. Her hair had come partially loose from its braid, and her cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. The rest of her face looked deathly pale.

  She tried to speak, but her trembling lips made only a terrified whimper.

  She drew a deeper breath and tried again. “It has returned, and killed Ishiko-san!”

  Chapter 6

  Masako stumbled across the threshold into the ryokan. “Kane!” Noboru called, “Bring tea at once!”