Betrayal at Iga Page 3

  “Do not test my patience.” Hanzō glared at Hiro. “My guest has just been murdered on the eve of a vital negotiation.”

  “As vital as ensuring the ryu’s financial future?” Hiro asked. “How many clients will hire us if we risk the lives we are paid to protect?”

  “While I appreciate your concern for the clan’s well-being,” Hanzō replied, “you should worry more about the personal consequences of disobedience.”

  “Pardon me,” Father Mateo said. “I am willing to investigate this murder.”

  “You are not.” Hiro faced the priest. “The facts will reveal that Hanzō, or an Iga assassin acting on his orders, killed Yajiro. Revealing that fact to the Koga delegation will cause the very war that Hanzō allegedly asked them here to prevent.”

  Hanzō scowled. “Cousin, once again you go too far.”

  “I merely acknowledge the facts,” Hiro said. “Either you ordered Yajiro’s death, we have a traitor in Iga, or the Koga emissaries executed him themselves. Between those options, which do you find most compelling?”

  Father Mateo raised a finger as if in sudden realization. “The messengers who summoned us here from Kyoto mentioned an assassination attempt on Hattori Hanzō. Could that traitor remain at large in Iga?”

  Hanzō’s scowl deepened. “They should not have revealed that information. However, that assassin is no longer a threat to anyone.”

  “Perhaps another—” Father Mateo began.

  “We have no traitors in Iga,” Hanzō declared. “I order you both to investigate the death of Koga Yajiro.”

  “Gladly,” Father Mateo said. “Do you know with certainty that this delegation truly came from the Koga ryu?”

  The question struck Hiro as unusually insightful. Although he had no intention of investigating the murder, he decided to let the conversation continue a while longer.

  “Last week I received a letter,” Hanzō replied, “signed and sealed by the head of the Koga clan. It named the emissaries and described them in detail. This delegation matches that letter, and has no connection to the plot against my life.”

  “An assumption we will not rely on,” Hiro said. “If we investigate.”

  “You will investigate,” Hanzō repeated, immovable as the mountains that surrounded Iga village. “I remind you that you swore an oath of loyalty to the Iga ryu.”

  “I also made an oath to protect the priest.” He met his cousin’s stare.

  “Pardon me,” Father Mateo said. “Did no one hear me agree to investigate Yajiro’s death?”

  “Thank you.” Hanzō looked triumphant. “That resolves your conflict.”

  Despite his concerns, Hiro found the mystery compelling. He had not yet solved the murder of any person whose death he had actually witnessed.

  “If we do this,” he said slowly, “it must be a true investigation. No restrictions, and we tell no lies, no matter what the evidence reveals.”

  Hanzō nodded. “I expect no less.”

  Hiro pointed directly at Neko, the gesture rude but intentionally so. “And you will keep her on a leash. No more starting fights or baiting others to attack.”

  “What happened, Hiro?” She feigned a frown. “You used to be such fun.”

  “You heard him, Neko.” Hanzō didn’t hide his amusement. “Stay away from the delegation. You will serve as my personal bodyguard for the remainder of their stay.”

  Hiro felt an unexpected flicker of jealousy, followed by a rush of hot chagrin. Returning to Iga with Neko present, and his cousin in control, was proving even harder than he expected.

  “I told you inviting the Koga here would only end in trouble.” Neko tossed her head. “We never needed this alliance, Hanzō. Now we face a war.”

  “If I want your political insights, I will ask for them.” Hanzō waved a hand toward the door. “Leave us. I no longer need you here tonight.”

  Neko looked Hiro up and down. “I anticipate seeing more of you before the week is over.” She crossed to the entrance, bowed, and left the room, closing the door behind her without a sound.

  Hiro exhaled audibly. “She hasn’t changed at all.”

  “On the contrary.” Hanzō stared at the door. “She’s far more lethal than she was before.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Hiro followed Hanzō and Father Mateo back to the feasting room. As he reached the threshold, the sour odors of vomit and decomposing fish assaulted his nose, along with the salty tang of nervous sweat. He breathed through his mouth, but it helped far less than he hoped.

  “We have discussed your offer,” Fuyu said as Hanzō entered the room. “We have conditions.”

  “Then you accept my offer?” Hanzō asked.

  “I did not say that,” Fuyu snapped. “We demand an immediate change of lodging.”

  “Yajiro-san deserves a proper place to rest until we leave for Koga,” Kiku said. “The guesthouse serves that purpose well enough—”

  “But we will not share a roof with his corpse,” Fuyu finished.

  “That is acceptable,” Hanzō replied. “Yet Iga has only two guesthouses, and the second is currently occupied by Hiro, Father Mateo, and their servant.”

  “We discussed that issue also,” Kiku began, but once again Fuyu interrupted.

  “We will not stay in any Iga guesthouse. Your assassins would attack us in the night!”

  “Have you an alternative request?” Hanzō sounded remarkably calm, given Fuyu’s insulting tone.

  Kiku nodded. “We wish to stay in the home of the woman who cooked the welcome feast.”

  Father Mateo looked startled, but to Hiro the choice made sense.

  “They think she poisoned him,” he whispered under his breath, in Portuguese. “A killer does not set traps in her own home.”

  “Speak Japanese!” The dagger appeared in Fuyu’s hand again.

  Father Mateo raised his hands as Hiro took a half step forward, placing himself between the bald shinobi and the priest.

  “We agreed, Fuyu,” Kiku warned.

  Slowly, the bald shinobi returned his dagger to his sash.

  “Do you agree to our first condition?” Fuyu asked. “We stay in the house of the woman who cooked the feast—without her present—and we will kill anyone from Iga who approaches the building without permission.”

  “I am certain Midori will open her home to you,” Hanzō replied.

  “Second,” Fuyu continued, “we want the killer delivered to us promptly. No delays. Yajiro’s body must reach home in time for a proper burial.”

  “Also acceptable,” Hanzō said. “The foreigner will need, at most, three days to find the killer.”

  The irony of yet another three-day window in which to solve a murder was almost enough to make Hiro believe in gods. It certainly felt like a deity’s cruel joke, although, more likely, Hanzō’s spies in Kyoto had reported how quickly Hiro and Father Mateo had solved their previous cases.

  “Finally . . .” Fuyu raised his chin in challenge. “The foreign priest will stay in the house with us, so we can monitor his progress.”

  “You mean, so you can hold him hostage,” Hiro retorted. “Unacceptable. The Jesuit stays with me.”

  “I’ll do it,” Father Mateo murmured in Portuguese.

  Fuyu took a step toward Hiro, hand on the hilt of his dagger. “These conditions are not negotiable. If you refuse we will leave at once, and Iga will answer for its act of war.”

  “I said, I will do it,” Father Mateo repeated, louder and in Japanese. He stepped to the side, away from Hiro. “I will stay with the Koga delegation until we find the killer.”

  “Unless the killer finds you first,” Hiro replied in Portuguese. “You cannot risk it.”

  “Japanese only!” Fuyu snapped. “No conspiring in his foreign tongue!”

  Hiro slowly turned to face the Koga shinobi. “I cannot let the foreigner go with you. The Iga ryu was hired to ensure his safe arrival at Yokoseura, and assigned me as his bodyguard. We have already accepted payment.
. . .”

  “Our terms are not negotiable!” Fuyu repeated. “You cannot—”

  “Clearly, Hiro-san must stay with us as well,” Kiku interrupted.

  “I will not share a roof with an Iga assassin,” Fuyu objected.

  “If you’re frightened, you may share a room with Toshi.” Kiku shifted her gaze to Hiro. “But be warned: if you attempt to harm us, or do anything suspicious, I will kill you—and the priest as well.” She paused as if awaiting his consent.

  Despite the danger, Hiro nodded.

  “I will also need his help with the investigation,” Father Mateo said. “I do not know your customs well, and find your language difficult.”

  “You do not need to lie about our language to request his aid.” Kiku gave Hiro an appraising look. “I expected Iga to insist on a representative. He will do as well as any other.”

  “Then, it is decided,” Hanzō said.

  “Not quite,” Kiku countered. “Have you a local monastery that follows Pure Land teachings? We must arrange for priests to commence Yajiro’s funeral prayers.”

  “We have, and I will summon a priest in the morning,” Hanzō said.

  “I will arrange the prayers—alone. It’s not a woman’s job.” Fuyu stared at Kiku as if daring her to argue.

  She clenched her jaw but did not reply.

  Hiro wondered, once again, about her status within the Koga ryu.

  “Shouldn’t we move Yajiro-san to the guesthouse?” Toshi bit his lip. “Before he . . . stiffens?”

  “Excuse me,” Father Mateo said, “but I would like to examine the body here, before you move him.”

  “Absolutely not!” Fuyu exclaimed. “I forbid you to defile his corpse with prodding.”

  “With apologies, I must insist,” the Jesuit added, “but I give you my word, we will not harm your friend.”

  Hiro didn’t believe that Fuyu considered Yajiro a friend any more than the Koga shinobi truly thought examination would defile the corpse.

  “I will stay and supervise them,” Kiku said, “while you and Toshi take possession of Hattori Midori’s home. After they finish their inspection, I will move and wash Yajiro’s body—unless, of course, you would rather handle his corpse yourself.”

  “That part is a woman’s job.” Fuyu looked down his nose at Kiku.

  “I will show you the way to Midori’s home,” Hanzō said, “and spread the word, so no one will disturb you.”

  Fuyu followed the Iga commander from the room, with Toshi on his heels.

  CHAPTER 7

  As he knelt to examine the body, Hiro remembered Kiku’s actions during Yajiro’s final moments, her reaction to his death, and her offer to wash the corpse.

  He glanced at her. “You knew him well.”

  “I knew Yajiro for many years.” She knelt beside Hiro. “I cannot say I truly knew him well.”

  Father Mateo regarded her earnestly. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “The loss is his family’s,” Kiku replied, “and that of the Koga ryu. I accept your sentiments on their behalf.”

  Yajiro’s empty, red-rimmed eyes had already begun to dry and lose their luster. The edges of his lips and the tips of his fingers showed a hint of dark discoloration.

  Hiro leaned over the corpse and inhaled carefully, fighting the urge to cough at the stench of fishy vomit flooding up his sensitive nose. He noted only a trace of voided bowels, and no scent of any poison he could recognize.

  “What did Yajiro-san eat today?” he asked.

  “Essentially nothing,” Kiku said. “He didn’t like the food at inns, and refused the morning meal completely.”

  Father Mateo looked at the body. “Perhaps a sign of illness?”

  Kiku shook her head. “He seemed unusually well today.”

  “Unusually?” Hiro repeated.

  “Eager to arrive in Iga.” Kiku’s cheeks flushed pink, though her expression did not change. “Why does it matter what he ate? This is the meal that killed him.”

  “He may have ingested the poison before this evening,” Father Mateo suggested. “Earlier today, or even yesterday.”

  “Unlikely.” Hiro stared at the corpse. “He would have shown more symptoms if the poisoning did not occur today.”

  “You know a great deal about poisons,” Kiku said pointedly.

  “It isn’t exclusively a woman’s art.” Hiro bent over the table to examine the vomit, trying to ignore the sour stench that rose from the slimy pools.

  “Are we certain it was poison?” Father Mateo asked. “Yajiro-san looked pale and sweated profusely during dinner, both of which are signs of a weakened heart.”

  “The importance of this occasion made him nervous,” Kiku said. “His heart was fine.”

  “Yajiro-san consumed no food or drink at all before this evening?” Hiro found that difficult to believe.

  “Nothing . . .” Kiku’s expression darkened. “He drank the tea and ate the welcome cakes Hattori-sama sent to the guesthouse when we arrived in Iga.”

  “Did the rest of you consume them also?” Hiro asked.

  “Fuyu said the cakes were probably poisoned.”

  Hiro noted the nonresponsive answer, but let it pass. “Yajiro-san ate nothing else today? You’re certain?”

  “I was not beside him every minute.” Kiku’s tone acquired a hostile edge. “I recommend you focus on the contents of this feast.”

  “Rapidly acting poisons taste too bitter to conceal in sashimi or a simple broth.” Hiro gestured to the table. “Nothing in this feast would mask them.”

  “Moreover,” Father Mateo said, “every plate appeared the same. How could a killer have ensured the proper person got the poisoned bowl?”

  Hiro didn’t mention the elaborate garnishes on the sashimi, any one of which could easily mark a poisoned plate.

  “A simple task for a poisoner,” Kiku said. “Especially if she served the meal.”

  Hiro stood up. “The women who served tonight would not have done this.”

  “Not even if Hattori Hanzō ordered them to do it?” Kiku’s words hung heavily in the air.

  “We have learned all we can from the body,” Hiro said. “It’s time to go.”

  “May we help you move Yajiro to the guesthouse?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Thank you, but while you were gone Hattori Akiko offered to summon men who have experience moving the dead in accordance with Buddhist custom. I prefer to wait for their assistance.”

  The door slid open, revealing Akiko.

  Hiro suspected she had been listening outside the room since Hanzō left.

  “Forgive my intrusion.” The elderly woman bowed. “The men have arrived, whenever you are ready.”

  “Please show them in.” Kiku turned to Hiro and the priest. “If you have finished, you may go.”

  “I can’t believe the Koga delegation chose your mother’s home.” Father Mateo raised his lantern to illuminate the road before them as they passed through the center of Iga village. “How could they believe it safe, if they think she tried to kill them?”

  Hiro eyed the moonlit landscape as he thought about the Jesuit’s question.

  Dense forest covered the land to the north of the road. To the south, segmented rice fields spread across the gently rolling landscape. Narrow berms of piled dirt made wavy paths between the fields, their patterns broken here and there by thatch-roofed houses rising from a patch of higher ground. Curls of smoke rose lazily from several of the village chimneys, sending the perfume of wood smoke wafting through the night.

  Hiro inhaled the chilly air, spicy with the scent of pine, the musk of smoke, and traces of a grassy sweetness from the empty rice fields spreading out beyond the road. Only stubble filled them now, the harvest finished several weeks ago.

  “It makes no sense,” the priest repeated. “I would never choose Midori’s home.”

  “I would have,” Hiro said, “in their position.”

  “Truly?”

  “Killers don�
�t set traps in their own houses,” Hiro explained again. “Not unless they know you’re coming, anyway.”

  “Do you believe Midori poisoned Yajiro? And where will she stay now?”

  Relieved the Jesuit’s second question let him ignore the first one, Hiro answered, “Probably with Neko. She’s the daughter Mother always wanted.”

  “Is that jealousy I hear?”

  Frustration blossomed in Hiro’s chest at the priest’s amused response. Forcing it away, he changed the subject. “Hopefully we’ll arrive in time to claim the room I shared with my brothers when I lived in Iga.”

  He turned onto a narrow path that led north, into the trees. Though wide enough for a pair of people to walk abreast, they would have to separate if anyone approached from the other direction.

  Father Mateo raised the lantern higher. “Doesn’t your mother live in the village?”

  “The forest is part of the village,” Hiro said. “My mother does not work a farm.”

  The path wound in and out among the trees. Although the darkness hid them, Hiro knew that houses lurked among the pines.

  “Are the farmers also shinobi?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Everyone in Iga is shinobi,” Hiro answered. “Some tend farms between their missions; others lack the skills to fight, and farm to feed the clan. Rank and skill, as well as birth, determine a person’s role within the ryu.”

  “Does your mother cook for Hanzō all the time, or just tonight?”

  Hiro laughed. “My mother is among the highest-ranking members of the Iga ryu.”

  “Then why—”

  Hiro pointed to the glow of a tall stone lantern, just now visible through the trees. “My mother’s house is there.”

  He hurried toward his childhood home, hoping the priest would not renew the question.

  CHAPTER 8

  Father Mateo followed Hiro through the forest. “Why would Hanzō ask your mother to act as a servant, if she has rank within the Iga ryu?”