The Ninja's Daughter Page 6

  The carpenter’s gnarled hands revealed years of manual labor, but his eyes had an intelligent gleam that spoke of knowledge beyond his planes and chisels.

  Etiquette didn’t permit a bow, but Hiro nodded as the man approached. “Good evening, Ozuru. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Ozuru bowed from the waist. “I’m glad I found you, Matsui-san.”

  “Truly?” Hiro asked. “I seem to remember, the last time we met, you said we would not meet again.”

  “I have not come of my own accord.” Ozuru was no more a carpenter than Hiro was a translator, although the two men came from different clans.

  Hiro felt his pleasant evening slip away, and cast a longing look at the glow of Ginjiro’s brewery down the street. “What message does Matsunaga-san have for me this time?”

  “Hisahide did not send me.” Ozuru began to walk away. “And what I have to say, I can’t say here.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Hiro fell in step with the older man.

  At Sanjō Road, Ozuru turned right, toward the river. Hiro followed, hoping the “message” didn’t involve an ambush. The fight itself didn’t worry him. He could probably kill Ozuru. However, he would rather not be responsible for starting a war between the shinobi clans.

  When they reached the Kamo River, they stopped in front of the bored-looking samurai guarding Sanjō Bridge.

  “What is your business this evening?” the samurai asked.

  Hiro bowed. “I am Matsui Hiro, translator for the foreign priest who lives on Marutamachi Road. The priest has need of a carpenter, and summoned this man for an estimate.”

  “At night?” the samurai asked.

  Ozuru bowed and kept his face bent down in deference. “Please forgive me, sir. I work all day and can only discuss new jobs at night.”

  The samurai looked at Hiro. “Wise to escort him. I wouldn’t have let him pass the bridge alone.”

  “Has the shogun instituted a curfew?” Hiro loathed referring to Hisahide as the shogun, but anything less would raise unwanted questions about his loyalty.

  “Not officially,” the samurai said, “but there have been . . . incidents . . . on the bridges after dark.”

  Hiro nodded. “Shall I escort the carpenter home as well?”

  “As long as he returns by this road, I’ll remember him, but I go off duty when the bells ring midnight.”

  Hiro nodded again. “Our meeting will not take that long.”

  Ozuru turned north, to follow the path on the western side of the river. Hiro started across the bridge. He doubted Ozuru intended an ambush, but had no intention of letting a possible adversary choose the path. Ozuru had no choice but to follow.

  The path beside the river was dark and empty. Cherry trees stretched their limbs overhead like grasping witches from a children’s tale. A gentle breeze blew off the river, making the branches waver as if preparing to seize their prey.

  “You know I won’t allow you to follow me all the way to the Jesuit’s home,” Hiro said as they walked beneath the trees.

  Ozuru nodded. “No more than I would permit you into the shogun’s compound after dark.”

  “Then Koga is loyal to Hisahide,” Hiro said.

  “My clan is loyal to itself alone,” Ozuru answered. “Were it otherwise, I would not be here now. I bear a message from the Koga ryu.”

  “You expect me to believe that Koga’s leader has something to say to me?” Hiro barely managed to stop himself from calling Ozuru a liar.

  The older man paused beneath a tree whose spreading branches cast the road in darkness. “No, but Koga’s leader recently sent a message to Hattori Hanzo. Since that message affects your interests, I thought you would want to hear it as soon as possible.”

  Hiro reached up his kimono sleeve and touched the shuriken hidden there. At this range, and in the dark, he wasn’t taking any chances. Hattori Hanzo was the head of the Iga ryu, as well as Hiro’s cousin, but even if the Koga leader had sent Hanzo a message, that fact didn’t make this meeting any safer.

  “I heard you reach for a weapon,” Ozuru said. “I assure you, I do not want a fight. However, if it comes to that, you will not take my life.”

  “You are not the first man to wrongfully think he can beat me,” Hiro said, “and, I promise, you won’t be the last.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Perhaps you should hear my message before we duel to the death?” Ozuru’s tone revealed he was smiling.

  “I am listening,” Hiro said.

  “Hisahide holds Kyoto, but his claim on the shogunate is not secure. A number of other daimyo have laid claim to the title also. Koga has not decided, yet, which samurai lord to support. I understand that Iga has not either.”

  Hiro saw no harm in admitting the truth. “I’ve heard nothing of Iga’s decision, one way or another.”

  “After the shogun’s death, Hattori Hanzo sent a message to Koga, requesting a meeting and suggesting an alliance. He wishes to prevent our clans from fighting one another when the daimyo go to war.”

  “Hattori Hanzo has no fear of Koga,” Hiro said.

  “Fear is not the only reason leaders seek a truce. With the shogunate contested for the first time in a century, who knows how many pointless deaths an alliance between the shinobi could avoid?”

  Hiro didn’t answer. Ozuru’s story seemed entirely too convenient.

  “I find your silence reassuring,” Ozuru said. “Only an intelligent man takes time to consider unexpected news.”

  Hiro raised an eyebrow, though Ozuru couldn’t see him in the darkness. “An intelligent man might also ask why one low-ranked shinobi would discuss this kind of news with another. Until our leaders make decisions, clan affairs are none of our concern.”

  Ozuru released an exasperated sigh. “Enough pretense. Only a senior shinobi gets assigned to protect a critical foreign target.”

  “You overestimate my importance,” Hiro said, “and that of the priest.”

  “You underestimate my intelligence—and my sources,” Ozuru countered. “Koga’s ambassador is preparing to leave for Iga, even as we speak. During negotiations, every Koga shinobi has orders to act as if an alliance is in effect. You, my Iga brother, are now my ally—at least until my commander tells me otherwise.”

  Hiro didn’t trust assumptions, beautiful women, or men from rival clans. All of them had proven far too deadly in the past.

  “You risked a meeting just to tell me our clans might form an alliance?”

  “That isn’t a sufficient reason?” Ozuru asked.

  Hiro had tired of verbal sparring. “No.”

  “Proving yet again that you’re no novice,” Ozuru said. “I also came to warn you that Hisahide plans to kill the Portuguese merchant and priest you guard.”

  Hiro felt a surge of nervous energy. If Ozuru spoke the truth, Father Mateo needed to escape from Kyoto immediately. But if the other shinobi lied, a sudden departure would send them directly into a Koga ambush.

  “When does he plan to do it?” Hiro asked.

  “I do not know, but soon. He sent a messenger to the foreign settlement at Yokoseura, carrying a license for another Portuguese merchant to sell firearms in Kyoto.”

  “Eliminating his need for Luis Álvares,” Hiro said.

  “An intelligent inference, and an accurate one.”

  “Harming the merchant, or the priest, would anger the Portuguese king,” Hiro said. “Surely Hisahide wouldn’t risk a second war.”

  “The foreigners’ country lies on the opposite side of a hostile and unpredictable ocean. Hisahide has more pressing concerns than the anger of a distant foreign king.” After a pause, Ozuru continued, “The Miyoshi daimyo has summoned his army and sent out word that he’s hiring mercenaries. Also, Shogun Ashikaga’s brother has renounced his vows and left his monastery.”

  “Oda Nobunaga will not let this war resolve without him,” Hiro added. “That means at least a three-sided fight for Kyoto.”

  “If not more,” Oz
uru said. “Those three are not the only claimants to the shogunate.”

  “When does Hisahide expect the new merchant from Yokoseura?” Hiro asked.

  “By the end of the week,” Ozuru said. “Your merchant will suffer a most unfortunate accident soon thereafter.”

  “At your hands?” Hiro would rather not kill Ozuru, especially not to benefit Luis Álvares. However, he could not tolerate threats against Father Mateo’s household.

  “Only a fool would send an assassin to kill a merchant,” Ozuru said, “and, whatever you think of Hisahide, he is not a fool. Hundreds of samurai in this city would gladly test a sword on a Portuguese neck to prove their loyalty to the shogun.”

  Hiro released the shuriken and withdrew his arm from his sleeve. He didn’t trust Ozuru, but this particular conversation seemed unlikely to lead to mortal combat.

  “I don’t expect you to trust me,” Ozuru said, as if reading Hiro’s thoughts. “You know my loyalty lies with Koga. Still, my commander ordered me to treat you as an ally, and an ally deserves a warning when danger threatens. What you do with the information is up to you.”

  Unfortunately, Ozuru’s words could hide a trap as well as an honest warning.

  “Perhaps you can tell me,” Hiro said, “does Hisahide plan to exterminate all of the Portuguese in Kyoto, or only the single merchant and the priest?”

  “That, I do not know,” Ozuru said. “Regrettably, Hisahide is a man of limited vision. I believe his time as shogun will be short.”

  “He is not shogun yet,” Hiro said.

  “He will be. Get your foreigners out of the city now.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” Hiro said. “I will repay the favor, should the opportunity arise.”

  “Forget the favor,” Ozuru said. “Just take your priest and the merchant and leave the city while you can.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Hiro returned to the Jesuit’s home to find Father Mateo sitting alone in the common room. A kettle hanging over the fire sent a curl of steam into the air.

  The shinobi approached the hearth as Ana emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray with a teapot, a cup, and a plate of rice balls.

  The housekeeper looked at Hiro. “Hm. I suppose you’re hungry too.”

  “He can share my plate,” Father Mateo said. “Please bring a second cup. That’s all we need.”

  Ana set the tray in front of the priest. “The way he eats? You won’t get a bite. I will make another plate.”

  Gato trotted in from the kitchen as Ana left the room. The tortoiseshell cat gave a trilling mew and bounded toward Hiro, tail high with excitement.

  Hiro knelt and extended a fist. Gato butted his hand with her head, then whipped her face upward and bit the shinobi’s knuckles.

  “Hey!” Hiro pulled his hand away as Gato swatted it with her paw. She fell on her side and waved her legs in the air.

  Hiro reached for the cat’s white belly. Gato grasped his wrist with her paws, sank her teeth in his sleeve, and kicked at his arm. Her purr rose up through a mouthful of silk.

  “Don’t let Ana catch you,” Father Mateo warned. “You’ll never hear the end of it if Gato rips your robes.”

  Hiro scooped the cat into his arms. She tightened her grip on his sleeve and bit down harder.

  “That’s enough.” He laughed and stroked the cat.

  Gato kicked at his sleeve once more, released her grip, and sniffed in the direction of the food.

  “Don’t let her near the rice balls either,” Father Mateo said. “She licked the last ones.”

  Hiro laughed again.

  “Hm. That isn’t funny.” Ana returned with a second tray of rice balls and a cup for Hiro’s tea. She set the tray down and took the cat from his arms.

  Gato’s purr increased in volume.

  “I have something for you in the kitchen,” Ana told the cat as she turned to leave. “A nice little fish. I’d rather you had it than Luis.”

  Father Mateo sneezed. As usual, Gato’s presence made his nose turn red and his eyes water. Even so, the priest allowed the cat to stay. He seemed to like her, despite the discomfort she caused him.

  “Did Jiro meet you as he promised?” Father Mateo asked.

  Hiro nodded. His mouth was full of rice.

  “I’m surprised,” the Jesuit said, “but at least we know he’s innocent.”

  Hiro swallowed. “Not at all. Running would prove he had something to hide. Talking gives him a chance to lie.”

  “Or tell the truth.” Father Mateo lifted the steaming kettle off its chain and poured hot water into the teapot. “What did he tell you about the coin?”

  “Nothing new.” Hiro watched a tendril of scented steam rise up from the pot. “He claimed he hadn’t seen it before and said he wouldn’t have given it to a girl.”

  “Seems reasonable,” the Jesuit said. “A golden coin is a rich man’s bauble. To a poor man, it’s a meal.”

  “If true, it suggests the girl had another patron,” Hiro said, “or perhaps a client.”

  Father Mateo frowned at the implication—that Emi worked as a prostitute. “Or else that Satsu is correct, and the killer left the coin as a warning.”

  “Possibly,” Hiro said, “though I find the other options more compelling. Still, I believe she knew her killer. She wouldn’t let a stranger close enough to put a rope around her neck.”

  “That much matches Jiro’s story.” Father Mateo poured Hiro’s tea and then his own. “He claimed he fell asleep on the bank and woke up to find Emi dead beside him. She wouldn’t go willingly with a stranger, and even a man in a drunken slumber would have heard her scream.”

  “Why would the killer drag her back to Jiro?” Hiro asked. “No killer strangles a girl in the open, where passersby could see. Few enough would risk returning her to a spot so near the path.”

  “It seems to me the killer wanted Jiro to take the blame,” the Jesuit said.

  “Or Jiro is the killer,” Hiro countered. “He might have dragged the body up the bank to throw suspicion off himself.”

  “Why would Jiro kill a girl and then lie down to sleep beside her body?” Father Mateo asked.

  “We don’t know that he did,” Hiro said. “We have only his word that he fell asleep at all.”

  “This is impossible,” Father Mateo said. “We don’t even know where to start with a list of suspects.”

  “We have Jiro,” Hiro said, “and Emi’s sister, Chou, can tell us more about the people Emi knew.”

  Father Mateo sipped his tea. “She didn’t say much this afternoon.”

  “She wouldn’t, in front of her parents.” Hiro raised his teacup and inhaled the fragrant steam. He sipped and paused to enjoy the delicate flavor of the tea.

  Muffled barking outside the house announced the approach of someone in the street. Hiro loathed the neighbor’s Akita, but, at least in this, the dog was useful.

  The front door creaked, and heavy footsteps thumped across the entry.

  “Good evening, Luis,” Hiro said without turning.

  “How do you always know it’s me?” The merchant entered the common room.

  “The rest of us are home already,” Father Mateo said.

  Hiro would have answered the question differently, but let it pass. Father Mateo wouldn’t approve of him saying Luis had the grace of a drunken ox.

  Luis leaned over Father Mateo’s shoulder to inspect the tray of snacks. He straightened with an indignant sniff. “Rice balls again. I should have known. This country needs some decent food, like bread, and meat, and Portuguese wine.”

  Hiro considered the merchant’s rounded belly and puffy face. For all Luis’s complaining, the Japanese diet hadn’t harmed his girth.

  “I ate near the warehouse anyway.” The merchant started toward his room. “Big day tomorrow. I have a shipment coming from Yokoseura.”

  “Yokoseura?” Hiro remembered Ozuru’s warning. “You say it arrives tomorrow?”

  Luis turned back. “Why do you c
are?”

  “I don’t,” Hiro lied. “I was being polite.”

  “Oh.” Luis scratched his stomach. “Well, since we’re being polite, I’ll answer. The shipment won’t arrive for a couple of days, but I need to make room in the warehouse, which means a very long day tomorrow, supervising lazy peasants who’d rather nap in the corner than do the job I’ve paid them for.

  “And now, I need my rest. Good night, Mateo.”

  Luis went into his room and closed the door.

  CHAPTER 16

  “What’s going on?” Father Mateo looked suspicious. “You’re never ‘just polite’ to Luis.”

  “Perhaps my character is improving.” Hiro refilled the Jesuit’s tea and poured himself another cup as well. As before, he raised the cup to inhale the fragrant steam.

  Father Mateo didn’t care for extravagant food or special teas, but Luis kept the Jesuit’s pantry stocked with ichibancha—the most-expensive, first-picked leaves. Hiro’s sensitive nose and tea-loving palate considered this a rare redeeming point in the merchant’s favor.

  “Right,” the Jesuit said, “and I’m a Buddhist. What’s the truth?”

  Hiro closed his eyes and drew another lingering breath. He sipped the tea and felt the liquid roll across his tongue.

  “Hiro,” Father Mateo said expectantly.

  Hiro sighed. A cultured man should not disrupt a special cup of tea with sour talk. He opened his eyes and lowered his cup.

  “After I spoke with Jiro, I ran into a man from Koga.” He spoke softly to ensure his voice wouldn’t carry through the walls or across the rafters.

  “A man . . . like you?” Father Mateo avoided the word “shinobi,” even at home, because Luis and Ana didn’t know the truth.

  “He warned us to leave the city at once.” Hiro considered how much of Ozuru’s message to reveal. “Kyoto is no longer safe for you—or for Luis.”

  “I hope that God will prevent a war,” Father Mateo said. “I pray for it every night and every morning.”

  “Your god may have the power to prevent a war in Portugal,” Hiro said, “but the kami like a good war now and then.”