Betrayal at Iga Page 8

  “About the murder?” Hiro waited to answer until they reached the bottom of the hill. “I cannot see a reason she would lie.”

  “Which doesn’t mean you think she told the truth.”

  “It means I do not know.” Hiro considered how best to explain. “My grandmother’s oath of loyalty to the Iga ryu predates both Hanzō and his father. By tradition, the oath transferred to Hanzō when he assumed the leader’s role, but as far as I know Akiko never actually swore obedience to my cousin.”

  “She did mention going against his orders, training Tane,” Father Mateo said. “Why do you think he let her overrule him?”

  “She probably did it privately, so he could claim he changed his mind. As for why he didn’t insist . . .” Hiro trailed off. “What do you think it would do to his authority if he ordered his own grandmother to kill herself? Especially if she refused to do it?”

  “That would be awkward.”

  Hiro smiled. “Indeed.”

  They started east along the road.

  Hiro remembered Akiko saying that Hanzō sent his wife and child into the mountains, presumably to keep them safe. That decision seemed suspicious now. He hoped the evidence would prove his cousin had not killed Yajiro, less because he cared for Hanzō than because he didn’t want to choose between his oath to Iga and the Jesuit’s promise to identify Yajiro’s killer.

  Were Father Mateo any other man, Hiro’s loyalty to his clan would win that battle without question, but his friendship with the priest, and his oath to defend the Jesuit’s life, created complications.

  Hiro stepped off the road and onto a narrow footpath that led north into the forest.

  “This isn’t the way to Midori’s house,” Father Mateo said.

  “Correct. It is the way to Neko’s.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Neko’s home was hidden from view behind a stand of tiny maples, like a tiger waiting for its prey. Although the roof looked newly thatched, the wide veranda, solid, wooden door, and slatted windows looked unchanged since Hiro’s childhood.

  His hands remembered the splinters in the rafter beams and the prickly thatch atop the roof, where he used to perch in hopes of startling Neko as she left the house. He approached the veranda, lost in memory, and almost failed to notice that only a single pair of sandals sat beside the door.

  Almost.

  He stopped abruptly. “We should go. Midori isn’t—”

  The door swung open, revealing Neko. She wore a pair of pleated pants beneath a belted tunic, and her hair hung loose around her face. She smiled.

  Hiro’s chest grew tight, distracting and frustrating him in equal measure.

  Neko bowed. Father Mateo returned the gesture, but Hiro merely nodded.

  “Good morning.” She gave no indication that she noticed the omitted bow, though Hiro also knew she hadn’t missed it. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, but I’m glad you came.”

  Father Mateo gave Hiro a look that promised an interrogation later.

  “Good morning, Neko.” Hiro looked straight ahead, avoiding the Jesuit’s eyes. “We wish to see Midori.”

  “She went home to get some things she forgot last night.” Neko stepped away from the door. “Please come inside. I’ve just made tea.”

  Father Mateo started forward, but Hiro remained at the edge of the porch. “We do not wish to inconvenience you. We’ll wait outside.”

  “As you wish.” Her face retained its pleasant smile, despite the slight.

  To Hiro’s increased frustration, Neko didn’t return to the house or close the door.

  After an awkward silence Father Mateo asked, “Do you know what happened to Koga Yajiro?”

  “He died,” Neko said. “At the welcome feast. I believe you saw it happen.”

  “I meant, do you know who killed him?” the Jesuit clarified.

  “Hanzō would not have relied on poison, and no Iga assassin would dare to kill a guest in Hanzō’s home.” She shrugged. “Clearly, the Koga emissaries murdered him themselves.”

  “Or, perhaps, the killer did not act in Hanzō’s home,” Hiro said. “You didn’t mention delivering the welcome tea and cakes to the delegation yesterday afternoon.”

  “You did not ask, and, as I did not kill Koga Yajiro, it’s not relevant. If you want to find the assassin, do not waste your time on me.”

  “Hiro, what are you doing here?” Midori’s voice came from behind them.

  Chagrined by his failure to hear her approach, Hiro turned to see his mother carrying a wooden box. For a moment, he mistook it for his own, but as she drew closer he realized it simply had a similar size and shape.

  “You went to retrieve your poison box?” he asked.

  “Would you leave yours in the hands of Koga assassins?” Midori extended the box to Neko. “Would you put this in the house for me? I suspect my son has not come for a cup of tea.”

  Neko accepted the box. “Of course.” She started to turn away but paused. “Hiro, beware of assumptions. They will cloud your judgment.”

  “Do not worry,” Hiro said. “You taught me that lesson already, long ago.”

  She drew a breath as if to reply, but instead stepped into the house and closed the door.

  Midori crossed her arms. “Your time in Kyoto has not improved your manners.”

  Hiro drew back. “Hanzō did not send me to the capital to learn deportment.”

  “A mother can still hope.” Midori’s expression softened. “Have you come to discuss my involvement in the emissary’s murder?”

  “Yes.” Hiro started away from the porch. “But we want to speak with you privately.”

  Midori followed him to the edge of the path and waited as Father Mateo joined them.

  “Do you know who poisoned Koga Yajiro?” Hiro asked.

  “Not Neko.” Midori looked at him sternly. “Do not allow the past to blind you, son.”

  “I haven’t accused her.” Yet.

  “Those words might fool others, but not me,” Midori said. “I do not know who killed the emissary, but the food we served contained no poison. He must have ingested the toxin earlier, maybe an hour or two before the feast.”

  “An hour or two?” the Jesuit repeated. “How do you know?”

  “Hanzō said he vomited and seized before he died. To me, that indicates an herbal toxin. Plant-based poisons typically take at least an hour to kill when delivered in doses too small for the victim to recognize.” She looked at Hiro. “You already know this.”

  He nodded. “Why did you help serve the second course, instead of Tane?”

  “The girl had gone to the latrine.” Midori hesitated. “Truthfully, I’m glad she did. Akiko believes in the child’s potential, but I worried she would spill the broth on Hanzō or his guests.”

  “Have you an idea which specific poison might have killed Yajiro?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Not without more evidence than vomiting and seizures. Did you notice any other symptoms?”

  “He looked pale, and he was sweating,” the Jesuit offered. “Once or twice, he clutched his stomach as if it hurt.”

  “A problem with his heart?” Midori asked.

  “The other Koga emissaries rejected that theory,” Hiro said.

  Midori raised an eyebrow at her son. “And you believed them?”

  “I recognize a poisoning when I see one,” Hiro countered. “Did you know that Neko delivered a tray of tea and cakes to the emissaries’ guesthouse yesterday, before the feast?”

  “On Hanzō’s orders.” Midori nodded. “Orders, I will add, that she did not appreciate.”

  “Because she disapproves of the alliance?” Hiro asked.

  “Because she objects to Hanzō treating her as a servant,” Midori corrected. “Akiko offered to let Tane take the tray instead, but the girl disappeared—conveniently—when the moment came to deliver it.”

  “Neko thinks the other ambassadors killed Yajiro,” Father Mateo said.

  “Not an unreasonable th
eory.” Midori spoke slowly, as if pondering the Jesuit’s words. “Have you investigated that possibility?”

  Hiro found the reaction strange. Surely Neko had already mentioned her suspicions to Midori. Briefly, he wondered whether his mother was involved in Yajiro’s assassination. He trusted no one more than Midori . . . and yet, the circumstances of the case told him he could not trust anyone.

  Not even his mother.

  “We intend to,” he said at last.

  “I should tell you . . .” Once again, Midori hesitated. “Early this morning I met with Hanzō and offered to take responsibility for the emissary’s death.”

  Hiro’s stomach dropped.

  “But . . . you said you didn’t kill him,” Father Mateo protested.

  “Someone has to take the blame, and I prepared the meal at which he died.” Midori gave Hiro a searching look. “You understand my reasoning. My life will save many others, including yours.”

  The chill that spread through Hiro’s bones had nothing to do with the wind. “Did Hanzō accept your offer?”

  “He said he would let me know in three days’ time.”

  “Don’t worry,” Father Mateo said. “We will discover who killed Yajiro. You won’t have to take the blame.”

  “I worry only about what I cannot control,” Midori replied. “I chose this death, and if it comes I will accept it without fear.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “I don’t believe the other emissaries killed Yajiro,” Father Mateo said as he and Hiro walked back to Midori’s house. “I know I mentioned the possibility earlier, but I’ve thought it through again, and it makes no sense. If they murdered him, why let us investigate?”

  “Perhaps only one of them is a killer,” Hiro replied, “and didn’t want to risk suspicion.”

  “Kiku did say she disagreed with the investigation.”

  “At this point, I find Fuyu equally suspicious,” Hiro said, “and Toshi’s innocence could prove an act. Still, Kiku has tried to deceive us in other areas. She dresses like a commoner, but there is nothing common in her manner or her speech.”

  “Fuyu doesn’t snap at her the way he does at Toshi, either.” Father Mateo slipped off his sandals and stepped up onto Midori’s porch.

  When Hiro didn’t respond, he added, “Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Of course I noticed.” Hiro stepped out of his sandals and joined the priest. “I didn’t expect you would.”

  Inside, the vacant silence of the common room told Hiro the house was empty.

  “Ana?” Father Mateo crossed the room and checked the kitchen. “She’s not here.”

  “The emissaries said she had to leave when she finished cleaning,” Hiro pointed out. “She must have gone for a walk, or to check on Gato.”

  “Is she safe in the village alone?” The priest looked worried.

  Before Hiro could answer, someone knocked at the door.

  He swung it open, revealing Tane. The girl was looking backward over her shoulder, as if watching something in the woods, though Hiro saw nothing there.

  Tane turned to face the door and startled, almost dropping the carefully folded kimono she cradled in her arms. Her eyes grew wide, but she recovered the moment she recognized Hiro’s face.

  She bowed and straightened, face cast down as if unwilling to meet his eyes. Extending her arms, she offered the kimono.

  “Good morning, Tane.” Father Mateo walked to the door. “Would you like to come inside?”

  The girl looked up, eyes wide with shock. Ducking her head, she extended the clothing toward the priest.

  Father Mateo accepted the garment. “Thank you for bringing this to me.”

  Tane pressed her palms together, touched the tips of her fingers to her lips, and then touched her forehead. She bowed again, as if to take her leave.

  “Just a moment,” Hiro said.

  She straightened but looked on the verge of flight.

  “Did you know that one of the Koga visitors died during last night’s feast?” Hiro asked.

  Tane glanced behind her, as if making sure that Hiro spoke to her and not to someone else. When she turned back, she looked at the floor and wavered slightly from side to side.

  “She may not understand you,” Father Mateo whispered in Portuguese.

  “She understands.” Addressing the girl, he repeated, “Did you hear about the man who died?”

  Slowly, Tane raised her face and tapped her right hand to her ear as if to say “I heard.”

  “Do you know what killed the man from Koga?” Hiro asked.

  Tane gave the priest a longing look, as if wishing she could speak to him instead.

  “It’s all right,” Father Mateo said gently. “We won’t hurt you. Do you know who killed the man last night, or how he died?”

  She shook her head.

  Hiro made a dismissive gesture. “You may go.”

  Tane bowed and left the porch at a measured walk that became a run the moment her sandals touched the path.

  “I wanted to ask if she was a Christian.” Father Mateo sounded disappointed.

  “You can ask her later.” Hiro closed the door. “For now, we need to find Yajiro’s killer.”

  Father Mateo carried the folded kimono into the room they shared. A few minutes later, the priest emerged from the bedroom wearing a black kimono over a pair of pleated trousers that must have been folded in with the other garment. The borrowed clothing fit surprisingly well and looked much warmer than the Jesuit’s lightweight brown kimono. Akiko must not have sent an obi, because the priest still wore his own brown sash, as well as the wooden cross that hung perpetually around his neck.

  Hiro then entered the bedroom and quickly slipped into an old winter garment in the smoke-gray shade he favored.

  When he returned to the common room, Father Mateo smiled. “Do you own any kimono that aren’t gray?”

  Hiro shrugged. “A man who wears only a single color never has to worry about fashion.”

  The Jesuit smoothed a wrinkle from his sleeve. “I appreciate your grandmother sending this to me.” He looked at the door. “I also wish Tane wasn’t so easily frightened.”

  “After living alone in a burned-out village, she’s probably scared of everyone,” Hiro said. “Or at least she pretends to be.”

  “Surely you don’t think she could kill Yajiro? She’s a child.”

  “Closer to a woman than a child,” Hiro said, “and even a child can kill. However, I do not consider her a likely suspect at the moment.”

  Footsteps thumped on the porch, and the door swung open.

  Toshi stopped on the threshold, clearly surprised to see them in the house. “Have you already found Yajiro’s killer?”

  “In the hour since we left you?” Hiro asked.

  Toshi shrugged. “Fuyu says a guilty woman is easy to recognize.”

  “A prejudiced man is similarly obvious,” Father Mateo murmured.

  “Pardon me?” Toshi asked.

  Father Mateo cleared his throat. “Fuyu-san did not return with you?”

  “He wanted to observe the monks as they began the rituals. He sent me back to check your progress, but I didn’t think to find you here. If you haven’t found the killer . . . could I help you look?”

  “Help us?” Hiro repeated.

  “If I help you find the killer, maybe the treaty will still go through. . . .” Toshi flushed.

  “You weren’t supposed to admit that, were you?” Hiro asked.

  The young man bit his lip. “Officially, my clan opposes the alliance, but my father wants it.” He gave them a desperate look. “Please don’t tell Fuyu-san.”

  “It’s not my job to report to Koga.” Hiro switched to Portuguese. “Stay here and try to get more information about the other emissaries, while I go to the archery range and see what I can learn from the woman.”

  “Is it safe to separate?” the priest replied, also in Portuguese.

  “He will speak more openly without me
present, and we may not have much time before the other one returns.” Hiro shifted back to Japanese. “Forgive us, Toshi-san. I was explaining to the priest that, as your representative, he has an obligation to keep your secret. In return, he told me that he wishes to discuss our progress with you privately. So, if you will excuse me, I will leave you to speak alone.”

  “You can do that?” Toshi asked. “Hattori-sama will not object?”

  “On the contrary”—Hiro started toward the door—“he understands, as I do, that the only way to ensure a man’s candor is to speak with him alone.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The archery range sat southeast of the village, in a field half screened by pines. To reach it more quickly, Hiro cut directly through the forest.

  Sunlight filtered through the trees and dappled the ground, dimming periodically as clouds passed by the sun, which now stood almost overhead. Chilly winds whispered through the pines and shook the bamboo canes.

  Something snapped in the woods to his right, stopping Hiro in his tracks.

  Casually, he looked around as the wind died down and the trees grew still. Narrow pines stretched upward, trunks entirely bare of branches to a height of fifteen feet. Above that point, their bristling arms blocked out the sky. Clusters of green bamboo grew here and there among the pines, gathering where shafts of daylight penetrated the canopy. Interspersed between them, maples blazed with autumn’s fire.

  Hiro heard no songs in the trees. Even the forest crows had all gone silent.

  He was not alone.

  He closed his eyes, held his breath, and listened as a gust of wind blew past and set the trees to whispering. When it died the rustling faded, but he caught a tiny crackling sound—a snapping twig—that wind alone could not explain.

  He opened his eyes and focused on the source, ahead and to the right. At first he saw only the empty trees, but a moment later he noticed a human figure pressed against the trunk of a cedar, twenty feet above the ground.

  He didn’t need to see a face to recognize the spy.

  “I see you, Neko. Next time, watch the deadwood if you want to pass unseen.”

  In the blink of an eye she descended to the ground, landing with little more sound than a squirrel despite the carpet of needles and leaves that covered the forest floor.