Betrayal at Iga Read online

  “You think you could do better?” Her voice held a playful challenge.

  “Could do, have done, will again.” The childhood taunt jumped out unbidden. Flustered by his own reaction, Hiro started walking. “I should go.”

  “Hiro, wait.” She laid a hand on his arm, but he shrugged her off.

  “I’m on business, and I can’t afford to be distracted.”

  She fell in step beside him. “Nice to know I’m still a distraction.”

  “More like a lesson, permanently learned.”

  “There’s more to what happened that night than you realize.”

  He stopped. “You mean, last night? Yajiro’s murder?”

  “No. The other night. . . .” She spoke with unusual hesitation. “You must know . . . I didn’t want to hurt you. . . .”

  “Really?” He pulled his kimono off his shoulder, exposing the parallel scars. “Could have fooled me.”

  She took a step backward. “I did not realize the scars remained.” She raised a hand as if to touch his shoulder, but pulled it back. “Hiro. Truly, I did not know.”

  “You expect me to believe you did not realize how deeply you cut me?” He shrugged the kimono back into place. “Now you do.”

  “I know it isn’t fair to ask forgiveness—”

  “Then do not.” He kept his voice controlled to avoid appearing weak or angry. “Lives, like rivers, flow in one direction. Only fools attempt to change the course of either.”

  He continued through the trees.

  “Hiro, wait—”

  Though tempted to turn back, he forced himself to continue walking. Finding Yajiro’s murderer was more important than fighting personal demons whose exorcism would bring him no relief.

  Hiro emerged from the forest near the entrance to the archery yard. A teenaged boy walked toward him, carrying a pair of throwing daggers. The boy noticed Hiro, stopped, and bowed. He drew a breath as if to speak but let it out again, the words unspoken.

  “Have you something to say?” Hiro’s question granted the boy permission.

  The youth glanced over his shoulder. “With apologies, one of the Koga emissaries is using the archery range.”

  “Did she ask you to leave?” Hiro asked.

  The boy shook his head. “We were told we must not approach them. When I saw her there, I turned away. I’ll practice later.”

  “A wise decision,” Hiro said, “and thank you for the warning.”

  He continued down the path, trusting his rank and age would prevent the youth from following or asking any questions.

  When he reached the open field that served as the village archery range, Hiro watched from the edge of the trees as Kiku emptied a quiver of arrows into a target made of reeds. Each missile struck the target’s eye, clustering within a circle barely large enough to hold them all.

  Hiro doubted the best of Iga’s archers could do better. Privately, he felt relieved he hadn’t brought a bow.

  Watching was embarrassing enough.

  Kiku looked over her shoulder and noticed Hiro.

  He gestured to the posts for throwing weapons practice, which stood near the trees, too far from the archery line to pose a threat.

  “You came to practice?” she called.

  He nodded. “If you do not mind.”

  “Keep your distance.” She started toward the target to retrieve her arrows.

  So much for engaging her in conversation. Still, he could practice with his shuriken until she finished shooting, and then speak to her on the walk to Midori’s house.

  Hiro lined himself up with the nearest post and studied the divots that marred the wood. Constructed from a tree trunk cut to ten feet long and anchored in the ground, the post already bore the wounds of many weapon strikes. Narrow splinters littered the dirt around its base, while larger ones stuck away from the wood at awkward angles, split from the grain but not dislodged completely.

  He drew a shuriken from his sleeve, sighted the target, and threw. The metal star struck the post three inches to the left of his chosen point.

  Hiro winced. He preferred to use the shuriken as a fist-load weapon, throwing them only as last resort. Even so, he’d fallen badly out of practice.

  He pulled the two remaining shuriken from his sleeve and threw them. Although slightly better aimed, they also struck off target. With a sigh, he retrieved them, threw another round, and then another. Slowly his aim grew more consistent, and his thoughts began to stray.

  Neko’s behavior weighed on his mind, especially her apology. He hadn’t seen her in many years, but she had never been the type to feel regret. To acknowledge a misstep, maybe, but in her opinion awkward memories, like corpses, were better left entombed.

  Unless, of course, she intended to distract him.

  Hiro felt a rush of anger. Surely Neko did not believe that she could draw him in a second time. He threw two metal stars in quick succession. The first embedded itself in the post with a vicious thump that sent a spray of splinters through the air. The second struck the edge of the first and bounced away with a jarring clang.

  Kiku lowered her bow and turned to look.

  Hiro’s cheeks grew hot as he bent to retrieve the errant shuriken.

  Kiku approached with a knowing smile. “Only a woman makes a man that angry.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “I’m not angry.” Hiro straightened, shuriken in hand.

  “If you say so.” Kiku’s smile revealed her disbelief.

  Hiro retrieved his other shuriken. “Have you finished shooting?”

  “I don’t believe you came here to practice.” Kiku turned away. “If you have something to say, you might as well say it while I train.”

  She headed back to the archery line, and Hiro followed. He chose a position far enough away to prevent interference, but close enough to talk without raising his voice. “You mentioned Yajiro-san seemed well on the journey. Are you certain?”

  “That’s a question only he could answer.” She drew the bow and released an arrow.

  “Perhaps he ate something spoiled at one of the ryokan,” Hiro offered.

  “We have had this conversation.” Kiku sent another arrow into the heart of the bristling target. “Yajiro showed no sign of illness on the road from Koga. Yesterday morning, he refused the meal at the inn. He called the food inferior—his usual complaint. Upon arriving in Iga, he drank tea and ate the welcome cakes. Aside from that, and the food at the feast, he ate nothing yesterday.”

  “What kind of tea did Neko bring you?”

  She lowered her bow and faced him. “Sencha—admittedly, bitter enough to hide a toxin, but Toshi, Yajiro, and I all drank it too. From that, you may draw your own conclusions.”

  “And the cakes?”

  “I don’t eat cakes. Fuyu refused to touch them and ordered Toshi not to eat them either. Yajiro ate the entire plate, so as not to offend our hosts.” She reached for the quiver but found it empty. “Do you think Hattori-sama attempted to poison us with welcome cakes?”

  “I think Yajiro consumed the poison before the feast, and that Hanzō is innocent,” Hiro suggested, mainly to evaluate her reaction.

  “Forgive me. I forgot a dog will never blame his master.” Kiku started toward the target.

  Hiro ignored the insult. “Loyalty has no impact on my reasoning.”

  She glanced at him but did not reply.

  Hiro followed her to the target and helped her pull the arrows from the reeds.

  “The evidence will tell us who assassinated Yajiro-san,” he said.

  “If not Hattori Hanzō . . .” Kiku stepped away. “You think we killed him. Either me, or someone else in the Koga delegation.”

  “That had not occurred to me,” Hiro lied, “but since you brought it up: how well do you know your clansmen?”

  She thrust a handful of arrows into the quiver. “Surely you have realized we come from different clans.”

  “It did seem odd to send four from Koga.” Hiro offered her the arro
ws he’d collected. “However, that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I first met Toshi two weeks ago, shortly before we left for Iga.” She accepted the arrows. “Fuyu, I knew by reputation only.”

  “And Yajiro?”

  “How many times must I repeat myself?” She slung the quiver over her shoulder and started toward the path. “I did not know him well.”

  Hiro fell in step beside her. “Does Koga want an alliance or not?”

  She pondered the question. “Our opinion is not unanimous. The Koga clan believes that we would benefit from a treaty with Iga. Some of the smaller clans agree.”

  “But Fuyu and Toshi’s clan opposes it.” Hiro used the singular “clan,” hoping she would confirm his suspicion about the men’s relationship.

  “Fuyu’s clan opposes the alliance vehemently,” Kiku said. “As for Toshi’s family . . . I’m not certain. Officially they oppose the alliance, and Toshi’s uncle, who leads their clan, expects the boy to represent their interests.”

  “But you are not certain of his position?”

  “I do not speak for Toshi, and fortunately I am not in his position.” She smiled. “A fact that is fortunate for Fuyu also.”

  “You don’t like him,” Hiro observed.

  “I have no tolerance for men who fail to respect a woman’s skills.”

  “How far would Fuyu go to prevent an alliance?” Hiro asked.

  “The man is a self-important fool, but he is not the assassin,” Kiku scoffed. “The truth is, your friend Neko killed Yajiro.”

  “Neko?” The accusation startled him, but not as much as—or for the reasons—he would have liked. “Ten minutes ago you blamed Hattori Hanzō.”

  “She may well have acted on his orders.”

  The comment mirrored Hiro’s own suspicions so closely that he opted for silence.

  “I note you do not argue,” Kiku said.

  “I will make no accusations until I complete my investigation,” Hiro answered. “I neither accept your theory nor dismiss it at this point.”

  She gave him a curious look. “I must admit, that’s more than I expected.”

  Hiro kept an eye on the trees during their walk to Midori’s house, but didn’t see or hear any sign of Neko. Kiku walked beside him in a silence that he might have enjoyed, in different circumstances.

  Back at Midori’s, Hiro discovered Toshi and Father Mateo kneeling on opposite sides of the hearth. The Jesuit looked up as the door swung open. “Welcome back. You’re just in time for tea.”

  “You’re having tea together?” Kiku looked around the room. “Where’s Fuyu-san?”

  “He stopped by a few minutes ago to retrieve some rice from the kitchen for the rites,” Toshi replied. “He’s taking it back to the guesthouse now.”

  “He let you stay here alone?” Kiku gave the younger man an unreadable look.

  “I’m not alone.” Toshi smiled at the priest. “Father Mateo has been telling me about his foreign god. Imagine: his god says there are no other gods at all!”

  “Clearly, his god has not spent much time in Japan.” Kiku set her bow beside the door and knelt to Toshi’s right.

  Hiro circled the hearth and took the place beside Father Mateo. As he knelt, he wondered if the priest had learned anything useful in his absence. Hopefully, the Jesuit hadn’t spent the entire time attempting to convert the young shinobi to his religion. Hiro had no objection to Father Mateo’s Christian faith but did regret its impact on the Jesuit’s priorities.

  Ana entered the room from the kitchen, carrying a tray that held a teapot, cups, a canister of tea, and a plate piled high with sweetened rice balls. Hiro’s stomach rumbled as his own priorities altered course. Whatever the Jesuit knew could wait, at least until after tea.

  The housekeeper knelt beside the hearth and set the tray before the priest. “Shall I bring more cups?”

  “Please do.” Father Mateo nodded. “Thank you.”

  Hiro examined the canister as Ana disappeared into the kitchen. “Is that Midori’s tea?”

  “Will she mind?” Father Mateo looked worried.

  “No, but others might.” He glanced at Toshi.

  “I’m not worried,” the young shinobi said.

  Ana returned with a tray containing two more cups and a second plate of snacks. She set them down in front of Kiku and left the room once more.

  Father Mateo spooned leaves from the canister into the teapot, unhooked the kettle from over the fire, and poured hot water over the tea. Curls of steam rose from the pot.

  Hiro found it strange that neither Toshi nor Kiku had visible qualms about consuming food and drink, despite Yajiro’s death the night before. On that one point, he would have agreed with Fuyu.

  “Have the priests begun the prayers already?” Kiku asked.

  “They should have,” Toshi replied as Father Mateo poured the tea and passed the cups around. “Fuyu-san sent me away before they started.”

  Kiku’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. “I should have made the arrangements personally.”

  Hiro closed his eyes and raised his teacup. He inhaled the grassy steam and noted a faint, bitter undertone, reminiscent of boiled radish.

  His eyes flew open as Father Mateo raised the teacup to his lips.

  “No!” Hiro struck the cup from the Jesuit’s hand. “Don’t drink the tea!”

  CHAPTER 22

  Tea spattered the front of Father Mateo’s black kimono as the teacup flew from his hand and into the fire. Liquid sizzled on the coals.

  Toshi and Kiku stared in shock.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Father Mateo demanded in Portuguese.

  “Don’t drink the tea,” Hiro said in Japanese. “It’s poisoned.”

  Toshi gave his cup a frightened look and set it on the mat.

  Kiku raised her teacup to her nose and sniffed the steam. “He is correct.” She narrowed her eyes at Hiro and slowly lowered the cup to the floor.

  “It’s poisoned?” Toshi asked. “You’re certain?”

  Kiku continued to stare at Hiro. “Yes, but only an expert would have noticed.”

  She reached across the hearth for the canister that held the tea. Slowly, she removed the lid and dumped the contents onto the tray beside her. Dark green leaves spilled over the lacquered surface, along with a powder the color of dirt and a scattering of brownish-purple petals.

  Toshi wrinkled his nose. “The tea is old. The leaves are crumbling.”

  Kiku pointed to the petals. “That’s not tea.”

  Hiro agreed, though he wished he didn’t. “It looks like torikabuto.”

  “I concur.” Kiku’s expression grew dangerous. “Though, as I mentioned, only an expert would have known.”

  “Bird helmets?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese.

  “Japanese only,” Kiku said. “If you speak, you speak to everyone.”

  “He asked about the poison’s name.” Addressing the Jesuit, Hiro continued, still in Japanese, “We call it torikabuto because its purple flowers look like helmets a bird could wear. Every part of the plant is poisonous, but the root is highly toxic, especially when dried and ground to powder.”

  Father Mateo drew back. “How toxic?”

  “Had you tasted any, it would kill you within hours,” Kiku said.

  Toshi pointed at Hiro. “You tried to kill us!”

  “An understandable accusation, but factually impossible. Neither the priest nor I have entered the kitchen since the morning meal, and we all know the tea was harmless then.”

  “The housekeeper,” Toshi pressed. “She must have done it on your orders!”

  Hiro snorted. “Ana wouldn’t kill a spider on my orders.”

  “Your mother, Midori, is a poisons expert, is she not?” Kiku asked.

  Hiro could almost see the kunoichi connecting the deadly tea with Yajiro’s death, mainly because his thoughts had done the same. Not only had Midori cooked the feast, but she had recently retrieved, from this very house, the medic
ine box in which she stored her poisons. Hiro hoped the Koga emissaries did not know about that fact, and that Father Mateo had sense enough to keep the information to himself, at least for now.

  “I asked about your mother’s specialization.” Kiku’s voice took on a warning edge.

  The most effective lies contained a grain of truth. “She is an herbalist and healer.”

  “You know as well as I do that a healer’s training also covers poisons.” Kiku narrowed her eyes at Hiro. “You recognize torikabuto because she taught you to.”

  “That doesn’t mean she poisoned the tea,” Father Mateo said. “My housekeeper spent the entire morning working in the kitchen. If anyone had tampered with the tea, she would have known, and would not have served it.”

  “Your mother prepared the meal that killed Yajiro-san,” Toshi declared.

  “The symptoms match,” Kiku added, “sweating, vomiting, pain in the chest, and sudden death are all consistent with torikabuto poisoning. Dried and ground, it doesn’t have much taste. However, it normally acts more slowly . . . the welcome cakes.”

  Hiro had thought of that as well.

  “Who baked the cakes?” she asked.

  Hiro raised his hands. “I do not know.”

  “How did you realize the tea was poisoned?” Father Mateo asked.

  “I know the scent of sencha. When I smelled the steam, I realized something wasn’t right.”

  Kiku looked at her cup. “I cannot believe I missed it.”

  Hiro didn’t believe it, either.

  The fact that she recognized torikabuto, and its symptoms, demonstrated her familiarity with poisons. She had gone to the archery range directly after breakfast, but could have returned while the house was empty, waiting until Ana left and sneaking in to taint the tea. He briefly debated asking to inspect her box of herbs, but doubted an examination would reveal anything amiss. Either the box would contain no torikabuto, proving nothing, or Kiku would claim that her possession of the deadly poison was coincidental, since every person trained in poisons carried a supply.