The Ninja's Daughter (13 page)

Father Mateo watched them go. “Did they leave because of me?”

“Indirectly,” Hiro said. “They must have mistaken you for a senior monk, at least at first, and suddenly remembered they have duties—which do not include an hour wasted watching actors' lessons.”

“May I go home?” Haru asked.

“Only if you promise not to interrupt the actors,” Satsu said.

Haru frowned. “But they make mistakes—”

“—and correcting them is Botan's job, not yours.” Satsu's voice held a warning edge.

“It will be mine,” Haru said, “when I'm the master.”

“Until which time, you learn by silent observation.” Satsu nodded. “Very well, you may watch the lessons if Botan permits, but do not interrupt.”

Haru bowed. “Yes, Father.”

Satsu made a gesture of dismissal, and Haru ran off toward the temple gate.

The actor turned and bowed to the other men. “Haru mentioned you wanted to see me. I planned to look for you when his lesson finished.”

“Your son is a talented acrobat,” Father Mateo said. “I didn't realize nō performances featured acrobatics.”

“They don't,” Satsu replied, “but some of the kyogen interludes, between the plays, have roles for acrobats. I started training Haru for kyogen several years ago, in case he lacked the skills to act in nō. I needn't have worried. Botan has decided that Haru has the skills to be shite.”

“We heard about his upcoming debut,” Father Mateo said.

“The role is small and played by a child to keep the focus on the adult actors,” Satsu said. “But even simple roles help children learn the rules of nō.”

“Why continue to train him in acrobatics?” Hiro asked.

“You are thinking that handsprings and balancing skills would serve a shinobi's needs as well as an actor's.” Satsu didn't wait for affirmation. “These lessons provide a diversion for Haru, something else to absorb his time. Otherwise, he spends every waking moment watching actors and correcting their mistakes. He has memorized all the plays in our current repertoire, and has a flawless memory. Unfortunately, he is not good at holding his tongue when others err.”

“Do actors' children have more freedom to speak than samurai boys?” the Jesuit asked.

“Noble children learn etiquette before they learn to walk, but actors avoid restricting children before they reach the age for formal training,” Satsu said. “However, I do expect my son to demonstrate self-control.”

“Do you expect the same from your daughters?” Hiro asked.

Satsu frowned. “What makes you ask?”

Hiro saw no point in subtlety. Satsu was trained to recognize subterfuge. “Did you know your daughter was meeting a man by the river before she died?”

“Emi?” Satsu shook his head. “No, though when you mentioned a ‘friend' had told you about her death, I suspected something of the kind. The river is the only place she could have met him without being noticed.”

“We have reason to believe she met him regularly,” Hiro said, “including the night she died. We also suspect there may have been more than one man.”

Emotion flickered through Satsu's features, but disappeared before Hiro could identify it.

“I did not know this,” the actor said, “but I will not deny it could have happened.”

Hiro waited for him to continue.

“I'm not a fool,” Satsu said. “My daughter wanted independence. Specifically, she dreamed of entertaining in a teahouse. She was too old to enter a high-end establishment, and I wouldn't allow her to go to a house where patrons expect a girl to do more than sing. She didn't understand why I refused, and disagreed with me, but children often fail to appreciate the reasons why their parents make decisions.

“She and I had reached an impasse. Emi refused to bend her will to conform to mine, or anyone else's. She threatened to run away, and I believed her.

“Then, about a week ago, she told me she had changed her mind and wanted to become a nun instead. I found that surprising, and also strange. I wondered what caused the decision, but in my relief I didn't demand a reason. I realize, now, I did not know my daughter nearly as well as I believed.”

“You don't seem very surprised to learn that Emi met with a man without you knowing,” Father Mateo said.

“My daughter is dead,” Satsu replied. “Not much can surprise me about her anymore. Emi often went to the temple at night, to Chugenji or, sometimes, Kenninji. She told us she prayed and came directly home. I wish I had not trusted her at her word.”

“When did you learn she wanted to become an entertainer?” Hiro asked.

“Emi sang before she spoke and danced as soon as she learned to walk.” Satsu's eyes took on the glaze of memory. “She had a difficult time accepting that she could not act in nō. She would have made a fine shite, if she hadn't been born a female.

“I never realized how strongly she felt about it until we announced Chou's betrothal to Yuji. That's when Emi told me she did not ever intend to marry. At first, I thought she was jealous of Chou, but Emi explained that she had no desire to become a wife or a mother. She said no man would own her, that her life belonged to her alone.”

“Perhaps she had a preference for women.” Had Satsu not been an Iga shinobi, Hiro would not have made the comment. Polite conversation precluded direct discussion of such private topics.

“Not that I knew or suspected,” Satsu said, “and if she did meet men by the river, it suggests she enjoyed their attention. I think she simply wanted to control her life in ways no woman has a right to claim.”

“Shinobi women can claim it,” Hiro said.

“I am forbidden to speak that truth to my family.” Satsu's voice took on a bitter edge. “Even had I realized her inclination soon enough, that way was barred to her.”

CHAPTER 24

“You learned of Emi's refusal to marry the day that Chou was betrothed to Yuji?” Hiro asked.

“The day we announced it,” Satsu said. “Yuji's father and I arranged the betrothal shortly after Chou was born. I was looking for an arrangement for Emi, too, but she threatened to hang herself on her wedding night if we forced the issue. I believed that she would do it. As I mentioned, she also threatened to run away.”

“You let your daughter refuse a marriage?” Hiro asked.

Satsu shrugged. “I hoped she would change her mind, in time, when she realized no high-class house would have her. She was young. I thought, when she saw her sister happily married to Yuji . . . I was wrong.”

“When did she mention becoming a nun?” Hiro asked.

“A week ago,” Satsu said. “One evening, she didn't come home before dark. I found her at the Shijō Bridge, tossing pebbles into the river.”

“The samurai on guard didn't stop her?” Father Mateo asked.

“He normally stands on the opposite side of the river—closer to Pontochō—in hopes of spotting a teahouse flower out for an evening stroll. He doesn't care about this side, unless someone crosses the bridge after dark.”

“What about Emi's decision to join a monastery?” Hiro asked.

“The night I saw her at the bridge, she confessed to visiting teahouses, hoping to become an entertainer over my objections,” Satsu said. “She told me they all refused her, and some of the owners recommended she become a prostitute. She asked me not to speak of it to anyone. I haven't, until now. Not even to Nori. Emi said, if she couldn't become an entertainer, she would become a nun.”

“Wouldn't a nun have less independence than a married woman?” Father Mateo asked.

“That depends on how you define independence,” Satsu said.

“Dedicating your life to a kami is not the same as answering to a man,” Hiro added.

Father Mateo nodded. “But if she wished to become a nun, why would she meet a man by the river?”

“She wouldn't,” Satsu said, “which means she lied—to the man by the river, or to me.”

“Or both,” Hiro said.

Satsu's face flushed red. “You've had two days to investigate. Is this all you've learned about the coin and Emi's killer?”

“Public anger does not suit an actor speaking with samurai.” Hiro spoke politely, in recognition of Satsu's status as his uncle. “If you had known about Emi meeting men by the river, would you have stopped her?”

After a pause, Satsu recovered his composure. “I wouldn't have killed her, and don't pretend that isn't what you're thinking.”

A cold voice behind them said, “Matsui Hiro—you will come with me.”

Hiro turned to see Yoriki Hosokawa, flanked by the usual pair of scruffy dōshin.

Hiro pulled a silver coin from his purse and handed it to Satsu. “Thank you for taking the time to teach the foreigner about your art.”

The actor accepted the coin with a bow and knelt before the yoriki.

“What are you doing here?” Yoriki Hosokawa demanded.

“This man is an actor,” Father Mateo said.

The yoriki's scowl deepened. “Yes, and I ordered you to leave him alone! This is the man whose daughter we found on the riverbank two days ago.”

“The same man?” Father Mateo squinted at Satsu. “Are you certain?”

“Do not play the ignorant foreigner with me!” the yoriki thundered. “You are under arrest, and so is your translator!”

The dōshin brandished their hooked jitte as if eager to use them on the foreign priest.

Hiro stepped between Father Mateo and the dōshin. “This priest has committed no crime, and neither have I.”

“You disobeyed an order from an assistant magistrate,” the yoriki snarled.

“Your order?” Hiro asked. “The last time I checked, your words do not carry the weight of law.”

He fought the urge to lay a hand on the hilt of his katana. Aggressive action would lead to a fight, and though he longed to shame the assistant magistrate in combat, Hiro knew better than to pick a fight with the Kyoto police.

In public, anyway.

“I don't think I've seen this man before.” Father Mateo bent down and looked at Satsu from the side.

“Lies will not help you,” the yoriki said. “You can tell one Japanese face from another, and even if you failed to recognize this man at once, your ronin interpreter would have known him.”

“Drop the falsehood,” Hiro muttered in Portuguese. “You're making it worse. I'll handle this.”

Hiro turned to the yoriki, bowed, and switched to Japanese. “Forgive me. Though we have met several times, we have not formally exchanged our names. I am Matsui Hiro, son of—”

The yoriki raised a dismissive hand. “You may call me Yoriki Hosokawa. I will not have my given name soiled by your filthy ronin tongue.”

“Very well, Hosokawa- san.” Hiro deliberately dropped the title. “I repeat, this man has committed no offense. You ordered us not to investigate the death of the actor's daughter. However, you never prohibited the foreigner learning about the art of nō. Has the shogun instituted a law against curiosity?”

Yoriki Hosokawa scowled. “Curious men have a way of finding trouble.”

Hiro shrugged just rudely enough to cause offense.

Yoriki Hosokawa turned on Satsu. “You! Get out of here—and understand, I'll have you whipped if you ever speak to this foreigner again!”

Satsu nodded, jumped to his feet, and scurried away.

“And you”—the yoriki turned to Hiro and Father Mateo—“will come with me.”

“What charge do you bring against us?” Hiro kept himself between the priest and the other men.

“That is for the magistrate to tell you.” The yoriki smiled. “Unless you resist, in which case I will gladly arrest you for refusing to obey the magistrate's summons.”

“The magistrate wants to see us now?” Father Mateo glanced at the sun. “He won't be hearing cases at this hour.”

“He said to bring you immediately, before the afternoon audience.”

“How did you find us?” the Jesuit asked.

“Quit stalling! And never question my competence!” Yoriki Hosokawa's hand started toward the hilt of his sword.

“Why does he want to see us?” Father Mateo asked with a vacant tone that Hiro recognized as intentional foolishness.

The dōshin stepped forward.

“I am finished explaining,” Yoriki Hosokawa said. “You can follow me now, of your own accord, or we can drag you in by force. I assure you, either choice is fine with me.”

CHAPTER 25

The samurai guarding the magistrate's compound stepped aside as Yoriki Hosokawa approached with Hiro and Father Mateo. The yoriki swaggered through the gates with his chin in the air and his hand on his hip. Hiro resisted the urge to step on the arrogant samurai's sandal from behind and send him sprawling.

The magistrate's compound had already filled with people awaiting the start of the afternoon session. Men and women thronged the yard. A line of dōshin stood near the wooden dais, watching over a cluster of prisoners bound with ropes. As Hiro and Father Mateo followed the yoriki toward the magistrate's house, the scruffy dōshin disappeared into the crowd.

Yoriki Hosokawa marched across the graveled yard with the air of a man who expected absolute deference. Commoners scrambled out of his way like a troop of monkeys fleeing a wrathful tiger.

When they reached the wooden veranda that surrounded the magistrate's home and office, Yoriki Hosokawa left his sandals beside the door and entered the building. Hiro and Father Mateo did the same. Inside, the yoriki led them into a large, tatami-covered room with a bed of white sand and a dais on one end.

Hiro recognized the magistrate's office. He and Father Mateo had been here a little over a year ago, while investigating the murder of Akechi Hideyoshi, a retired general and an ally of the Ashikaga clan.

This time, they didn't have to wait for the magistrate to appear. Magistrate Ishimaki already knelt on the wooden dais. His jet-black robes absorbed the light from the brazier in the corner, creating the momentary illusion of a balding, disembodied head presiding over the room.