The Ninja's Daughter (17 page)

“He killed Emi,” Father Mateo whispered as they put on their sandals and returned to the street.

“Yuji?” Hiro glanced back at the noren hanging in the teahouse entrance. “I don't think so.”

“He did,” the priest insisted. “He wanted her dead, and he had a motive to kill her. Weren't you listening?”

Hiro started toward the Yutoku-za. “Yuji is a pathetic, self-centered fool, but not a killer.”

“He said we were all better off with Emi dead,” the priest objected.

“I do not argue that he had a motive.” Hiro paused, remembering Yuji's interest in the unnamed object found with Emi's body. “But he doesn't seem the type to soil his hands. Especially since the coin and the killing might not be related after all.”

Father Mateo looked confused. “Not related? Why do you say so?”

“What if Emi saw the samurai who extorted money from Botan?”

“He concealed his face,” the priest protested.

“Yes,” Hiro said, “but he would have removed the mask when leaving the Yutoku-za, to avoid attracting attention in the street. Emi might have seen him from the shrine, and we now know it's possible that he could have recognized her as well.”

“The murder didn't happen the night the samurai demanded money, or even the morning that Botan gave it to him.” Father Mateo paused and raised his head as if remembering something. “But the mask disappeared the night before she died.”

“Precisely,” Hiro said. “Do you know how much that mask would sell for?”

“Enough to prevent a samurai from killing Botan's family, I presume. Also, Botan didn't mention giving the mask away.”

“He wouldn't,” Hiro said. “The shame would be too great to bear.”

“But was it stolen, or sold, or paid to the samurai with the gold?” the Jesuit asked.

“I think I know who can tell us.” Hiro paused outside the Yutoku-za. “The question is whether or not he will.”

As Hiro knocked on the door, the priest said, “Satsu may not know the mask is missing.”

“He knows,” Hiro said, “and I also think he's the reason Botan had the mask in the first place.”

Father Mateo looked confused, but the door swung open before he could ask a question.

CHAPTER 31

Satsu answered the door himself, and quickly enough that Hiro suspected the actor had seen them coming.

“Good evening.” Satsu bowed. “How may I help you?”

Hiro smiled. “The weather is mild and pleasant. We hoped you would join us and walk by the river.”

Satsu looked at the darkened sky and then at Hiro. “I sense a chill. However, I must be mistaken. I would not presume to contradict a samurai.”

He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

They walked toward the river, but no one spoke until they reached the bridge. As usual, the armored samurai stood on the opposite side, with his back to the river and his face toward Pontochō.

“Shall we cross?” Satsu asked with a nod.

“No need.” Hiro started south along the road that paralleled the river.

“Why this direction?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese.

“To take us out of Yoriki Hosokawa's jurisdiction. The ward ends two blocks south of Shijō Bridge.” Hiro answered in Japanese. Satsu would have recognized the names and guessed the topic anyway.

They continued south until Hiro knew the guard could no longer see them from the bridge. A breeze fluttered the leaves of the cherry trees along the path. It carried the odor of grilling fish, along with drying leaves and the tang of the river.

Hiro's stomach rumbled. Umeboshi and tea didn't pass for a meal.

“I'm going no farther.” With no one around to hear him, Satsu let his voice take on a suspicious edge. “What news do you bear that can't be said where other ears might hear?”

Father Mateo stiffened, but Hiro took no offense from the actor's words. Despite his assumed identity, Satsu ranked as Hiro's senior within the Iga ryu.

“What do you know about the missing mask?” the priest demanded.

“Less than subtle,” Hiro remarked in Portuguese, though he didn't mind. Satsu would expect politeness. Unexpected accusations might provoke an honest answer—or, at least, a useful one.

“What mask?” Satsu turned to Hiro, his face in shadow. “What does he mean?”

Father Mateo stepped forward. “The one that disappeared from the Yutoku-za the night before Emi died.”

“Who told you about the mask?” Satsu demanded. “Botan wouldn't, and I didn't . . .”

He trailed off, as if expecting Father Mateo to answer. When no one spoke, the actor said, “It must have been Tani.” He sighed. “You are correct, a mask was stolen the night before Emi died.”

“Stolen?” Father Mateo asked, “or sold to pay a samurai bribe?”

“Sold—” The frustrated edge left Satsu's voice. “Did someone admit to selling it, or is this just conjecture?”

“Botan has not confirmed the theory,” Father Mateo admitted.

Satsu shook his head. “Then it did not happen. Botan would never sell that mask.”

“Why not?” Hiro asked.

At the same time, Father Mateo said, “Not even to save Emi's life?”

“The mask was sacred to the Yutoku-za,” Satsu replied, “our most important and divine possession. It once belonged to a famous actor—a master, revered within our art. Botan valued the mask so much that he kept it locked away in his personal office. Only he—as head of the troupe—ever touched it or wore it on the stage.”

“Which means no one would notice it missing if Botan didn't want the troupe to learn about the samurai's demand,” Hiro said.

“Botan would never sell that mask or give it to anyone, let alone a thieving samurai.” Satsu paused. “Botan acquired that mask from me. I brought it to Kyoto in order to purchase a place in an acting family.”

“I suspected as much,” Hiro said. “No outsider marries a shite's daughter unless he has something exceptional to offer—and you mentioned that your skills did not suffice.”

“How would its origin stop Botan from selling it?” Father Mateo asked.

“Botan believed the kami sent him the mask, through me, as a sign of favor,” Satsu said. “However, the Yutoku-za has fallen on hard times in recent months. After Shogun Ashikaga's death, our wealthiest samurai patrons left the city. Without them to hire us, Botan depends even more on the kami's favor to see us through.

“In dire circumstances, Botan might sell a mask to pay our debts—or even to pay a samurai's demand. However, he would never sell that particular mask for any reason. No, I am convinced the mask was stolen.”

“If he did want to sell a mask, who would buy it?” Father Mateo asked.

“Any theater troupe in Kyoto would want that mask,” Satsu replied, “and samurai collectors would buy it also. Special masks of proven provenance are valuable and difficult to find.”

“I still think Botan sold it,” Father Mateo said, “or gave it to the samurai.”

“Either way”—Satsu looked from the priest to Hiro—“I do not understand why you needed to bring me out in the dark to discuss it now.”

“We need to find the samurai who threatened Botan,” Hiro said. “We think you know his name.”

“If I knew it, I would tell you.” Satsu shook his head. “I never saw him. No one saw him. Botan said he wore a mask.”

“Do bandits normally steal from actors' families?” Hiro asked.

“No—and generally speaking, bandits are not samurai.”

“Any man can wear a pair of swords,” Father Mateo said.

“Robbing a man with a dagger is just as effective,” Satsu answered, “and it carries far less risk of beheading if a samurai catches you in the street.”

“If you want us to find the person who killed your daughter,” Hiro said, “you must make Botan tell you more about the samurai who threatened him.”

“We have to find that samurai in order to identify Emi's killer,” Father Mateo added.

Satsu bowed. “I owe you both an apology. When I asked you to find my daughter's killer, I did not realize the danger you would have to face. The yoriki will not tolerate you asking further questions. I could tell when he tried to arrest you at the temple. I cannot have your arrest—or worse—on my conscience. Although I appreciate your efforts, I release you from your pledge to find the killer.”

Hiro stared at the actor, momentarily at a loss for words.

“Do you still have the golden coin?” Satsu asked. “I would like it back, if you do.”

“We do not have it with us,” Hiro lied, “but we can return it tomorrow morning, if you wish.”

“Thank you.” Satsu bowed again. “No coin can repay my daughter's blood, but it was hers—and the Yutoku-za does need the gold. Tomorrow morning I must attend a dress rehearsal at Fushimi Inari Shrine, to the south of the city. If you don't mind, perhaps you could bring the coin to me there. I would rather my wife did not have to see it again.”

A samurai's shadowed form appeared on the path.

“You there!” a familiar voice called. “Stop! By order of Yoriki Hosokawa!”

Satsu dropped to his knees and bent his forehead to the ground.

“Run,” Hiro whispered.

“He's already seen us,” Satsu whispered back. “I cannot risk it.”

CHAPTER 32

As the samurai approached, Hiro recognized the scruffy dōshin who followed them from the magistrate's office earlier in the afternoon. He wondered how the samurai had found them, since he hadn't noticed anyone following since they left the Jesuit's house.

“The two of you are under arrest,” the dōshin snarled, “and this commoner's life is forfeit.”

Father Mateo stepped forward. “You have no cause to take his life.”

The dōshin grasped the hilt of his sword. “A samurai needs no cause.”

“Only an honorless coward would kill a man without a reason.” Father Mateo spoke in a voice as calm as the burbling river, but firm as a mountain.

“His family told me he left the house with a foreigner and a ronin.” The dōshin spat out the final word as if it tasted foul on his tongue. “Yoriki Hosokawa told him what would happen if he spoke with you again.”

“He threatened whipping, not execution,” Father Mateo countered. “I was there—and you have no business harassing innocent people outside your jurisdiction.”

The dōshin ignored the Jesuit's words. He crossed to Satsu and drew his sword with a motion that would have severed the actor's neck—but at the final moment Satsu ducked and rolled away.

The dōshin's blade swished harmlessly through the air.

“How dare you!” The samurai started for Satsu, but Hiro stepped between them.

“The foreigner is correct,” Hiro said. “I will not let you kill this man.”

“Then you condemn yourself and the priest as well.” The dōshin raised his sword.

Satsu lunged for the samurai with unexpected speed. A dagger glinted in his hand.

The dōshin leaped away, avoiding Satsu's blade by inches.

“You filth!” The dōshin swung his sword, but once again the actor dodged.

“Kneel and accept your punishment,” the dōshin ordered, “or your entire family will die!”

“Sheathe your sword and forget this happened,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro shook his head. “Too late for that.”

The dōshin raised his sword and leaped toward Satsu. This time, Hiro's katana blocked the strike.

The dōshin slashed at Hiro, but the shinobi avoided the blade. As Hiro counterattacked, the policeman grunted, but not enough to confirm a successful strike. Hiro jumped away, suspecting a trick—and felt a wave of air on his face as the dōshin's sword passed by.

He circled sideways, into the shadow of an overhanging branch. The dōshin countered Hiro's movement, maintaining the space between them. Lanterns along the path cast flickering spots of light and shadow over the samurai's scowling features.

Hiro froze, awaiting an opening.

The dōshin swayed from side to side, weaving like a snake. He stamped his foot, but Hiro did not flinch or jump to attack.

A moment passed. Hiro drew a silent breath and felt his senses sharpen.

Overhead, the cherry branches rustled with a breeze. The river burbled past within its banks.

The dōshin stamped his foot again and lunged.

This time, Hiro stepped aside and countered with a sideways strike. He felt the blade slice through the air. He missed.

He spun to avoid the counterstrike, which came more quickly than expected.

Hiro traded blows with the dōshin. Some passed harmlessly through the air. Others ended with a clash of steel on steel. Despite his loathing for the dōshin, Hiro admired his opponent's skill with a sword.

“You fight well,” Hiro said when the combat paused. “It is unfortunate that you must die.”

The dōshin lunged and swung his sword. As Hiro jumped away, he spun and aimed a lethal strike across the dōshin's neck. This time, Hiro felt his blade strike home.

The dōshin's grunt became a cough, and then a ragged gasp. He dropped his sword and clutched his throat. Blood pattered down on the earthen path with a sound like falling raindrops.

Hiro stepped to the side and raised his katana. “Your skill has earned you a rapid death.”

In a single motion, he cut off the dōshin's head.

Before Hiro could sheathe his katana, Satsu ran forward and grasped the dead man's hands. “We have to get him off the road.”

He dragged the body into the shadows beneath a cherry tree.

Hiro picked up the dōshin's head and followed.

“You killed him,” Father Mateo said. “What are we going to do?”

“Dispose of the body,” Hiro replied. “And quickly.”

“You killed him,” Father Mateo repeated.

Hiro nodded. “An established fact.”

Father Mateo stared at the body. “We have no way to bury him.”