The Ninja's Daughter (25 page)

“I couldn't wait to ride my horse. I didn't even bother with a saddle. Isabel wanted to ride behind me, but Mother said no, and Isabel cried so hard it broke my heart. Then Father said that she could ride, provided she held onto me tightly and that I held the horse to a walk.”

“Your father allowed a woman to ride a horse?” Hiro asked. Father Mateo's reactions to Japanese women had made Hiro think that women in Portugal couldn't do much at all.

“No one could ever say no to Isabel. She had ridden before, on Father's mares, and I was a good enough horseman that my father trusted me to keep her . . . safe.” Father Mateo cleared his throat. “As soon as we left the stable, Isabel wanted the horse to go faster. I refused. I didn't know the stallion yet, and Father said to keep him at a walk. Isabel called me a frightened mouse and dared me to make the stallion run. When I refused a second time, she kicked the horse in the ribs as hard as she could.”

Father Mateo's eyes grew red. “The stallion bucked. He ran. I couldn't hold him. Isabel fell off. . . .”

Hiro's chest grew tight. To his surprise, his own eyes threatened tears. He regretted forcing Father Mateo to relive such vibrant pain.

The priest continued, “I jumped from the horse and ran to her, but she had broken her neck in the fall. I had no time to go for help. She died there, in my arms.” He looked at Hiro in despair. “It was my fault.”

“It was not your fault. Her death was an accident.”

Father Mateo shook his head. “I should have refused to let her ride.”

“Your father gave permission.”

Father Mateo looked into the fire. “That does not expunge my guilt.”

Hiro sat completely still. No words would ease the pain his friend was feeling. Silent support was the only comfort Hiro had to offer.

Eventually, Father Mateo spoke. “The day she died, and for many days thereafter, I prayed that God would kill me too. Guilt overwhelmed me. I could not bear my father's sadness or my mother's grief. I never joined the theater troupe. I could not summon the strength to hide my sorrow, let alone pretend at joy. I found some small relief at Mass. When I bowed my head to pray I pretended Isabel was there beside me.”

“Is that why you became a priest?”

Father Mateo smiled. “A few months after Isabel died, I dreamed I was in church, and when I raised my head she
was
beside me. She took my hand and said, ‘Do not worry about me anymore. God wants you to care for others, for the ones who are left behind.'

“I awoke with tears running down my face and the first real peace I had felt since my sister died. God allowed her to speak to me—he called to me through her.”

“It was only a dream,” Hiro said. “Your god was not in it.”

“But he was. He spoke through Isabel. That night I offered him my life, and now I live to serve the ones he loves.”

Hiro was not convinced that Father Mateo's god had spoken, but respected his friend enough to keep that opinion to himself.

“You don't believe me.” Father Mateo smiled.

“I believe that it happened the way you described it, which makes it true in the only way that matters.”

Father Mateo stood up. “If you will excuse me, I am late for afternoon prayer.” At the door to his room, he turned back. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Hiro asked.

“For being the kind of person I could trust with Isabel's memory. In twenty years, there has not been another.”

CHAPTER 47

Hiro picked up the golden coin, which the priest had left behind at the hearth. The leather dangled off his palm. He wished the coin could tell him its secrets, and not only the ones relating to Emi's death. The gold had passed through many hands before arriving in Japan and many more before it ended up on a dead girl's neck.

The coin did not belong to Yuji. Hiro felt certain of that, at least. Actors of his status would not normally get a salary. The spending money they possessed came solely from their patrons' gifts. A man like Yuji wouldn't waste his precious coins on a girl, and if he had, he would not risk his future to recover such a damning token.

Yuji wanted the gold itself.

But why?

Hiro slipped the coin into his sleeve and rose from the hearth. The golden puzzle would have to wait. For now, he had more important problems—specifically, how to smuggle Father Mateo, Ana, and Luis out of Kyoto.

Ana, at least, presented no issue. Commoners needed a travel pass, but guards at the barricades often made exceptions for elderly, cranky women visiting sick relatives in the country.

The Jesuit and Luis would not be so lucky.

Footsteps thumped in the entry, and Luis Álvares stormed into the common room. He looked around and shouted, “Mateo!”

Father Mateo's door slid open. “Has something happened?”

“A message from Ōtsu.” Luis raised his hand, revealing a crumpled parchment. “Simão Duarte will reach Kyoto tomorrow afternoon.”

Momentary weakness flooded into Hiro's knees. At least the new merchant had not arrived already.

“He wants me to meet him at the gates an hour before sunset and accompany his wagons to my warehouse.” Luis waved the message like a miniature flag. “Of all the inconsiderate . . .”

“Out of the question,” Hiro said. “You will not meet him.”

“Of course not,” Luis snapped. “Simão can't order me around like a servant.”

“That isn't the issue,” Hiro replied. “We will have left the city before he arrives.”

Luis turned to Father Mateo. “Is he still on about that shogunate nonsense?” He shook the letter. “Simão explained it all in his message. The shogun needs a second merchant because he needs more weapons to prepare for the coming war. He doesn't understand that a single merchant can handle everything. It's simply a misunderstanding. One which will cost me dearly, but—”

“More dearly than you can imagine,” Hiro said.

“Father Vilela has ordered us to leave Kyoto immediately.” Father Mateo approached the hearth. “The Church has decided the city isn't safe. We have to go tomorrow, and I want you to close your warehouse and come with us.”

“Has everyone taken leave of his senses but me?” Luis turned his face to the kitchen and yelled, “
Ana!
I'm eating supper in my room!”

“We cannot stay in the city,” Father Mateo repeated.

“Then go,” Luis said, “but leave me out of it. I'm not going anywhere.”

The merchant stomped to his room and shut the door behind him with a rattle.

Hiro looked at Father Mateo.

The Jesuit raised a hand. “Not now. Even assuming you're correct about Matsunaga-
san
's intentions, he won't come after Luis until Simão has settled in. We don't have to figure this out tonight. Tomorrow, I'll send a message to Father Vilela, explaining the situation and letting him know we need more time.”

The priest returned to his room and closed the door.

Hiro's chest grew tight, as it always did when he was trapped between bad options. He wished he could obtain some proof of the plot against Luis. Hisahide would not wait to execute his plan, but without evidence Hiro would never persuade the priest—or the merchant—that the situation was now urgent.

The minute Simão reached Kyoto, Luis and Father Mateo were out of time.

The sun had set, which meant that no one could enter Kyoto until morning. However, that didn't necessarily mean the priest and his household were safe tonight.

Hiro went to his room, changed into a dark-colored tunic and matching trousers, and left the house. As he climbed up onto the roof, he yawned.

Tired or not, he wouldn't sleep tonight.

As he watched the street from the ridge of the roof, Hiro pondered the details of Emi's murder. He couldn't dismiss the thought that Satsu wanted more than just the name of his daughter's killer. The coin was connected to the crime, despite the lack of evidence, but Hiro had also begun to doubt the murderer had given the gold to Emi. Yuji and Jiro had no money, and neither Satsu nor Botan had reason to give the girl a gift at all. The yoriki needed gold and wouldn't have left the coin behind, which left only the mysterious man who promised to purchase Emi's place in a teahouse. And, despite what they'd been told, Hiro had seen no evidence such a person even existed—

—at which thought, the mystery unraveled itself completely.

Hiro knew who killed Emi, and why, and the answer—though clearly the proper one—surprised him. Better still, he suspected he could reveal the killer's identity in time to get Father Mateo out of Kyoto before the yoriki's deadline.

He spent the rest of the night reviewing the evidence in his mind, and one by one the pieces fell into place. By the time the eastern sky turned pale blue and gold with the promise of dawn, Hiro knew his answer was correct.

His spirits lifted, buoyed by the fiery glow that preceded the rising sun.

He wished he had time to watch the sun's rebirth, but lives would stand or fall by his timing today, and Hiro would not risk the Jesuit's life for the sake of a sunrise.

He hurried off the roof, barely noting the pleasant smells of dying leaves and wood smoke in the air. Back in his room, he donned his gray kimono and thrust his swords through his favorite obi. If he had to flee Kyoto with nothing but the clothes on his back, at least he would be wearing the ones he liked.

He paused to straighten the samurai knot atop his head and slipped a pair of shuriken into his kimono sleeves. One of the weapons clinked against the golden coin he had left in the hidden pocket the night before.

Hiro walked to the veranda door, slid it open carefully—and startled.

CHAPTER 48

Father Mateo stood on the veranda, arms crossed and wearing the same expression Hiro's father had worn the day an eight-year-old Hiro tossed a smoke bomb into an occupied latrine.

“I suspected you might try to sneak off without me,” Father Mateo said.

“We need to leave today. I thought you'd be packing.” Hiro found it odd that he hadn't heard the Jesuit's footsteps or the squeaky timber that alerted him to movement on the porch.

“You solved it, didn't you?” Father Mateo asked. “You know who murdered Emi. Otherwise, you wouldn't be sneaking out alone so early.”

“I'm not certain,” Hiro said, “but I'll know in an hour. Two at most.”

“I'm coming with you.” Father Mateo raised a hand, as if to ward off argument. “I spoke with Ana. She will pack the household goods and knows a merchant whose cart we can rent tomorrow. I'll write to Father Vilela when we return and let him know we need another day.”

“And if he won't give it?” Hiro asked as he started toward the garden gate.

Father Mateo followed. “What can he do? Expel us from the city?”

As they passed Okazaki Shrine, an enormous crow flew out through the torii, circled over the road, and landed on the shoulder of the white-clad temple maiden standing near the shrine.

Hiro looked at the priestess and suddenly realized she wasn't the woman who normally sold amulets at the entrance.

But she wasn't a stranger, either.

The woman's face scarred Hiro's mind as surely as her hands had marked his shoulder and his inner thigh.

“Neko?” He choked on the name.

He didn't understand how this was possible. She should have been older, by a decade—but Hiro could never forget that face, or the knowing smile that spread across it as he spoke.

Father Mateo looked confused. “Cat? What cat?”

Hiro barely registered the Jesuit's confusion. His heart beat fast, and his shoulder ached with the memory of a pain that cut far deeper than torn flesh and injured bone.

The temple maiden bowed to Father Mateo. “No, sir.
Neko
does mean ‘cat,' but in Japan it is also a name.” She turned to Hiro. “However, it is not
my
name. I am Mika. Neko is my sister.”

As Hiro's thoughts began to clear, he noted subtle differences: the bridge of the nose, and the shape of the woman's ears. Even so . . . “You look just like her.”

Mika nodded. “Everyone says that, but for the difference in age, we might be twins.”

A memory flashed through Hiro's mind. “I saw you in the street two nights ago, near Father Mateo's home. I did not see your face, but the shape was yours. You weren't alone.”

Mika nodded and gestured to the torii.

A pair of boys stepped out from behind the pillars. The skinny one stood as tall as Father Mateo. Hiro recognized him also.

“You set the charge on the bridge,” Hiro said.

The skinny boy nodded.

“Ichiro!” Father Mateo exclaimed. “When did you return to Kyoto?”

Hiro looked at the second boy and recognized him as well. Ashikaga Ichiro was the son of a murdered samurai whose killer Hiro and Father Mateo had brought to justice earlier that summer. A cousin of the late Shogun Ashikaga, Ichiro had fled the city shortly after the shogun's death.