The Ninja's Daughter (30 page)

Luis walked into the room. “We heard shouting.” He noticed the body. “And now that's happened. Good thing I arranged for us to leave the city promptly. They would hang you both as murderers by nightfall.”

“You arranged . . . How do you know Ginjiro?” Father Mateo asked.

“I don't, but I know you saved his life. And now he's saving yours. Let's go.” Luis turned around and left the house, as if expecting the others to follow.

They did, though Hiro took the time to change his bloodstained clothes for clean ones. As he left his room, he regretted the loss of his favorite gray kimono. While this one was also gray, it was only his second-best.

Outside, Ginjiro let go of the horses' rope and bowed to Hiro. “Please do not tell me what happened here. Some things, it is better not to know. I am glad to help you, but we should hurry. Get into the barrels now.”

Ana had already climbed into the cart. She held her basket in one hand and used the other to open a barrel. Clasping the basket tightly against her chest, she climbed inside.

“We have an hour, at most, before they come,” Luis said as he reached the cart.

“Before who comes?” Father Mateo asked.

Luis's cheeks flushed angry red. “Simão Duarte arrived this morning, earlier than expected. A few minutes after he reached the warehouse, a pair of samurai showed up and ordered me to go to the shogun's palace. Apparently, the shogun wants to revoke my license and our travel permit.”

“He wanted to see you in person for that?” Father Mateo sounded suspicious.

“I didn't believe it either,” Luis said, “so I sneaked out the back of the warehouse and ran directly to this man's brewery.”

Hiro eyed the merchant's bulging belly and puffy legs. “You ran?”

“I do possess the ability.” Luis glared.

Ginjiro climbed into the back of the cart and sealed a lid on the barrel with Ana inside. “Don't worry,” he said. “The barrels have concealed holes in the sides to help you breathe.”

“Concealed air holes?” Hiro asked.

Ginjiro smiled. “On occasion, I cart more than sake out of the city. Please forgive me, but I cannot tell you more.”

CHAPTER 56

Ginjiro lifted the lid from another barrel. “The merchant told me that Shogun Matsunaga intends to kill you. I have no intention of letting that happen.”

Father Mateo looked toward the house. “My Bible . . .”

Luis retrieved a leather-bound tome from his basket and handed it to the priest. “Here, I brought it for you. I have my silver too. The rest we'll replace when we get wherever we're going.”

“How did you outrun Hisahide's samurai?” Hiro asked.

“They didn't know I'd left the warehouse.” Luis climbed awkwardly into the cart. “I told them I needed time to finalize the ledger so I could pay my final taxes when they took me to the shogun. Simão offered to make them tea. He had no idea I planned to escape out the back—and it serves him right if they blame him for helping. Trying to take my business . . .”

Ginjiro helped Luis into a barrel. It wasn't an easy fit, but they managed.

“You next,” Hiro said to Father Mateo.

While the Jesuit climbed into the wagon and concealed himself in a barrel, Hiro looked up and down the street. He didn't see anyone in the road or watching from a doorway.

Hiro jumped into the cart.

Ginjiro indicated an open barrel. “You'll have to use that one. The rest are full of sake, in case the guards at the city gates want to test my wares.”

“Thank you for this.” Hiro took off his swords and climbed into the barrel. He crouched down, leaving just enough room to stand the swords beside him.

Ginjiro lowered the lid without a word.

Hiro crouched in the dark, stuffy barrel and listened to the cart rumble over the narrow, earthen road. A few minutes later, the wheels creaked to a halt.

They had reached the barricade that led to the Tōkaidō Road and freedom.

Hiro's heart pounded so hard his ears began to ring. He heard the muffled sound of voices, first at a distance but coming closer. The wheels crunched and stopped as the cart inched forward. There must be a line at the gates.

At last, he heard Ginjiro address the guards.

“I'm heading for Ōtsu,” Ginjiro said. “Here are my papers.”

“This doesn't list the cargo,” the guard objected. “It just says ‘sake.'”

“The sake shop at Ōtsu has a standing order for as many barrels as I can spare,” Ginjiro said.

Footsteps thumped to the back of the cart.

“We should open these up, to make sure he's really carrying sake.”

“What else would he have in there?” another voice asked.

“A cartload of spies,” the first voice answered.

A flush of adrenaline passed through Hiro's muscles. He wanted to reach for his dagger, but any movement could make the barrel creak or wobble.

“I wouldn't defile my barrels with spies.” Ginjiro laughed. “I brew the best sake in Kyoto.”

“Smuggling pays better than sake,” the voice declared. “Open them now!”

“If you ruin my sake, you'll pay for every drop,” Ginjiro said. “I know my rights. My papers are in order.”

“Are you threatening me?” the samurai asked.

“He's got a point,” the second voice countered. “What kind of idiot puts a spy in a barrel? Anyone could open it to check. Let him go. I'm hungry, and we can't eat until this line gets through the gates.”

“Fine,” the samurai said, “pass through. But next time, put the number of barrels on the papers, or we're opening every one—and you can pay for the loss yourself, old man.”

“Yes, sir,” Ginjiro replied. “I humbly apologize for the oversight.”

The cart began its journey through the barricade.

Hiro didn't relax until the sounds of the city faded behind them, leaving only the rumbling creak of the cart. But just as he relaxed, his stomach clenched.

In the rush to depart, he had forgotten Gato.

Hiro told himself that cats were resilient. Gato would find a new home. And if not, she hunted well enough to survive alone. Even so, his throat closed up. He tried not to think about Gato's fur or the rumble of her purr beneath his hand. Most people would say she was only a cat, little different than any other, but the pain in Hiro's heart said otherwise.

He would miss her deeply.

Several hours later, the cart stopped moving. Hiro had fallen asleep, but jumped awake when the movement ceased. His muscles ached from hours of confinement. He strained his ears for the sound of guards or commotion, but heard nothing.

“We're safe and alone,” Ginjiro said. “I'm opening the barrels.”

Cool, fresh air flooded into the barrel as the brewer lifted the lid away. Hiro stretched and pulled himself upright. He climbed out and helped Ginjiro free the others.

The cart sat beside a stand of trees that obscured the road.

“I pulled back here for privacy,” Ginjiro said. “We're a couple of miles from Ōtsu. I didn't want to get too close before I let you out.”

“We have to walk the rest of the way?” Luis's face grew red. “I left a pair of perfectly good horses back in Kyoto!”

“Better the horses than your head,” Father Mateo pointed out.

“You should return to Kyoto,” Hiro told Ginjiro. “You don't want Hisahide's guards to catch you on the road.”

“I doubt he even knows you've left the city,” the brewer said. “Besides, I really do have a standing order at Ōtsu. I simply moved up the delivery date.”

“We'll travel separately.” Hiro fastened his swords to his obi. “I don't want anyone telling the shogun's samurai we were seen together.”

Ginjiro nodded. “Safe travels, Hiro. I don't know why the yoriki and Shogun Matsunaga want you dead, but I am glad they failed.”

“For today, at least,” Hiro said.

Ginjiro turned the cart around and started up the Tōkaidō. As he pulled away, he called back over his shoulder, “Do not worry about Suke. I'll see that he eats, and even pour him a flask from time to time.”

Hiro smiled and waved. For the first time in his life, he wished a samurai could bow to a commoner without dishonor.

As the cart rumbled off, Father Mateo clutched his Bible to his chest. “Thank you for remembering this, Luis.”

Hiro thought of his shinobi weapons, hidden in his room, and of the box of drugs and poisons he'd left behind. He didn't care about any of them. He could get replacements at Iga, and he had enough weapons on his person to see them through the journey. Like the priest, there was only one item Hiro truly cared about.

But his had been left behind.

Ana's basket mewed.

Hiro turned to the housekeeper in shock. “Did you bring Gato?”

“Hm. Did you think I'd leave her there to starve?” Ana lifted the lid of the basket, and Gato's tortoiseshell head peeped out, eyes squinting in the sunlight. She mewed and pulled back into the basket as if nervous about her strange surroundings.

“I brought your medicine box as well,” Ana said. “In case of need.”

Father Mateo looked at the basket. “Did you bring anything of your own?”

Ana drew herself to her greatest height—not much to brag about—and said, “A person of my age and experience has no need for material things.”

“Now that we're safe,” Luis said as they started up the road on foot, “how will we get to Yokoseura? I have enough silver to rent the horses, but Ana isn't allowed to ride.”

It seemed as good a time as any to break the news.

“Only you and Ana are going to Yokoseura,” Hiro said. “Father Mateo and I are going to visit my relatives, at Iga.”

For a moment, Hiro worried that Luis would try to join them. The merchant wouldn't survive a day in Iga, even if Hanzo granted permission for him to stay.

“Enjoy that,” Luis snorted. “When you tire of living like savages, you can join us at Yokoseura.”

“I am not going to Yokoseura.” Ana glared at Hiro. “Hm. I didn't risk my life to be sent off with Luis like an old kimono. Where Father Mateo goes, I go.”

She set her face forward and added, “I've always wanted to go to Iga. They say there are shinobi there, and
kunoichi
”—she glanced at the priest—“that's what they call the ones who are women.”

“Yes, I've heard the term,” the Jesuit replied.

“Perhaps we will even see one,” Ana said.

“You want to see a shinobi?” Hiro glanced at Father Mateo and scowled when he noticed the Jesuit's grin.

“Hm. When I was a little girl, I wanted to become a kunoichi,” Ana said. “It wasn't possible, of course, but I'd still like to see one before I close my elderly eyes for good. They wouldn't have to worry about me telling anyone, either. A woman my age knows how to keep a secret.”

She turned to Hiro and pushed her basket toward him. “Hold this. I have something in my sandal.”

Luis kept walking, unwilling to wait while the housekeeper dealt with her shoe.

Ana gave Hiro a knowing look and bent to examine her foot.

A strange suspicion came over Hiro. He lifted the lid of the basket and swept his hand around the interior. Gato purred and licked his finger. He felt his medicine box, and the cat, and then his fingers struck a padded bag that made a clinking sound, as if it held a selection of metal objects.

Hiro knew at once what it contained.

It wasn't all of the shinobi weapons he left behind, just the ones that fit in the basket without impeding its other cargo, but these weapons had been hidden in the secret compartment beneath the false-bottomed chest in Hiro's room. He wondered when Ana found it, and thereby realized he was shinobi.

He doubted she would tell him, if he asked.

Ana straightened and reached for the basket. “Hm. You can give that back now—unless you intend to carry it to Iga?”

Hiro handed her the basket, and Ana started after Luis, her back as straight and her face as stern as ever.

Father Mateo looked at Hiro. “How are we going to tell her no? I can't believe she wants to go to Iga.”

“And go she will.” Hiro smiled at the priest. “Don't worry. She knows how to keep a secret.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The list of people I want to thank gets longer with every book I write. Although my name is the one on the cover, this book was by no means a solo effort, and I am grateful to everyone who had a hand in getting both the story and me across the finish line.

To Michael and Christopher—thank you for the constant love, support, and reinforcement that allows me to spend so many hours playing with—and killing—my imaginary friends.

To my incomparable agent, Sandra Bond—thank you for finding this book a home, for all the hours you invest on my behalf, and for your friendship. I am deeply grateful.

To my editor, Dan Mayer—thank you for your considered, thoughtful approach, and for giving Hiro and Father Mateo a home; also, special thanks to Jill Maxick, Jeff Curry, Nicole Sommer-Lecht, Lisa Michalski, Hanna Etu, and everyone else at Seventh Street Books who contributed to making this book not only a reality, but better than I could have made it working on my own.

To Heather, Kerry, Julianne, Chuck, and Amanda—thank you for wielding the +10 Banhammers of Critique and the Scalpels of Peer-Editing Skill with much-needed force and precision.

To the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, the organization and each of its members—thank you for being my “herd”—I love you all.

To Paula, Spencer, Robert, Lola, Spencer (III), Gene, Marcie, and Bob—thank you for loving this crazy scribbler and encouraging her to follow her dreams. And to Anna and Matteo—thank you also for lending me your names.

To all of my friends—you know who you are—I wish I had the space to mention every one of you by name. I am truly blessed by your friendship and support.