Blade of the Samurai: A Shinobi Mystery (Shinobi Mysteries) (16 page)

By the time Hiro finished cleaning the Jesuit’s wounds, the bleeding had stopped. The deepest punctures still oozed a little fluid, but Hiro knew even that would stop very soon.

The shinobi dropped the last used piece of silk in the bloody water and raised the lid of the medicine box. He flipped through the rows of folded paper packets until he found the one he wanted.

Hiro removed the packet and broke the seal, revealing a crystalline powder within. A pungent odor filled the air.

“What is that?” Father Mateo opened his eyes.

“Camphor.” Hiro tilted the envelope slightly so the priest could see the contents. He tried to ignore the unpleasant tingling the powder always caused in his sensitive nose. “In small doses it fights infection.”

“Does it sting?”

“Some, but not for long, and it will numb the pain a little.” Hiro decided not to explain that, in larger doses, camphor was also toxic.

He sprinkled the powder on Father Mateo’s wounds. As before, the priest endured the process without protest.

“I don’t suppose you have something else for the pain?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro folded the camphor closed and returned it to the box. “Sake helps.”

Father Mateo frowned.

The shinobi stifled a smile. On matters of morality, the Jesuit was nothing if not predictable.

When he finished bandaging the wounds. Hiro thumbed through his box and removed a twist of paper wrapped around an object about the size and shape of a soybean. “This will help. I’ll ask Ana to make you some tea.”

Father Mateo nodded and closed his eyes. His face relaxed and his lips began to move in silent prayer.

Knocking echoed through the house. Someone was at the door.

Father Mateo opened his eyes and raised his head but Hiro laid a restraining hand on the Jesuit’s chest. “Ana will answer. If it’s important, I’ll handle it. You need rest.”

Father Mateo closed his eyes without arguing.

The shinobi picked up his medicine box and turned to the door. The shoji slid open as he approached. Ana stood in the doorway and bowed, an unusual courtesy.

“You have a visitor, Matsui
-san
,” the housekeeper said.

Hiro walked to the door and almost dropped his medicine box in surprise.

Ashikaga Netsuko—Saburo’s wife—knelt by the hearth.

“Good afternoon, Lady Ashikaga.” Hiro tucked the twist of paper into his sleeve and handed the medicine box to Ana.

The housekeeper bowed and scurried from the room.

“Is the priest away?” Netsuko asked as Hiro joined her at the hearth.

“I apologize, but he is unable to see you today.”

She looked at a spot of blood on the floor and then raised her eyes to Hiro with a directness women usually avoided.

The unspoken question was clear.

Hiro nodded. “There was an accident.”

“Most unfortunate.” Netsuko nodded politely. “I trust he will recover.”

“Yes.”

Etiquette prevented Netsuko from asking questions about the details, but Hiro sensed she didn’t want them anyway. He also suspected it wasn’t Father Mateo she came to see.

“May I offer you tea?” he asked.

As if on cue, Ana appeared with a plate of sweetened rice balls, a pair of porcelain cups and an expensive teapot reserved for Father Mateo’s most important guests. In the years since he joined the Jesuit’s household, Hiro had never seen the teapot used.

Ana knelt and placed the plate before the lady. She filled the pot with water from the kettle above the hearth, bowed low, and departed without a word.

Delicate steam rose from the teapot, perfuming the air with the sweetly grassy scent of expensive tea. Hiro tried to hide his surprise. The housekeeper must have recognized the shogun’s family crest on Netsuko’s kimono and raided Luis’s personal stash of highest quality
ichibancha.

Ana disapproved of Hiro, but she would never show it in front of guests.

Netsuko leaned forward and inhaled the steam. “
Gyokuro
tea?” She sounded impressed. “And, unless I’m mistaken,
ichibancha
?”

Recognizing teas by scent was a popular game among wealthy samurai. Hiro silently thanked Ana for making a good impression on his behalf.

“The Portuguese appreciate our ways,” Hiro said, deliberately blending Father Mateo’s cultural interest with Luis’s taste for expensive delicacies.

“Really?” Netsuko gave Hiro a smile that no recent widow should give an unmarried man. “But no foreigner would know that first-picked leaves make the finest tea unless someone competent taught him. You, perhaps?”

Hiro poured a cup of tea for Netsuko and one for himself, thereby avoiding the need to respond to her comment. Netsuko’s eyes widened. Hosts normally poured a visitor’s tea, but samurai men rarely extended such courtesy to women.

She raised her teacup with a nod of thanks and inhaled the aromatic steam.

Hiro raised his own cup and examined the pale green liquid. He drank in tiny sips, enjoying the delicate sweetness and the heat of the tea on his tongue.

Netsuko also savored her tea in silence. After several minutes she set the empty cup on the mat.

Hiro reached for the pot to refill it.

As the steaming liquid flowed from the teapot into the porcelain cup, Netsuko said, “My husband was not faithful, but he did not deserve to die.”

She spoke quietly and without emotion, as though discussing the weather or the tea.

As Hiro set the teapot down, Netsuko studied his face.

“It doesn’t surprise you that I knew about his infidelity?” She tilted her head slightly and waited for a response.

Hiro kept his expression blank. “I try not to make assumptions about other men’s wives.”

“Then perhaps it will not shock you to learn that I approved of his affairs.”

Chapter 30

Hiro waited for Netsuko to explain.

Once again she seemed surprised by his lack of reaction. “You don’t condemn me for approving of my husband’s infidelity?”

This time her pause required a response.

“You doubtless had your reasons.” Hiro decided not to offer an excuse that she might substitute for truth.

“I married young,” Netsuko said, “but old enough to understand my husband’s parents did not choose me for my looks.” She stared at Hiro as if daring him to deny her lack of beauty.

He said nothing.

She nodded once, as if confirming he had passed a test. “My husband had status, and a handsome face, but no one would ever call him a brilliant man. His family overlooked my appearance because I had the intelligence and social skills Saburo lacked. He complained at first, as any young man deprived of a beauty will do, but when he realized how much I could help him we reached an understanding.

“We agreed that once I gave birth to a son who survived to the age of three, Saburo could take a mistress, or more than one if he wished. I imposed only two conditions. First, deniability. He would never parade his women in public, discuss them with friends, or act in any way that might bring shame on me or on our son. Second, I made him swear he would never divorce me and that he would always ensure his mistresses knew their place.”

As he listened, Hiro thought of the way his kitten, Gato, toyed with bugs she captured in the yard. He wondered whether Netsuko, too, had a penchant for killing her prey when she tired of a game.

He smiled politely. “Your arrangement sounds reasonable.”

Netsuko examined her teacup. “I think many people would find it strange.” She looked up. “Most men believe a wife should not take an active role in her husband’s affairs.”

Hiro noted the double meaning and decided it was intentional.

“A wise man does not reject sound advice,” he countered, “regardless of the source.”

“And are you a wise man?” she asked.

The question caught Hiro off guard.

Netsuko laughed. “I wondered how far I would have to go to surprise you.”

Her smile disappeared. “My marriage was a partnership based on convenience and mutual respect. I did not love my husband, as most poets use the word, but our relationship was acceptable and mutually beneficial. To that end, I considered my marriage a good one.”

She set her empty teacup on the mat. “I want my husband’s murderer punished. Put plainly, I want her dead.”

“Her?” Hiro asked.

“My husband’s mistress,” Netsuko said. “She killed him because he refused to divorce me.”

“You know this with certainty?”

As Hiro refilled Netsuko’s tea, he realized he hadn’t asked Ana to make the painkilling brew for Father Mateo. Etiquette didn’t allow him to leave a guest alone, so unless the maid returned to the room the priest would have to wait a little longer.

Netsuko raised her cup with a nod. She savored the steam and sipped her tea, as relaxed as if they discussed a business transaction and not a murder.

Eventually she lowered her cup and continued, “Saburo told me everything. The relationship started innocently—as innocently as it could, anyway—but the girl became unreasonable. She wanted Saburo all to herself. He didn’t know how to refuse without causing a scene, though he had no intention of acting on her demands.

“He asked me to help him discard her.”

“Your husband asked you to end his affair?” Hiro asked.

“Why wouldn’t he? I helped him with everything else.” She sipped her tea. “The best lies always hold a grain of truth, so we decided that I would be his excuse. Saburo told the girl I suspected something and that he couldn’t risk me making a public spectacle of the affair. He offered her money or to arrange a marriage for her outside of Kyoto.”

“And she refused,” Hiro said.

“She didn’t just refuse, she murdered him.”

“Why didn’t you tell Matsunaga Hisahide about your suspicions?” Hiro asked.

“You think I didn’t?”

“If you had,” he said, “Hisahide would not have needed me.”

“Hisahide doesn’t believe a maid could kill a samurai.”

“A maid?” Hiro asked.

Netsuko nodded. “My husband’s taste in women was no better than his temper. Neither was very pleasant or well-controlled. I’m sure you’ve met the girl. Her name is Jun, and she conveniently discovered my husband’s body.” Netsuko tilted her head to the side. “Based on your expression she didn’t admit the affair to you.”

“No,” Hiro said. “Would you, in her place?”

Netsuko smiled. “I would never allow myself to be caught in such a place.”

A slip of the tongue, or another play on words? Hiro couldn’t decide.

“What makes you believe Jun killed Saburo?” he asked.

“Her demands, and that Saburo was killed with a dagger. A man would have used a sword.”

“But the dagger belonged to Ito Kazu, a fact you acknowledged yourself.”

“I regret that accusation.” Netsuko took her right hand off the teacup long enough to rub her left wrist. “I wasn’t thinking clearly yesterday.”

“Now that you have decided to accuse the real murderer, why come to me instead of Hisahide or the shogun?” Hiro asked.

She took a deep breath. Her shoulders sank slightly as she released it. “The foreign priests have a reputation for discretion. I thought, perhaps, since you work with one…”

She trailed off as if hoping Hiro would finish the thought.

He didn’t.

Just before the silence grew awkward Netsuko said, “I hoped you would punish the girl without revealing that I am the one who told you. Ichiro’s future and mine depend upon our ignorance of the affair. A grieving widow receives assistance from her husband’s clan, but a scheming woman who pandered to her husband’s baser instincts always finds herself an object of disdain.

“I want Jun to pay for her crime, but I have no desire to suffer with her.”

Netsuko looked at her tea. “Pity. It’s gone cold.”

She set the cup on the tray and stood up, ending the conversation.

Hiro escorted her to the door. To his surprise, no horse waited in the yard.

Netsuko saw him scan the street. “I rode as far as Okazaki Shrine and walked from there. No one questions a woman’s need to pray at a time like this.”

Hiro found the comment interesting. Grieving widows seldom thought their actions through so carefully.

“Thank you for your visit.” Hiro bowed, the formal gesture echoing his words. “I will give your regards to Father Mateo.”

“Thank you for the tea.” She stepped off the porch and into her sandals. “And thank you in advance for your discretion.”

Hiro watched her walk away.

As she reached the street the neighbor’s akita began its furious barking. Hiro tensed, half hoping the dog would run into the street. He would have welcomed any excuse to kill it. But the dog did not appear, and Netsuko continued up the road without a backward glance.

The shinobi turned away and shut the door. Father Mateo still needed a painkilling tea.

Chapter 31

Hiro found Ana clearing the teapot from the hearth.

He removed the twist of paper from his sleeve and pulled it open, revealing a sticky ball of resin. He pinched a tiny piece from the ball and extended it to the maid.

“Please brew a strong tea for Father Mateo and add this to the pot,” he said.

Ana backed away as if he had offered a venomous spider. “I will not give him poppy tears.”

Hiro hadn’t thought she would recognize opium. “It will dull his pain and help him sleep.”

“He doesn’t even drink sake.” Ana frowned. “Did he ask for this?”

“Do you want him to suffer?” Hiro’s patience grew short. “He won’t recover unless he rests and allows his wounds to heal. This slows the heart and brings on sleep. One taste cannot give him a permanent hunger for it.”

The final part was a lie, but Hiro hoped Ana’s knowledge didn’t extend to single-dose dependency. Such addictions were rare enough that Hiro thought the need outweighed the risks.

He heard a loud sneeze and a painful groan from Father Mateo’s room.

Ana glanced at the Jesuit’s door and held out her hand. “All right.” She narrowed her eyes at Hiro. “But I’m holding you responsible.”

She accepted the bit of resin and hurried toward the kitchen.