Blade of the Samurai: A Shinobi Mystery (Shinobi Mysteries) (23 page)

“I told you the truth about that to prove my innocence,” Masao said. “Adding a line to his words doesn’t make me a killer.”

“Why did you see the need to add anything?” Hisahide asked. “An innocent man would not be concerned for himself.”

“I was frightened.” Masao looked to Hiro for confirmation. “When I saw Den, and the confession on the pillar, I worried that someone would hold me responsible. Den was my apprentice, after all.” The stable master’s voice took on a pleading edge. “Send to
Ō
tsu. My cousin is the apothecary there. He will verify I was with him when Ashikaga
-san
died.”

“That only proves he will lie on your behalf,” Hisahide said. “Confess! Do not dishonor yourself with lies.”

“It was him.” Jun pointed at Masao. “I saw him.”

“Are you certain it was Masao you saw?” Hiro asked.

Jun nodded. Her cheeks flushed red.

“Why would I kill Ashikaga
-san
?” Masao looked from Hiro to Hisahide. “I have worked in this compound for thirty years. Why would I exchange an unblemished record of loyalty for a death sentence?”

“You have said it yourself,” Hisahide said. “Your loyalty to the shogun was your downfall.”

Masao leaned back, confused.

Hisahide lifted a parchment from the desk and held it up, though Hiro doubted Masao could read the characters at that distance.

“This letter reveals the existence of a plot against the shogun,” Hisahide said. “It also proves Saburo had an accomplice, someone in a position to admit Lord Oda’s assassins to this compound.

“At first I believed that accomplice was one of the guards, but I now see it wasn’t a guard at all. Who better than the stable master, the man who controls the gates?”

Hisahide stared at Masao as if expecting the words to prompt a confession.

Masao said nothing.

“You are the traitor,” Hisahide said, “and worse, you are also a coward. You learned that your apprentice conspired with Ashikaga Saburo, but you didn’t report the crime. You feared we would hold you responsible, so you killed Saburo and persuaded your apprentice to leave Kyoto.

“When we brought the boy back, you ordered him to kill himself before he could implicate you in the crime.”

Hisahide’s explanation fit the evidence, but imperfectly, and it contained too many assumptions for Hiro’s taste. Also, it didn’t account for the handwriting, but Hiro decided not to mention that either, at least for now.

“That’s not what happened,” Masao said. “I added to the message, but none of the rest is true. I would have reported a plot immediately.”

“If you didn’t kill Saburo, who did?” Hisahide demanded.

“I don’t know.” Masao shook his head. His shoulders slumped. “Maybe it was Den.”

“What kind of worthless coward blames a child for his crime?” Hisahide sounded disgusted. “His guilt does not render you blameless. He was your apprentice. By law you are responsible for his actions.”

Masao took a deep breath. “That is true.”

Hisahide raised his chin, triumphant. “At last, an admission of guilt.” He clapped his hands. Two guards appeared in the doorway.

Hisahide nodded toward Masao. “Lock this murderer in the kitchen storehouse, under guard, until the shogun decides what manner of death best suits such a worthless coward.”

Masao rose and followed the guards from the room.

Father Mateo opened his mouth, but Hiro spoke first. “How do you plan to keep the shogun safe from Lord Oda’s assassins?”

The shinobi caught Father Mateo’s eye and shook his head slightly, hoping the priest would understand not to argue. Samurai anger spread like fire and, like a flame, consumed whatever it touched.

“The shogun’s guards will meet Lord Oda’s men at the city gates,” Hisahide said. “We cannot bar the embassy from Kyoto, but the shogun can provide Lord Oda’s men an attentive escort. I have doubled the guards on the compound gates and posted archers in all the towers. I also purchased two hundred new firearms from the Portuguese and will spend the rest of the day preparing my men to defend this compound. Given the danger, and Saburo’s plot, the shogun has requested support from loyal Miyoshi forces.”

“Can a man be trained to use an arquebus in a day?” Hiro asked.

“They have trained with foreign weapons before,” Hisahide said. “I just didn’t have enough to equip them all. Under the circumstances, the shogun decided to cover the expense.”

He looked at Jun. “You may go.”

She stood up quickly, bowed to Hisahide, and scurried away.

Hiro watched her go. “Are you certain the girl is trustworthy? She’s changed her story more than once.”

“The stable master has changed his story also,” Hisahide said. “Between the two, the girl has more reason to tell the truth. The evidence doesn’t implicate her in the murders.”

Hiro decided not to mention the handwriting, the hair pin, or the tea. He had seen Hisahide jump to two conclusions based on assumptions and didn’t want to endanger anyone else—including himself and the priest.

“When will the shogun execute Masao?” Father Mateo asked.

Hisahide looked surprised. “You wish to witness the execution?”

“In my country, the condemned are given the chance to see a priest before they die.”

“I advise you not to interfere in this matter any further,” Hisahide said. “The shogun will execute Masao in public, during the emissaries’ visit, to show Lord Oda’s men they are fish in a net.”

*   *   *

As they left the shogunate, Father Mateo offered to escort Ichiro home. To Hiro’s surprise, the boy accepted.

“I thought I would feel better when I learned who killed my father,” Ichiro said as he turned south on the road that fronted the shogun’s compound, “but I don’t. Does that make me weak?”

“It makes you human.” Father Mateo laid a reassuring hand on Ichiro’s shoulder.

Hiro cringed inwardly at the breach of etiquette. Samurai did not touch without permission. Not unless they intended to start a fight.

Ichiro turned his face to Father Mateo and smiled. Saburo’s son might look and act like a samurai, but in many ways he remained a child.

The smile faded as Ichiro’s eyes turned red. He clenched his jaw and forced the tears away. “I wish it wasn’t Masao,” he said at last. “I thought he was my friend. But at least … at least it wasn’t my mother.”

Father Mateo gave Hiro a questioning look over Ichiro’s head.

Hiro shook his head in response. They could discuss it later. He hoped the priest wouldn’t make a comforting statement about emotions. Samurai didn’t cry in public, and Ichiro needed strength to maintain his self-control.

Chapter 44

At the intersection of Marutamachi Road, Ichiro bowed to Hiro and Father Mateo.

“Thank you for your assistance,” he said. “Please excuse me, but I would rather walk alone from here.”

They returned the bow as Ichiro started west along Marutamachi Road.

Father Mateo turned east, toward home, and Hiro walked alongside him.

“Do you think Masao really killed Ashikaga Saburo?” the Jesuit asked after Ichiro was out of earshot.

“I wish I knew,” Hiro said.

“Hisahide’s explanation seems to fit the facts.”

Hiro felt a drop of rain on his nose and glanced at the slate-colored sky. Apparently, the storm had decided to stay. “I think it’s very convenient that Jun found her courage and implicated Masao just when it seemed that Den would be blamed for the crime.”

“You said she didn’t love Den.”

“True,” Hiro said, “but people would ask why a stable boy killed a samurai and that would bring Saburo’s affair to light.”

“Destroying Jun’s chances of being a samurai’s bride,” the priest concluded.

Hiro nodded. “Masao may still be guilty, but I’m disinclined to condemn him based on a lie.”

“We still have a few more hours to find the killer,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro shook his head. “This is over. The arrival of Lord Oda’s men will put the city on alert. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down, regardless of guilt or innocence. We are not going to risk our lives to save a man who might be guilty anyway.”

“He might be innocent also.”

Hiro refused to answer. It would only cause an argument that he didn’t want the Jesuit to win.

*   *   *

By the time they reached the Jesuit’s home, the scents of earth and rain had filled the air. Drops began to patter on the road.

Father Mateo stepped onto the porch but blocked the door so Hiro couldn’t enter.

“This isn’t over yet,” the Jesuit said. “Masao’s condemnation means Kazu is innocent, at least in the eyes of the law. He’s claimed innocence all along, and although I suspected him before, I’ve changed my mind. I think you have too. If that’s so, you owe it to Kazu—and yourself—to try to mend your friendship.”

Hiro said nothing.

“There’s no point in glaring,” Father Mateo said. “You know I’m right.”

“I’m not even sure where to find him.” Hiro tried to edge around the priest, but Father Mateo continued to block the door.

“It’s almost evening,” Father Mateo said. “You know where Kazu will go when he finishes work.”

“Tomorrow,” Hiro said.

“Reconciliations, like rice balls, get harder and less palatable with time.”

“Why do you care?” Hiro asked. “He’s not your friend.”

“No, but he’s yours—and you’re mine—so get going.”

Hiro sighed with frustration but stepped back into his sandals and retraced his steps along Marutamachi Road. The rain increased and the road grew muddy. The clouds continued to darken, promising heavier rain by nightfall.

Hiro fancied walking home in a downpour only slightly less than talking with Kazu. He wasn’t entirely sure why he complied with Father Mateo’s request. Perhaps because, having lost one friend, he felt disinclined to anger the Jesuit also.

When he reached the Kamo River, Hiro crossed the bridge and turned south onto the path that followed the river bank, where the overhanging second stories of houses along the river offered intermittent shelter from the rain. Between the houses, drops fell onto his face and spattered his oiled hair, cold but fresh and not altogether unpleasant.

He hurried along the path toward the business district. At Sanj
ō
Road, he noticed someone fishing underneath the bridge. Ordinarily, Hiro would have ignored the fisherman, but something about the silhouette looked familiar. He paused as the shadowed figure turned to face the road.

It was Ichiro.

The boy waved and moved over, making room for Hiro beneath the bridge. At that moment, the clouds released an unexpected deluge, so Hiro changed his plans and joined Saburo’s son to wait out the rain.

As he bent to crawl under the bridge, Hiro noticed that Ichiro’s smile seemed nervous. The boy fidgeted with his fishing pole and the line twitched nervously in the water.

“Nice day for fishing,” Hiro said to put the boy at ease. “Fish bite better in the rain.”

“How do you know that?” Ichiro’s eyes widened. “My father considered fishing an inappropriate pastime for samurai.”

“But you do it anyway,” Hiro said. He wondered if the boy had gone home at all.

“I guess there’s no point in pretending otherwise.” Ichiro tugged to make the line twitch again. “I keep my pole hidden under the bridge and sneak out to fish when I can—mostly at night when everyone thinks I’m sleeping. I’ve lost a couple of poles to thieves, and I think someone uses this one when I’m not here, but I’d rather share it than suffer another beating for disobedience.

“Not that my father can beat me anymore.”

An awkward silence fell.

“My brother liked fishing when we were young,” Hiro said.

Ichiro’s mouth fell open in surprise. When he recovered he asked, “Does he still do it?”

“He hasn’t much opportunity, but I doubt he’s outgrown the enjoyment.” Hiro looked at the place where the fishing line met the water. Concentric ripples flowed away from the line but broke apart almost at once in the turbulent river.

“Are you going to Ginjiro’s?” Ichiro asked.

“How do you know about Ginjiro’s?”

Ichiro smiled. “Kazu goes there. He won’t take me. He says I’m too young for sake shops.”

Hiro smiled at the boy’s unguarded simplicity. “Kazu is right.”

Ichiro’s smile grew lopsided in a nearly successful attempt to hide disappointment. He looked at the river. “I’m glad you believed me that Kazu was innocent.”

“It was good of you to have faith in him,” Hiro said.

“I told you before, it isn’t just faith. It’s a fact. Kazu couldn’t have done it.”

Ichiro hadn’t mentioned facts before.

“How do you know for certain Kazu is innocent?” Hiro asked.

“I can’t tell you.” Ichiro kept his eyes on the fishing line. “It would get me in trouble—and Kazu too.”

Chapter 45

The obvious question seemed unlikely, but Hiro asked it anyway. “Was Kazu fishing with you when your father was murdered?”

“Kazu doesn’t know about my fishing. I wanted to tell him, but I was afraid he would tell my father.” Ichiro looked down at his hands. “The last time Father caught me, he beat me with the pole until it broke. That’s when I started leaving my poles at the river.”

“But you were fishing the night your father died.”

Ichiro nodded. “Mother went to bed when the bells rang, three hours after sunset. I waited another hour to make sure she was asleep.”

“You didn’t worry about your father coming home?”

“Father rarely slept at home.” Ichiro jiggled his pole and changed the subject. “I like fishing under this bridge. The lamps up there draw the fish at night, and the revelers from Pontocho are always too drunk to notice me.”

“What do you do with your catch?” Hiro asked.

“There’s a noodle vendor on Sanj
ō
Road who buys them, if they’re big enough to keep.”

Hiro knew the man in question. The vendor bragged about using only fresh-caught fish from the Kamo River. All this time, the shinobi had thought him a liar.

“He buys from samurai?” Hiro asked.

“I don’t usually wear my swords when fishing.”