Blade of the Samurai: A Shinobi Mystery (Shinobi Mysteries) (6 page)

A woman knelt by the hearth. She wore a blue kimono and orange obi, and Hiro placed her age at almost twenty. She had an unusual face, the features attractive individually but mismatched as a whole. Full lips overwhelmed her almond eyes and her hair, though glossy, was far too unruly for beauty.

She saw Akira and bowed her face to the mat. As she straightened, she noticed Father Mateo. She smiled and clasped her hands in supplication.

“Do not stare!” Akira ordered.

“I apologize.” She ducked her chin and looked at the floor.

“These men have questions about Ashikaga-
san
’s murder,” Akira said. “They want to hear about how you discovered the body.”

The woman nodded. Her nose turned red. Pink blotches appeared on her cheeks.

Hiro knew Father Mateo could persuade the girl to speak, but only if Akira left the room. Few maids had the courage to speak in front of highly ranked samurai, and the girl’s initial reaction wasn’t encouraging.

Hiro bowed to Akira. “Miyoshi-
san
, may I beg a favor? I have heard that the
bakufu
keeps detailed records of visitors. Could you obtain a list of the people who entered the shogunate yesterday?”

“Every one?” Akira asked.

“Every one who did not leave by sunset,” Hiro said. “I regret the inconvenience, but we would be grateful if you obtained this information before we leave.”

Akira frowned.

“We understand if you cannot do it,” Father Mateo said. “Please let us know who else to ask.”

The Jesuit seemed unaware of the insult in his words. No samurai could accuse another of weakness or incompetence without consequence. Fortunately, in a foreigner’s mouth the comment seemed only an ignorant oversight.

Still, Hiro wondered whether Akira would take offense.

After a moment, the samurai nodded curtly. “I can obtain the information.”

Father Mateo bowed. “We are in your debt.”

“Do not leave this room until I return.” Akira turned on his heel and left the building.

As Hiro hoped, the maid relaxed the moment Akira departed. She unfolded her hands and laid them in her lap. A quavering smile flickered over her face.

“May I offer you tea?” She raised her face to Father Mateo.

“No, thank you.” The Jesuit knelt opposite the maid. “May I ask your name?”

Hiro noted with approval that Father Mateo did not introduce himself. No samurai would offer his name to a woman of lesser rank. Few enough would bother to ask a servant’s name at all, though Hiro knew the Jesuit always would.

“I am called Jun,” she said.

“You serve the shogun?” Father Mateo asked.

“I am a maid at the shogunate.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “I have never seen the shogun. This is because I am not beautiful. My father says I look more like the pit than the peach.”

“Yet when the peach falls away the pit remains constant,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro doubted any woman would fall for such awkward and obvious flattery, but Jun blushed and covered her smile with her hands.

“My translator and I are trying to learn who killed Ashikaga Saburo,” Father Mateo said. “We would appreciate any help you can give us.”

Jun’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “I didn’t see the murder. I don’t know.”

She bit her lip.

“Don’t be frightened,” Father Mateo said. “Just tell me what you saw.”

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath to calm herself. “Last night I took a tray of food to Ashikaga-
san
in his office. He often ate meals there when working late.

“Early this morning, I went to retrieve the tray. Ashikaga-
san
does not like dirty dishes in his office when he arrives.” She paused. “He was there, on the floor. There was blood…”

She raised her hands to her mouth. Tears welled up in her reddening eyes. Her shoulders heaved with her efforts to keep from crying.

Father Mateo waited while she regained control.

At last she lowered her hands and continued, “I screamed. Someone came and pushed me out of the room.”

“Who was it?” Father Mateo asked.

“I don’t remember. I was crying. Ashikaga-
san
was dead when I found him. I don’t know who did it. May his ghost haunt me forever if I lie.” Jun’s breathing grew rapid. The pink spots on her cheeks flushed crimson.

Her tears looked real, but Hiro thought her story sounded rehearsed.

Father Mateo waited in silence as Jun regained her composure yet again.

Hiro became impatient. The interview wasn’t proceeding as effectively as he hoped. In fact, he believed the girl was playing a role. Before he figured out how to prove it, Father Mateo asked, “Can you think of anyone who wanted to kill Ashikaga-
san
?”

The girl looked horrified. “No.”

“Did you ever hear anyone argue with him?”

Jun’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “No. He was a good man.”

And you are a liar,
Hiro thought, but he had no chance to say so.

The door slid open behind him. Akira had returned.

Chapter 11

“The shogun’s guards report no visitors yesterday evening,” Akira said. “All business was concluded and all petitioners left the compound more than an hour before they closed the gates for the night.”

He narrowed his eyes at the maid. “Did she tell you everything you need to know?”

Jun looked at the floor.

“She was most helpful.” Father Mateo stood up and straightened his kimono. “We have no further questions. She was not involved in the crime.”

“I could have told you that,” Akira said. “If you are finished I will escort you to the gates.”

Akira led them out of the kitchen and through the well-groomed gardens surrounding the
bakufu
mansion. The clouds had darkened and the smell of rain increased.

As they passed a koi pond Hiro asked, “Can the guards confirm that no strangers entered the compound after dark last night?”

“Of course,” Akira said. “I interviewed most of them personally this morning. No one entered the compound after they closed the gates at sunset.”

“What time did Ozuru leave?” Hiro asked.

Akira’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to place the name. “The carpenter? The guards wouldn’t know that. Workmen use the stable gate, which is locked at sundown. Anyone leaving later would have to see the stable master.”

“Did you speak with him this morning?” Hiro asked.

“There was no need.”

“May we speak with the stable master now?” Father Mateo asked.

Akira altered his course to the west and led them onto an earthen path wide enough for two horsemen to ride abreast.

To their right, the shogun’s private mansion sat behind high walls at the center of an artificial lake. Unlike the
bakufu
mansion, where government business and audiences took place, the shogun’s palace was strictly off limits except to the shogun, his women, and his guards.

Past the palace, the path curved right and continued along the inner side of the compound’s southern and western walls until it reached the stable yard, an open area large enough to saddle and exercise the shogun’s horses.

At the western side of the yard, a pair of massive wooden gates stood open to the street. Beyond them, Hiro caught a glimpse of a wooden bridge and half a dozen armored samurai guards.

Just past the gates, but inside the compound, a long, low stable huddled against the western wall.

“Does the shogun always have guards at this gate?” Father Mateo asked.

“In the daytime,” Akira said, “but only four. He ordered extra guards this morning because of the murder.”

Hiro looked at the stable as he listened. The wide doors on the building’s southern end stood open, allowing a view of the dim interior. Windows along the eastern wall were covered with angled wooden slats to allow the passage of air and a little light.

A muscular man emerged from the stable. Silver hair stood up on his head like the bristles of an ancient boar. His crooked nose had broken and healed more than once. He wore a faded surcoat and baggy trousers that flared as he bowed to Hiro and the others.

“Good morning, Miyoshi-
san
,” the stableman said to Akira. He smiled in greeting, revealing a missing upper tooth.

Akira did not return the greeting. Instead he told Father Mateo, “Masao is the shogun’s stable master. He can tell you what time the carpenters left yesterday.”

“I apologize,” Masao said, “but I fear I cannot. I was not here when they left.”

Akira’s eyes narrowed. His lips turned down. “Where were you?”

“My cousin came to Kyoto yesterday, on business. We ate dinner together near Sanj
ō
Bridge. I left before sunset and returned about an hour after midnight.”

“Is your cousin still in Kyoto?” Hiro asked, “To confirm your story?”

“Unfortunately, no. He finished his business yesterday and planned to leave the city at dawn this morning.”

“Where was he going?” Father Mateo asked.

“He owns an apothecary shop at
Ō
tsu, on the T
ō
kaid
ō
Road. He comes to Kyoto once a month for supplies.”

“T
ō
kaid
ō
,” Father Mateo repeated. “The travelers’ road between Kyoto and Edo?”

“Yes.
Ō
tsu is the first station outside Kyoto.”

“Who watched the stable in your absence?” Hiro asked.

“The guards would have locked the gates at sunset,” Masao said. “After that, no one. The horses don’t need care through the evening.”

“What about Den?” Akira asked.

Masao glanced at the gates. “He’s away, seeing relatives in the country.”

Hiro suspected a lie. “Who is Den?”

“My apprentice,” Masao said. “He lives here with me.”

“He must miss his family,” Father Mateo said. “Does he visit them often?”

“Not often.” Masao said. “His parents are farmers … poor.”

He spoke the last word quietly. Hiro understood. Many farmers could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone their children.

“When did Den leave?” Hiro asked.

“Yesterday afternoon,” Masao said. “He wanted to pass the checkpoints before sunset.”

“Then no one watched the gate after dark,” Hiro said.

“That is correct.”

Hiro opened his mouth, but before he could speak Akira asked, “Then who let the carpenter out?”

Masao looked confused. “The carpenters leave at sunset. The guards would have let them out.”

“The master carpenter, Ozuru, worked late last night,” Hiro said.

“He must have left by the other gate,” Masao said. “This one was locked when I returned. I came back through the eastern gate myself.”

Akira frowned. “The guards didn’t tell me that.”

“Do you know that a man was murdered here last night?” Father Mateo asked.

Masao nodded. “I saw Jun as she left this morning.”

“You know the maid by name?” Hiro asked.

“Of course,” Masao said. “She brings us leftovers from the kitchen, though I suspect she intends them more for Den than for me.” He smiled fondly, but the smile faded as he noticed Akira’s frown. “Their relationship is appropriate and properly supervised.”

Hiro changed the subject. “Did you see Ashikaga
-san
yesterday?”

“I must have.” Masao glanced upward, thinking. “He always arrives after dawn, on horseback. I stable his horse. I don’t remember yesterday being different.”

“Is his horse in the stable?” Hiro asked.

“No. The messenger who carried the news to Ashikaga
-san
’s family took it with him.”

“Very considerate,” Father Mateo said. “Do you know who would want to kill Ashikaga-
san
?”

Masao shook his head. “I’m sorry. The news was a surprise to me.”

“If you remember anything else, or hear anything of interest, please let us know,” Hiro said.

“My house is on Marutamachi Road,” Father Mateo added, “just past Okazaki Shrine. You are welcome there any time and for any reason.”

Akira narrowed his eyes at the priest.

Masao bowed. “Thank you.” He bowed even more deeply to Akira.

Hooves thumped on the drawbridge. A child’s voice shouted, “Master Masao!”

Hiro turned as a bay horse trotted into the yard. On its back sat a boy of about ten years. His unshaven forehead marked him as a child, not yet an adult samurai, but his hair was long and tied back in a warrior’s knot. He wore a gray kimono emblazoned with the Ashikaga mon—a black-edged circle with five horizontal bars, alternating black and white.

The boy’s handsome features looked eerily familiar.

Hiro had seen them not an hour before, on a dead man’s face.

Chapter 12

Father Mateo leaned toward Hiro but fixed his eyes on the boy. “Do you think that’s Saburo’s son?” he whispered in Portuguese.

“I’ve never seen a stronger family resemblance,” Hiro said.

A second rider entered the yard, a samurai woman whose face bore a strong and unfortunate resemblance to her aging mare. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back without adornment, though she wore an expensive gray kimono cut in the latest style.

Masao approached the woman’s horse, bowed low, and held the animal steady as she dismounted.

The boy didn’t wait for assistance. He slipped off his horse with practiced ease and pulled the reins over its head. He patted the animal’s neck and turned to Akira.

The samurai ignored the child but bowed to the woman. “Good morning, Ashikaga-
dono
. I am sorry for your loss.”

Father Mateo stepped closer to Hiro and whispered, “-
Dono
? Not -
san
?”

Hiro switched to Portuguese. “-
San
implies the speaker’s inferiority to the person addressed. Polite self-deprecation, if you will. -
Dono
implies equal rank—it’s less polite, though permitted when a samurai speaks to a woman.”

The boy took a step toward Akira.

“What about me?” he asked. “I have lost my father. The least you can do is bow.”