Claws of the Cat (26 page)

A moment later the last candle went out in the downstairs room. The ground floor faded into darkness. A minute later, a light bobbed into the upstairs window. It disappeared as quickly as the one before. Hiro barely saw a woman’s form silhouetted against the paper panels before the entire house went dark. Only the lanterns outside the latrine still burned.

Hiro waited. He watched the teahouse and the moon. He listened to crickets singing in chorus and a frog burping at the edge of an unseen pond. A brave cicada hissed in a tree, too early and out of season for the fourth month of the year.

A cloud slid across the sky. A second one joined it, and they combined into a single mass of gray. As the cloud approached the moon Hiro flexed his muscles, limbering them to move.

The moonlight dimmed, then faded as the cloud slipped over the pale disc. Hiro slithered down the tree trunk and scurried across the yard, keeping low and moving fast to avoid detection. By the time the moon reappeared, the shinobi was gone.

Hiro crouched at the edge of the wall beside the back door of the teahouse. The paper panels were dark and opaque with no movement or light within. He laid a hand on the door, lifted slightly to reduce its rumble against the wooden tracks, and pushed it open just far enough to slip through. Once inside, he closed the door without a sound.

To his left, the now-familiar hallway led to the staircase and the second floor. To the right lay his objective: Mayuri’s office.

Chapter 39

Hiro glanced down the hallway toward the staircase. A faint, flickering light indicated a candle burning at the top of the stairs. Someone was still awake, which made his errand dangerous, but Hiro decided not to risk returning to the yard. With Nobuhide’s guards on duty, and likely to use the latrine at any time, he didn’t want to cross the yard again until he had to.

He turned to his right and walked to the office door, using the heel-up
nuki-ashi
step that prevented floors from creaking.

Once inside the office, he opened the chest where Mayuri kept her records. As he expected, several brand-new ledgers sat at the top of the pile. He pulled a candle, flint, and metal shield from his pouch, then lit the candle, and placed it inside the shield so that only a sliver of light remained. He lifted the first of the record books, held it before the light, and began to read.

The book recorded the business transactions of the Sakura Teahouse, mostly lists of names and fees, but the book was dated three years ago, and the numbers were much lower than the ones on the partly burned pages Hiro had rescued from the fire.

As he leafed through the pages, he noticed the heading “Akechi Hideyoshi” appeared on both the pages that tracked individual client accounts and also the ones where the teahouse’s monthly receipts were tallied. Hiro’s training in accounting was only rudimentary, but even he could tell what the columns meant.

Akechi Hideyoshi owned an interest in the teahouse.

Hiro paused. He had sensed the noise more than heard it, the slightest creak of a wooden step, like a house settling on its raised foundation. Or a stealthy foot on a staircase.

Hiro took no chances.

He replaced the book, closed the chest without a sound, and extinguished his candle. He stood in the darkness and listened.

A faint rustling reached his ears, barely audible in the sleeping silence of the house. He moved toward the built-in cupboard at the back of the room. The paneled door was exactly where he remembered and it slid open beneath his hand with barely a whisper. He squinted into the darkness, looking for a hiding place.

A wooden shelf divided the eight-foot closet in half horizontally. The upper compartment held shelves full of teapots and sake flasks. The lower one held thin futons and a number of quilted blankets. Fortunately, that compartment was only half full. It had just enough empty space for a person to squeeze inside.

Hiro tucked the candle and shield into his pouch, climbed into the cupboard, and slid the door closed behind him.

Not a minute later, the office door slid open. Light flickered under the cupboard door and flared in the cracks around the edges. Rustling silk suggested movement, but whoever entered the room moved almost as silently as a shinobi on the prowl.

Hiro heard nothing for a minute and then the wooden chest opened and closed with a click. A book thumped lightly on the desk and an ink stick scraped against the surface of a stone inkwell.

It was neither the middle day of the month nor the usual time for Mayuri to do accounting. Whatever she was working on, she wanted to do it in secret.

Hiro settled in for a wait, but not a tense one. Discovery was unlikely. If Mayuri had heard him in the room she would have opened the cabinet at once, since no other place could conceal a human figure. She would not have commenced her secret work if she suspected an intruder, and, unless Hiro moved or made a noise, she was unlikely to discover him at all.

Compared with the other places he had spent hidden nights, the cupboard was as large and as safe as his room at the church.

He heard nothing for some time. A writing brush made too little sound to carry as far as the cupboard, and Mayuri sat with the stillness and discipline of long study. Every few minutes a page rustled as she turned it, but otherwise the room remained so quiet that Hiro could hear the crickets in the yard.

After what seemed like at least an hour, Hiro heard small, light footsteps on the stairs. Someone else was awake, most likely on a late-night visit to the latrine.

He heard the outside door slide open and close again. The sound barely carried through the closet wall, and Hiro doubted it was audible in the office.

A page rustled, followed by silence.

A few minutes later the outer door opened again, more softly this time. Hiro almost missed it and would have dismissed it as the house settling except for a tiny whisper in the hall.

“There. Under the door.”

Geta thudded on the wooden floor and the office door burst open with a clatter and a sound of paper ripping.

“Stop, thief!” a male voice yelled.

Mayuri shrieked in surprise. Papers fluttered and a book, most likely the ledger, thumped to the floor.

“What in the fire-jar hell are you doing?” Mayuri demanded.

Hiro winced. Even a man who didn’t believe in hell could appreciate the evocative reference. In the fire-jar hell, lascivious monks and other promiscuous men suffered a torment appropriate to their misdeeds.

No one spoke.

“Who gave you permission to enter this house at night?” Mayuri shrieked. “In geta, and ripping my doors! Get out! Get out!”

“I—I’m sorry,” a male voice stammered. “She told me … I thought…”

After a pause his voice turned angry. “You said there was an intruder in the office!”

“I’m sorry,” Yoko whimpered. “I went to the latrine and saw the light in the window. I thought it was Akechi-sama’s ghost.”

“Ghost?” Mayuri hissed. “Do I look like a ghost to you?”

“Not much,” Yoko stammered. “Not anymore.”

“Get out, all of you! And don’t you come back in this house tonight—not even if it’s on fire!”

The geta clicked out the door, across the hall, and onto the veranda as more footsteps rumbled down the stairs. Mayuri’s yelling must have awakened the others. Hiro suspected they had been listening by the staircase until they knew it was safe to descend.

“What are you doing here?” Mayuri demanded. “It’s the middle of the night. You should all be sleeping!”

“Not with all that yelling,” Okiya said.

“An ignorant mistake by an ignorant fool,” Mayuri sniffed. “Go back to bed.”

The stairs creaked as the women returned to bed. Hiro thought they had all departed, but a moment later he heard Okiya say, “It’s late for accounting.”

“I have things to finish and couldn’t sleep,” Mayuri replied.

“Three years’ worth of things?” Okiya’s voice moved into the room, and the door to the hall slid shut behind her. “I didn’t speak in front of the others because I respect your privacy, but I have a right to know what’s going on.”

Mayuri didn’t answer.

After a moment Okiya continued. “I don’t insist on my rights very often, but I do own a third of this teahouse, and I have a right to know what you’re doing.”

Chapter 40

“All right,” Mayuri said, “sit down.”

Hiro heard soft footsteps on the tatami and the rustling of a kimono as Okiya knelt on the floor.

“Hideyoshi’s daughter found out about his interest,” Mayuri said.

“You told me he kept it a secret, even from his wife.”

“Apparently not,” Mayuri said, “and it gets worse. I burned the ledgers the morning he died, because I was certain the prohibition on samurai owning businesses had kept him from telling anyone that he owned a third of a teahouse.”

“You burned the books?” Okiya asked. “What made you do that?”

“I didn’t think anyone knew about his interest. Nobuhide didn’t mention it, and you know he would have demanded his rights at once if he had known. I thought destroying the ledgers would protect us.

“When the priest and his ronin dog started poking around, I worried that they might see the books and think we were involved in the murder somehow—especially given that mess with Hidetaro and Sayuri’s contract.”

“I told you not to let Hideyoshi claim her,” Okiya said. “We agreed the girls would never be sold or treated as slaves.”

“It was a mistake,” Mayuri admitted. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have done it, but he threatened to force himself on every girl in the teahouse if I didn’t give him Sayuri. Including you.”

Okiya laughed. “I’d like to see him try it.”

“That’s not a problem anymore, but we have a bigger one. Yoshiko is her father’s heir and she knows about the teahouse. She was here last night demanding an accounting and wanting to know how much income she should expect.

“She demanded to see the books.”

“Does she know the percentage?” Okiya asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I was too surprised to learn that she knew anything. He always said he never told anyone, not even his wife.”

“Not even his wife,” Okiya repeated. “How long have you worked in the floating world, and you don’t remember that men always lie?”

Silence stretched out between them. A page turned, and then another. After a minute or so Okiya said, “Worse things could have happened. We have another partner. At least this one won’t be spoiling virgin girls like her father did.”

“That’s one expense I’ll be glad to do without,” Mayuri agreed, “and I suppose he did get his interest rightfully. I should have known that girl was an assassin. Her contract came far too cheaply.”

“That was years ago,” Okiya said. “You can forgive yourself now.”

“It cost part of your interest as well as mine,” Mayuri said. “That’s what I regret.”

“All this talk isn’t getting your ledgers finished,” Okiya replied. “I’m going to have some tea before I sleep. Would you like some?”

“Yes, thank you.”

A kimono rustled and footsteps approached the cupboard.

“I’ll use the big pot.”

Okiya stood on the opposite side of the cupboard door. Hiro heard her hand touch the panel. The door rattled on its tracks.

“On second thought, I think I’ll just finish these ledgers and get to sleep,” Mayuri said. “If I stay up for tea, I won’t be sharp tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Okiya asked.

“Yes, thank you. No tea for me tonight.”

“All right.” Okiya’s voice moved away from the door. She yawned. “I’ll use the little pot in the kitchen instead.

“I wish Sayuri didn’t have to take the blame for Hideyoshi’s murder,” Okiya added from the doorway. “I’m sure she didn’t do it.”

“Better her than us,” Mayuri said.

“Better still to see real justice.”

The room fell silent except for the rustle of ledger pages and, once, the grinding of an ink stick against the well.

Hiro sat on the blankets and thought through the facts again. He reconstructed the night Hideyoshi died, placing each of the relevant suspects in their places. Slowly, the bits and pieces became a whole, though the answer was not the one he expected, or even the one that seemed so accurate earlier in the evening.

By the time Mayuri put away her ledgers, Hiro knew who killed the samurai.

Chapter 41

Hiro remained in the cupboard for almost half an hour after Mayuri left the office and went to bed. The house grew still. Hiro didn’t know the time, but judging by the tired ache behind his eyes, dawn was only an hour or two away.

Still he waited.

When he judged it safe to move, he slid open the door and stepped into the office. Working by feel alone, he rearranged the blankets to erase the depression left by his body. He didn’t stop until the cabinet showed no sign of his presence.

He left the room without looking at the ledgers. The women’s conversation had confirmed the suspicion that led him there in the first place. Hideyoshi’s income would not support a teahouse lifestyle, and though it had taken Hiro a while to deduce that the samurai had owned an interest in the teahouse, the facts eventually lined up in his mind. Ironically, it had been the servant’s broken sandals and Hidetaro’s shabby robes that provided the final clue.