The Ninja's Daughter (15 page)

The dōshin stood where Hiro had left him, watching.

Hiro bowed to the samurai guard. “Merely a misunderstanding, nothing more.”

After a moment that lasted too long for comfort, the samurai stepped away.

Hiro did not speak again until they passed the
torii
gate at the entrance to Okazaki Shrine. “As soon as we identify Emi's killer, we're leaving Kyoto.”

“I will not run away from my work and home,” Father Mateo said, “and I'm surprised that you even think I might. I'm not a child and not afraid of danger.”

“Even a child knows not to tempt a tiger,” Hiro said.

“I refuse to leave the city. I will not argue this point again.”

Hiro saw no point in arguing, either. When the time came, the priest would leave, even if Hiro had to drag him out of Kyoto against his will.

CHAPTER 27

Gato lay on the porch of the Jesuit's house, flicking her tail from side to side. As Hiro and Father Mateo approached, she jumped to her feet and trotted toward her master.

Hiro scooped the cat into his arms as he followed the Jesuit into the house. Just before the door swung closed, he heard a horse approaching on the road.

Father Mateo continued into the common room, but Hiro set Gato down and peered back out into the street. Nervous tension rose in his stomach, but dissipated as he recognized Luis Álvares approaching on a small brown horse. He closed the door and joined the Jesuit in the common room.

Father Mateo frowned. “Is someone out there?”

“Only Luis, home early,” Hiro said.

Father Mateo nodded and changed the subject. “We need to talk with Yuji.”

“I had planned to go this evening,” Hiro said. “At sunset, or a bit before.”

“Why sunset?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro smiled. “It is the hour when women prepare the evening meal. I would prefer to speak with Yuji when his mother is occupied.”

Luis Álvares stormed through the doorway, face bright red and hands in fists. The lace on his dark green doublet shook like a plum tree's leaves in a thunderstorm.

“Backstabbing vipers!” the merchant bellowed as he started toward his room.

“Trouble with the samurai?” Father Mateo asked.

Luis whirled and glared at the priest. “This time, it's our countrymen I speak of!”

“Word from Portugal?” Father Mateo sounded excited.

“No! Another merchant coming here to take my business!” Luis stomped across the room. “Bad enough that half of Lisbon flooded into Yokoseura, stealing all the sales outside the capital—now that snake, Simão Duarte, is coming here to steal from beneath my nose!”

Hiro heard Ozuru's warning echo through his memory.
Your merchant will suffer a most unfortunate accident soon thereafter. . . .

“What are you talking about, Luis?” Father Mateo asked.

“Simão Duarte, from Lisbon.” Luis walked in a circle, gesturing wildly. “He arrived in Japan last year and set up a warehouse at Yokoseura. Now the shogun has issued him a license to open one in Kyoto—directly next to mine!”

“When did he reach the city?” Hiro asked.

Luis pulled a crumpled paper from his doublet. “His letter just arrived today, by messenger. It says he'll arrive by the end of the week, along with a load of firearms that he wants to store in my warehouse while he gets his cleaned and ready for business!”

The merchant flung the letter toward the hearth, but the parchment merely fluttered to the ground beside his boot.

Luis stomped on it.

Hiro stared at the missive. The time had come to force the issue. Father Mateo had to leave Kyoto.

The Jesuit looked at the letter. “What does it say, precisely?”

“Simão brags that Shogun Matsunaga issued a license for him to sell firearms in the capital. He gives the address of his warehouse—next to mine.” Luis glared at Hiro. “You claim Hisahide isn't really the shogun. Is there any way to block this license?”

Without waiting for an answer, Luis scooped the letter from the floor and waved the page in the air. “Simão Duarte. That self-important windbag!”

Hiro noted the irony, but kept his expression neutral.

“Does the letter explain why Hisahide issued a second license?” the Jesuit asked.

“To meet the demands of war.” Luis glanced at the letter and made a scornful sound. “I've never missed a deadline, despite his unreasonable demands. I procured the weapons he needed to seize Kyoto. I didn't know why he needed them, but even so, I met the need. And now he repays me by bringing Simão Duarte to kill my profits?”

“He plans to kill more than your profits,” Hiro said.

Luis turned to face the shinobi. “What do you mean?”

“Some weeks ago, Hisahide accused you of treason,” Hiro began.

“A ridiculous charge,” Luis interrupted. “Completely without foundation.”

“Perhaps,” Hiro said, “but Hisahide interprets the incident differently.”

“You think he plans to revoke my license?” Luis demanded.

“No,” Hiro said. “I think he intends to kill you.”

“And risk a war with Portugal as well as the Miyoshi?” Luis snorted. “Not a chance.”

“No king starts a war to avenge a single merchant,” Hiro said. “Especially the king of a faraway land.”

Father Mateo frowned. “We cannot let Hisahide harm Luis.”

“We cannot stop him,” Hiro said. “The only way to guarantee safety—Luis's as well as yours—is to leave the city.”

“This has nothing to do with Mateo,” Luis said. “I'll take a trip to Yokoseura and pick up a shipment of firearms. Once there, I'll find a reason to stay until you send word that the danger has passed.”

Hiro found it curious, but not a surprise, that Luis agreed to leave so readily; Hiro had always considered the man a coward. “If you escape to Yokoseura, Hisahide's anger will fall on those you leave behind.” He turned to Father Mateo. “You need to leave the city too, and quickly.”

The Jesuit started toward his room.

Hiro raised his voice. “This conversation is not over.”

Father Mateo paused with a hand on his door. “I did not say it was.”

“Then where are you going?” Hiro conquered his frustration and lowered his voice to a normal level.

Father Mateo bowed his head. “To pray for guidance in this decision.”

“I've already given you all the guidance any man requires,” Hiro said. “Surely your god wouldn't want you to stay and die?”

Father Mateo looked back over his shoulder. “The God I serve can deliver me from Matsunaga Hisahide. But whether or not he does so, I will serve him anyway.”

The Jesuit entered his room and closed the door.

Luis shook his head. “Priests. Almost as stubborn as samurai.” He looked at Hiro. “He's not a fool. If danger comes, he'll leave.”

Hiro disagreed with that assessment. If Father Mateo truly believed his god preferred him to stay in Kyoto, no power on earth would make him leave the city voluntarily.

Fortunately, Hiro had no problem moving the priest by deception, or even by force. He had sworn an oath to keep Father Mateo alive, and Hiro's own life would be forfeit if he failed.

Hiro had never failed a mission, and he had no intention of failing now.

CHAPTER 28

An hour before sunset, Hiro fastened his swords through his obi and prepared to leave the house. He left his room and discovered Father Mateo waiting in the common room.

“Time to go?” the Jesuit asked.

Hiro wondered, but didn't ask, if the foreign god had answered Father Mateo's prayers for guidance. In Hiro's experience, gods didn't bother with people very much. He didn't blame them. Prayers sounded more like whining than worship, at least to Hiro's ears. If he had created the universe—as Father Mateo claimed his god had done—he wouldn't listen to human petitions either.

The two men left the house and headed west on Marutamachi Road. Afternoon sunbeams lit the wooden houses with a crimson glow. Today, the color reminded Hiro of war, not beauty.

He didn't distract himself with abstract thoughts about the city, and whether or not he would miss it in days to come. Distractions, like assumptions, did not end well.

Father Mateo wore a contented expression that made Hiro wonder whether the priest was praying or simply enjoying the lovely evening. He didn't ask. He felt no need to fill the silent, peaceful spaces in a friendship.

When they reached the Kamo River, the samurai on guard approached and said, “Good evening. Heading to the city?”

“Yes,” Hiro said, “but not to the center. Only on the east side of the river.”

The samurai nodded. “Don't stay long. The shogun issued new orders today—no one passes the bridges late at night. Rumor has it, enemy spies have infiltrated the capital.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Hiro said. “We won't be late.”

Hiro and Father Mateo reached the Yutoku-za as the sun disappeared below the horizon, leaving only smears of pink against the purples and blues of the evening sky.

The door to the house stood open.

Hiro entered without knocking. After a pause, Father Mateo followed. They passed through the entry and into the giant common room beyond.

Braziers burned in every corner, illuminating the space. A paneled screen blocked off one edge of the room. Hiro didn't remember seeing it during his previous visit.

A trio of men stood opposite the screen. The oldest looked about sixty and carried an hourglass-shaped
ōtsuzumi
at his side. Each of the younger men held a similar drum.

“Do actors also play music?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese.

“Drums and flutes accompany nō performances,” Hiro said. “The musicians may, or may not, be members of the acting troupe.”

The older man turned at Hiro's voice. Before he spoke, Yuji emerged from behind the paneled screen.

The actor wore a gold surcoat atop an elaborate, patterned kimono. A pair of pleated pants peeked out beneath the kimono's lower hem, and though the young man wore no mask he moved with the practiced sliding step of a shite entering the stage.

“I thought the actors wore masks,” the Jesuit whispered.

“Not to practice.” Hiro shook his head.

Yuji dropped out of character at the sight of Hiro and the priest. “What are you doing here?”

The elderly drummer gave Yuji a look of dismay and started across the floor. When he reached an appropriate distance, he bowed to Hiro and then the priest.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “I apologize for the inappropriate welcome. How may we serve you?”

“We have come to speak with Yuji.” Hiro looked past the older man.

Yuji glanced at the other musicians, who suddenly seemed completely absorbed in their instruments. His gaze returned to Hiro, and he bowed. “Of course. Please give me a moment to change my clothes. I would be honored to buy you a flask of sake at the restaurant up the street. I would not dare dishonor you by asking you to remain in a house of mourning.”

Hiro considered a comment about the actor's rapid recovery from illness, but decided not to harass the youth as long as he cooperated. “You may go and change.”

Yuji bowed and disappeared through a sliding door at the back of the room.

The elderly drummer turned to the young musicians. “Continue your practice in the garden. I will join you shortly.”

“But, Master Tani,” one of them said, “the evening air will wet the drums. . . .”

“No more than it will in two days' time, when you perform outside at the temple.” The old man made a dismissive gesture. “Light the lanterns. I will join you soon.”

The drummers bowed and left the room.

Tani turned to Hiro and bowed again. “Forgive my presumption, but are you the men investigating the death of my grandniece, Emi?”

“The magistrate has forbidden investigation,” Hiro said. “The yoriki declared there was no crime.”

“Of course, sir. Please forgive my error.” Tani nodded deeply. “I would never question a yoriki's word.”

Something in the old man's tone made Hiro ask, “If we did have an interest in certain events by the river, two nights past . . . would you have information to provide?”

“I am only an elderly man, granduncle to a beautiful girl who died far younger than she should.” Tani lowered his gaze to the ground. “What could I know?”

“Something you'd rather your students did not hear,” Hiro countered. “Otherwise, you would not have sent them into the evening air, where the dew might wet the ōtsuzumi skins.”

Tani looked up. “Do you play the instrument, sir?”

“I know the sound will suffer if the skin gets damp.” Hiro paused. “What do you know about Emi's murder?”

“Nothing about the killing,” Tani said, “but a man who wanted to learn the truth might ask if anything else of value disappeared from this place the night that Emi died—or the night before.”