Blade of the Samurai: A Shinobi Mystery (Shinobi Mysteries) (13 page)

Ginjiro’s daughter, Tomiko, stood alone behind the counter waiting on patrons. She wore a purple kimono with a repeating pattern of bamboo and paulownia leaves. Its trailing sleeves revealed her unmarried status, unusual in a girl of twenty years, and though Tomiko’s face would not stop a man in the street, she had an understated beauty that appealed to those who preferred a real flower to an artificial bloom.

Tomiko looked up as Hiro approached. Her eyes lit and she smiled in recognition, though the shinobi noticed her gaze flicker over his shoulder. He didn’t have to guess who she hoped to see. To her credit, the girl’s smile didn’t waver much when she saw that Hiro arrived alone.

The shinobi handed his sword across the counter. Tomiko accepted it with both hands. She bowed. “Good evening, Matsui-
san
. May I draw you a flask?”

“Thank you,” Hiro said, “but not this evening. I hoped to speak with your father.”

She bowed again, this time in assent. “Please wait. I will get him for you.”

Hiro remembered the
noren
fluttering during his visit that afternoon. He glanced along the counter. The other patrons had already turned back to their conversations.

“Before you go,” he said softly, “perhaps you will answer a question for me. Did you see Ito Kazu last night?”

The girl looked down at the countertop as a blush darkened her cheeks. “Yes, Ito-
san
was here.”

“What time did he arrive?” Hiro hoped Tomiko’s feelings for Kazu would make her helpful rather than deceptive.

She looked up before answering. “After sunset. I don’t remember the time exactly. It was already dark. First he was not here, and then he was. I am sorry I can’t be more specific.”

Her answer matched her father’s, as well as Kazu’s. More importantly, she looked the shinobi in the eye and showed no discomfort as she answered the question.

“Do you remember what time he left?” Hiro asked.

She glanced at the counter. “He was here when I left the shop for the night.” She bit her lower lip. “Is he well?”

“He is fine,” Hiro said. “I am sure he would appreciate your concern.”

Tomiko nodded. The blush returned.

Hiro couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. She wasn’t the first to fall for the dashing Kazu, and she would fare no better than the others, though the shinobi suspected Tomiko knew her crush was a hopeless cause. No samurai ever married a brewer’s daughter. As far as Tomiko knew, Ito Kazu lay beyond her reach.

The
noren
ruffled as Ginjiro entered the shop from the kitchen. He bowed to Hiro and straightened with a smile.

“Thank you, Tomiko,” he said. “You may join your mother.”

The girl gave Hiro a look that suggested she wanted to say something more. She changed her mind and departed with a bow.

As Tomiko disappeared through the
noren
Ginjiro lowered his voice and asked, “Does Ito-
san
need help?”

Ginjiro had dealt in sake, and with its drinkers, long enough to develop a nose for trouble.

“I don’t think so,” Hiro said, “but I do need to know what time he really left last night.”

“Half an hour before the temple bells rang midnight.”

“Before midnight,” Hiro repeated.

“Should I have said so earlier?” Ginjiro asked. “I didn’t like your samurai companion. He looked like a man in search of someone to blame. I heard about the murder at the shogunate and didn’t want to cause trouble for Kazu. Was he involved?”

“How did you hear about the killing?” Hiro asked.

The brewer shook his head. “I’d no more betray my sources to you than I’d turn Ito-
san
over to that preening shogunate monkey.

“Before you ask,” Ginjiro continued, “I don’t know who killed the shogun’s clerk, and I have no intention of getting involved. What Ito-
san
does—or doesn’t do—outside my shop is none of my concern.”

“Why tell me this?” Hiro asked. “I can make trouble for Kazu as easily as the shogun’s men.”

A knowing smile curled the brewer’s lips. “You won’t. I know men as well as I know my flasks, and your flaws don’t run to betrayal.”

Hiro raised an eyebrow but changed the subject. “Are you positive Kazu left before midnight?”

“My wife goes to sleep when the bells ring the midnight hour,” Ginjiro said. “I make the last call for snacks half an hour before that. Kazu left the shop as I made the announcement. I’m certain about the time.”

“One last question,” Hiro said.

Ginjiro didn’t even need to hear it. “Kazu wasn’t drunk.”

The brewer’s words fell on Hiro like stones. Kazu had left the brewery in time to kill Saburo, and he hadn’t told Hiro the truth about his actions.

The shinobi clenched his jaw to fight the anger that rose, unbidden and unexpected, in his chest. He didn’t care about killing Saburo—assassination was a shinobi’s trade—but Kazu’s lies endangered a fellow shinobi’s mission, a serious offense against both Hiro and the
ryu
.

“Have my answers upset you?” Ginjiro looked across the counter, concerned by Hiro’s silence.

The shinobi forced a smile. “No. I appreciate your assistance and discretion. You need not worry about Kazu. He was robbed last night, by the river, but he’s unharmed.”

Ginjiro frowned and swiped the counter with a towel. “The police should patrol that river at night. The thieves are getting bold.”

“Desperate men are always bold.” As he spoke the words, Hiro felt his anger evaporate, replaced by a sudden chill. If Kazu had murdered Saburo on Hattori Hanzo’s orders, the
ryu
would also condone the death of everyone who knew or suspected that Kazu committed the crime. Kazu knew that Hiro and Father Mateo had solved the Akechi murder and could have suspected the shogun would ask for their help with this one. His plea for assistance might have been a ruse to throw them off the track.

But Hiro hadn’t fallen for it, and if his persistence threatened to expose Kazu as the killer … a trained shinobi would have to counter that threat with lethal force. Hiro fought better than Kazu did, but Kazu also knew that Hiro’s greatest weakness lay with the Jesuit priest.

Hiro wanted to believe that kinship—and friendship—would stay Kazu’s hand, but the master shinobi was too well-trained to fool himself with hopes. Kazu would kill Father Mateo if he thought his mission required it.

And Hiro had left the Jesuit unguarded.

He hurried home, barely restraining his pace enough to avoid undue attention. He wanted to run but held himself to a rapid walk. Stopping to answer a curious policeman’s questions would only delay him more.

He let himself break into a run as he passed Okazaki Shrine. His geta squished in the gummy street and spattered his robe with mud, but at that moment he didn’t care about cleanliness.

Only once before in his life had Hiro wished so desperately to be wrong. To his regret, he hadn’t been—and this time the life at risk was more important than Hiro’s own.

Chapter 25

As Hiro approached the Jesuit’s home, he heard voices wailing. He froze, stomach cold and churning like the muddy street beneath his wooden sandals.

In the silence the wailing took on a familiar sound—voices singing a hymn in Japanese. As always, Hiro found the music mournful though the lyrics spoke of praise.

The shinobi bent forward, weak with relief. His breathing slowed and his thoughts grew clear. He berated himself for falling prey to ill-founded worries. Illogical thinking guaranteed failure as surely as an assassin’s blade.

He slipped through the gate in the garden wall and entered his room through the veranda door. He decided not to tell Father Mateo that Kazu had lied. Not until he knew why and whether the Jesuit was in danger. Fortunately, the worship service made the priest unavailable anyway.

A few minutes later Hiro emerged from the house wearing special trousers that tied at the ankles, a midnight-colored surcoat, and a cloth that obscured his face.

He pulled himself onto the damp veranda roof and climbed the sloping thatch all the way to the heavy wooden beam at the peak of the house. Mumbling prayers and off-key singing wafted up from the rooms below, covering even the minimal noise of his movements. As he straddled the beam, Hiro glanced at the cloudy sky and hoped the rain had finished for the night.

Inside the house the silent mumble increased to a babble. The front door opened, discharging the chattering congregants into the street. Their lanterns bobbed like fireflies in the gathering darkness.

Hiro bent over the beam. In the cloudy twilight, and without the moon to betray him, only an owl’s eyes would see the shinobi perched on the roof, but Hiro didn’t believe in taking chances. Not unnecessary chances, anyway.

Angry barking burst from the yard across the street, startling the parishioners. A group of women clustered together as if their numbers might deter attack. A child cried out in fear. The barking increased, and Hiro half expected to see the neighbor’s massive akita run into the road. The vicious beast had escaped before, but the owner had always recaptured the dog before it caused any harm.

This time the dog did not appear.

After a moment, the women giggled nervously and dispersed. The barking slowed as the street grew still. Eventually the akita gave a final peevish bark and then fell silent.

Hiro allowed himself a moment of envy for the dog. The akita’s world held only friends and enemies, and the lines between the two remained distinct.

*   *   *

Dawn found Hiro still on the roof, damp from the rain that emptied the clouds and allowed the rising sun to send golden streamers through the sky. He yawned and stretched his muscles, stiff from exhaustion but satisfied. Even if guilty, Kazu would go back to work to keep up appearances, which meant that Father Mateo was safe until nightfall.

Hiro slipped down from his perch and into the house. He shed his wet clothes and lay down on his futon for a nap. Gato joined him almost at once, and the shinobi fell asleep to the kitten’s rumbling purr.

An hour later, Father Mateo’s morning prayers woke Hiro from a sleep that diminished exhaustion but not concern. Foregoing both breakfast and explanations, Hiro put on his gray kimono and left the house by the veranda door.

When the shogunate gates swung open for the day, Hiro was there and waiting. But before the guards could ask his business, he saw a familiar figure in the road.

“Please excuse me,” Hiro said to the puzzled guards, “I have already found the man I need to see.”

He turned away and walked toward Kazu at a pace designed to ensure that he would meet the younger man far enough from the gates to prevent the guards from hearing their conversation.

Kazu saw him approaching and stopped to bow.

“Have you eaten?” Hiro asked. “I know a good noodle cart nearby.”

“Is there one in Kyoto you don’t know?” Kazu smiled. “I can’t. I’ll be late for work.”

“Not as late as you will be when I accuse you of killing Saburo.”

Kazu’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “I told you I didn’t do it.”

“You lied.”

Kazu’s face revealed nothing.

“You left Ginjiro’s before midnight,” Hiro said. “You had plenty of time to kill Saburo.”

“You checked my story?” Kazu’s left hand balled into a fist. “You didn’t trust me.”

“With good reason,” Hiro said. “You didn’t tell the truth.”

He started walking away from the shogunate gates. As he expected, Kazu followed. Hiro watched the younger man carefully. He doubted Kazu would risk an attack within sight of the guards, but a wise man made no assumptions.

When they had almost reached the end of the block Hiro asked, “Did you think I wouldn’t reveal you as the murderer? Or did you just think yourself too smart to be caught?”

“I did not kill Saburo,” Kazu muttered through clenched teeth. “I swear it on my honor.”

Hiro bit back a snide remark about liars’ honor. Some things no man could hear without a fight. “Where were you two nights ago?”

“At Ginjiro’s, as I told you,” Kazu said. “Ask Den, the stable boy. He was in the garden outside the mansion when I returned.”

“You claimed no one saw you return,” Hiro said. “Besides, Den was out of town.”

“He wasn’t out of town,” Kazu said. “When I slipped back over the wall I saw him in the garden northeast of the kitchen, near the
bakufu
mansion. He saw me too, and bowed, so I pretended I was merely out for a stroll.

“And I told you that no one saw me come over the wall.”

Kazu sounded truthful, but his words didn’t match the stable master’s story.

Hiro considered the scars on his own shoulder and inner thigh, the price of another misplaced trust.

“The stable is on the opposite side of the compound,” Hiro said. “If Den was in Kyoto, which Masao disputes, what was he doing so far from his proper place?”

“He seemed to be crying,” Kazu said.

Male servants did not cry.

Hiro shook his head. “Masao said Den left the city.”

They had reached the southeast corner of the compound. Kazu looked to his right, along the road that paralleled the southern wall of the shogunate. “We should ask Masao why he lied.”

“I intend to,” Hiro said, “but there is no ‘we.’”

“You don’t trust me.”

Hiro looked at Kazu without emotion. “Your presence could frighten him into a different lie. Besides, I need your help another way.”

“So now you want the help of a murdering liar?” Kazu asked.

Hiro heard himself in the younger man’s tone but tried to ignore it. “A schedule book disappeared from Saburo’s office after the murder. Hisahide says the shogun asked him to retrieve it. I need to know if that’s true, and whether anything else was taken.”

It was risky to ask for the younger man’s help, but Hiro knew no other way to monitor Kazu’s movements without offending.

“I don’t believe Hisahide’s story,” Kazu said. “The shogun would have retrieved the ledger personally. He wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to handle it—especially Matsunaga Hisahide.” Kazu glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Do you know why Hisahide came to Kyoto?”