Blade of the Samurai: A Shinobi Mystery (Shinobi Mysteries) by Susan Spann

Author:Susan Spann [Spann, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781250027047
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2014-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

“Dying?” Hiro couldn’t believe it. “How?”

“Otosan’s dog got loose.” The boy sounded desperate. “It went after Ana. Father Mateo tried to help but the dog attacked him instead.”

Questions swirled in Hiro’s mind: how the akita escaped its tether, what it was doing at home again, and why the owner hadn’t noticed the dog’s escape in time to prevent the attack.

He didn’t stop to ask.

“I need this horse.” Hiro took the reins from Masao and swung into the saddle.

As the shinobi reined the horse in a circle Akira said, “You may take it.”

Hiro glanced over his shoulder, surprised by the samurai’s consent.

“I may not like your Jesuit,” Akira said, “but no honorable man would withhold assistance.” He nodded. “Go.”

Hiro pulled the neighbor’s child up behind him on the saddle. As soon as he felt the boy’s hands on his waist, the shinobi put his heels to the horse’s sides.

“I’ll go to Ōtsu,” Akira called, “and bring Den back to Kyoto later tonight.”

Hiro barely heard him over the sound of the horse’s hooves on the wooden bridge.

He held the beast at a gallop the whole way home, scattering pedestrians and spattering the slower ones with mud from the stallion’s hooves. For once, he didn’t try to avoid attention. If Father Mateo died, it wouldn’t matter who saw Hiro on the road.

When they reached the Jesuit’s house the shinobi lowered the boy to the ground, dismounted, and handed the child the reins.

“Walk the horse to Okazaki Shrine, and ask a priest to return it to the shogunate.”

A splash of crimson stained the grass by the veranda. Bloody droplets formed a trail across the porch, and a single bloody footprint smeared the threshold.

As he followed the trail inside, Hiro tried to calculate how much blood the priest had lost. Not enough to have bled to death immediately, but enough that Hiro worried he might still have come too late.

The trail continued through the foyer, across the oe, and under the door of Father Mateo’s room. The wooden shoji frame and paper panels showed no bloody stains. Someone, probably Ana, had helped the Jesuit to his room.

Hiro laid a hand on the door, wanting and yet not wanting to see what lay on the other side. He took a breath and entered.

Darkening bloodstains spattered the tatami from the doorway to the center of the room. There, Father Mateo lay on a hastily opened futon. His eyes were closed. His misshapen, bloody hands lay folded across his stomach. Crimson stains covered his neck and the front of his brown kimono.

His face was pale. He wasn’t moving.

“Mateo!” Hiro rushed to the Jesuit’s side.

Father Mateo opened his eyes. “I stopped the dog.” He tried to smile but failed. A bloody wound at the base of his throat sent a crimson trickle down his neck.

“You got here quickly,” Ana bustled into the room with a steaming pot in one hand and strips of cream-colored silk in the other. “Taro must have found you at the shogunate.”

She thrust the silk into Hiro’s hands and set the pot on the floor beside Father Mateo.

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