Chapter 11

After the door slid shut behind Hanako, Father Mateo bent his head in silent prayer. Hiro raised his teacup, closed his eyes, and inhaled the fragrant steam. The roasted leaves imbued the scent with unusual depth. He took a sip. The natural sweetness and rich, mellow flavor of roasted tea lingered pleasantly on his tongue.

When the Jesuit raised his head Noboru gestured to the food. “Please eat.”

The larger bowls held mounds of polished rice. The smaller ones held salty miso broth with tofu cubes and slivers of fresh-cut onion floating on the steaming surface. Mingled scents of rice and onions blended with the smell of tea.

Hiro found the soup a bit too salty, but approved of the choice to add the delicate slivered onions raw, allowing the heat of the soup to cook them gently while preserving both their pungency and crunch. He alternated sips of soup with bites of rice to cut the salinity.

“Masako-san claimed the spirit had returned,” Father Mateo said. “Has it killed before?”

“Four times. Five, if you count my mother.” Noboru watched his soup as if expecting a ghost to appear in the steam. “I fear she may not be the last.”

“Why would your sister return as a yūrei?” Hiro asked. “And why do you believe she will kill again?”

“It is dangerous—”

“So is refusing a samurai,” Hiro warned.

Noboru did not answer.

Just as Hiro felt certain the innkeeper would call his bluff, Noboru set his soup bowl on the table. “To understand, you must know the history of our ryokan.”

In Hiro’s experience, most people grossly overestimated the importance of personal histories and anecdotes. However, he also understood that listening to unnecessary stories was far easier than changing someone’s mind, and that even largely irrelevant stories often held a grain of useful truth.

“My mother’s grandfather, Nobu, worked as a porter on the travel road. Each morning he walked to Hakone in the hope of finding a burden to carry. Most nights, he did not return until many hours after dark.

“Even as a young man, Nobu-san knew he did not want his sons to labor like animals through the summer heat and winter storms.” Noboru reached for the teapot and refilled Father Mateo’s teacup, then Hiro’s, and finally his own. “He saved every coin he possibly could, and by the time his eldest son became a man, Nobu had saved enough money to build a ryokan. He continued to work as a porter until he died, but his son—my grandfather—never had to work the travel road.

“On his death bed, Nobu confessed to my grandfather that he and his wife—who had died before him—also had another child, a girl. In order to give her a better life, they apprenticed her to a teahouse in Kyoto on the day she learned to walk.”

“Yuko-san?” Father Mateo guessed.

“Yes. After Nobu-san died, my grandfather found a letter his sister Yuko-san had sent from Kyoto many years before. He sent her a letter, inviting her to return and visit the village, so they could meet. She not only returned, but stayed.”

“And built the teahouse,” the Jesuit concluded.

Hiro wished the priest would let Noboru tell the story.

“My grandfather helped her pay for it, using proceeds from the ryokan.” Noboru’s expression shifted slightly. “Originally, it was a loan, although my father forgave the debt in exchange for my sister becoming Yuko’s heir.”

“But Hanako-san inherited the teahouse. . .” Hiro trailed off, obligating Noboru to explain.

“My sister died one day before Yuko-san died,” Noboru said bitterly, “so Hanako—the most senior apprentice, after my sister—became the heir.”

“And you consider forgiving the debt unjust?” Hiro prompted.

“Even had she lived, my sister was not worth enough to cancel the debt Yuko-san owed to my grandfather, and then my parents. When both she and my great-aunt died, and then my father, the payments should have been made to me, as the surviving son. But, as I said, the debt had been forgiven—in writing—leaving me no legal claim.”

“Now Hanako owns the teahouse outright,” Hiro said.

“I do not begrudge Hanako-san an honest inheritance,” Noboru clarified. “I resent my father trading part of mine away to obtain a place for my worthless sister, who did not want to work in a teahouse, or inherit one, in the first place.”

Although he did not believe in yūrei, Hiro began to understand why the villagers thought the ghost of Noboru’s sister might hold a grudge.

“None of this explains why you believe your sister became a ghost,” Father Mateo said. “How did she die?”

Noboru’s gaze flickered to the hilts of Hiro’s swords. “She had an accident. She fell, and hit her head, and died. An accident, and nothing more.”

Liar. Aloud, Hiro asked, “Did she die in this room?”

“Yes.” Noboru’s cheeks flushed red. “That is, not in this room, but in the teahouse. She was in the kitchen, preparing tea. She slipped and fell.”

“Was she preparing tea for herself, or for a guest?” Hiro asked.

“I do not know.” Noboru glanced at the door as if wishing Hanako would reappear. “I wasn’t here.”

The flush in his cheeks would have betrayed the lie even if he had managed to meet Hiro’s eyes or to control the quaver in his voice.

“Perhaps Hanako-san knows more about it,” Hiro said.

“I don’t think so,” Noboru said, too quickly. “And you will upset her if you ask about the dead.” After a pause he added, with false brightness, “Though of course you are free to ask her if you wish.”

“You intend us to believe your sister became a yūrei after suffering an accidental death?” Hiro asked.

“If so,” the Jesuit put in, “what hooked her soul to the fabric of this world?”

Noboru opened his mouth, paused, and exhaled heavily. “Do you truly believe you can set her spirit free?”

“We truly believe there are no yūrei,” Hiro said. “In this village or otherwise.”

“And we believe we can prove your mother was killed by a person,” Father Mateo added, “not an angry ghost.”

Hiro would not have made the Jesuit’s assertion quite so strongly in the presence of a man who just confessed—albeit unwittingly—to having a motive for his mother’s murder.

“My sister held a grudge against our parents, and Yuko-san as well. She never wanted to become an entertainer.”

“You mentioned four other victims,” Father Mateo said. “In addition to Ishiko-san.”

“The spirit also killed Yuko-san, my father, and—”

The shoji slid open.

“Please excuse the interruption.” Hanako bowed, entered the room, and lifted the empty bowls from the table to the tray she carried. “May I offer you more tea?”

“No.” Noboru stood up, clearly relieved by the interruption. “We do not wish to impose upon your kindness any longer.”

Hiro and Father Mateo took the cue and rose to their feet as well.

“I will show you out.” Hanako preceded them to the doorway and handed the tray of dishes to Masako, who waited just outside the shoji. The pale girl accepted the tray with a bow and departed toward the kitchen without a word.

“Will you return for dinner?” Hanako asked as she guided them to the exit. “I have fresh eels.”

“I do not know,” Noboru said.

“Surely you don’t expect Kane to cook. . .” She gave Hiro and Father Mateo a meaningful look. “Noboru’s wife means well, but. . .”

“We will eat our evening meal at the ryokan.” Noboru spoke with unexpected firmness.

“As you wish.” Hanako’s smile did not reach her eyes.