CHAPTER 32

As the samurai approached, Hiro recognized the scruffy dōshin who followed them from the magistrate’s office earlier in the afternoon. He wondered how the samurai had found them, since he hadn’t noticed anyone following since they left the Jesuit’s house.

“The two of you are under arrest,” the dōshin snarled, “and this commoner’s life is forfeit.”

Father Mateo stepped forward. “You have no cause to take his life.”

The dōshin grasped the hilt of his sword. “A samurai needs no cause.”

“Only an honorless coward would kill a man without a reason.” Father Mateo spoke in a voice as calm as the burbling river, but firm as a mountain.

“His family told me he left the house with a foreigner and a ronin.” The dōshin spat out the final word as if it tasted foul on his tongue. “Yoriki Hosokawa told him what would happen if he spoke with you again.”

“He threatened whipping, not execution,” Father Mateo countered. “I was there—and you have no business harassing innocent people outside your jurisdiction.”

The dōshin ignored the Jesuit’s words. He crossed to Satsu and drew his sword with a motion that would have severed the actor’s neck—but at the final moment Satsu ducked and rolled away.

The dōshin’s blade swished harmlessly through the air.

“How dare you!” The samurai started for Satsu, but Hiro stepped between them.

“The foreigner is correct,” Hiro said. “I will not let you kill this man.”

“Then you condemn yourself and the priest as well.” The dōshin raised his sword.

Satsu lunged for the samurai with unexpected speed. A dagger glinted in his hand.

The dōshin leaped away, avoiding Satsu’s blade by inches.

“You filth!” The dōshin swung his sword, but once again the actor dodged.

“Kneel and accept your punishment,” the dōshin ordered, “or your entire family will die!”

“Sheathe your sword and forget this happened,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro shook his head. “Too late for that.”

The dōshin raised his sword and leaped toward Satsu. This time, Hiro’s katana blocked the strike.

The dōshin slashed at Hiro, but the shinobi avoided the blade. As Hiro counterattacked, the policeman grunted, but not enough to confirm a successful strike. Hiro jumped away, suspecting a trick—and felt a wave of air on his face as the dōshin’s sword passed by.

He circled sideways, into the shadow of an overhanging branch. The dōshin countered Hiro’s movement, maintaining the space between them. Lanterns along the path cast flickering spots of light and shadow over the samurai’s scowling features.

Hiro froze, awaiting an opening.

The dōshin swayed from side to side, weaving like a snake. He stamped his foot, but Hiro did not flinch or jump to attack.

A moment passed. Hiro drew a silent breath and felt his senses sharpen.

Overhead, the cherry branches rustled with a breeze. The river burbled past within its banks.

The dōshin stamped his foot again and lunged.

This time, Hiro stepped aside and countered with a sideways strike. He felt the blade slice through the air. He missed.

He spun to avoid the counterstrike, which came more quickly than expected.

Hiro traded blows with the dōshin. Some passed harmlessly through the air. Others ended with a clash of steel on steel. Despite his loathing for the dōshin, Hiro admired his opponent’s skill with a sword.

“You fight well,” Hiro said when the combat paused. “It is unfortunate that you must die.”

The dōshin lunged and swung his sword. As Hiro jumped away, he spun and aimed a lethal strike across the dōshin’s neck. This time, Hiro felt his blade strike home.

The dōshin’s grunt became a cough, and then a ragged gasp. He dropped his sword and clutched his throat. Blood pattered down on the earthen path with a sound like falling raindrops.

Hiro stepped to the side and raised his katana. “Your skill has earned you a rapid death.”

In a single motion, he cut off the dōshin’s head.

Before Hiro could sheathe his katana, Satsu ran forward and grasped the dead man’s hands. “We have to get him off the road.”

He dragged the body into the shadows beneath a cherry tree.

Hiro picked up the dōshin’s head and followed.

“You killed him,” Father Mateo said. “What are we going to do?”

“Dispose of the body,” Hiro replied. “And quickly.”

“You killed him,” Father Mateo repeated.

Hiro nodded. “An established fact.”

Father Mateo stared at the body. “We have no way to bury him.”

“And the river’s too shallow and slow at this location,” Satsu added. “However, I know a place. There is a bathhouse around the corner—it closed about an hour ago.”

“You want to leave the body in a bathhouse?” Father Mateo asked.

“Trust me.” Satsu looked at Hiro. “My other work in Kyoto involves the disappearance of unwanted people—alive and dead.”

“Very well,” Hiro said. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t understand.” Father Mateo looked from one man to the other. “It doesn’t seem appropriate to hide a samurai’s body in a bathhouse.”

“I’ll explain when we get there,” Satsu said. “Let’s go—and don’t forget his head.”

The bathhouse sat just east of the river, on a street whose businesses were closed and shuttered at this time of night. Despite the lack of passersby, Hiro and Satsu remained in the shadows as they carried the dōshin’s body between them. Father Mateo followed with the head, holding it as far away from his body as he could manage.

“This way.” Satsu turned into a narrow passage between the bathhouse and the business next door.

A double line of trees separated the back of the building from the open common space at the center of the block. In daylight the trees offered privacy and enhanced the lovely setting for bathhouse patrons. In the darkness, they provided perfect cover for three men and a samurai’s headless corpse.

Satsu paused in front of the undersized door that led to the bathhouse boiler room. “Set him down for a minute.”

Hiro helped the actor lower the body to the ground.

“What’s going on?” Father Mateo whispered as Satsu opened the little door and ducked inside. “Isn’t that where they . . .”

A rustling came from the boiler room, followed by a metallic creak. Sparks flared to life in the house’s wood-burning oven as Satsu stirred the coals with a poker. The actor’s silhouette blocked the glow as he tossed a handful of kindling into the oven. The sparks grew into flames.

Father Mateo’s mouth fell open in horror. He shook his head, the motion barely visible in the shadows.

Satsu returned to the yard. The orange glow of tiny flames emerged from the darkened room beyond.

“As I hoped, the fire was banked but came to life at once with a little kindling.” Satsu extended his hands to the priest. “We’ll start with the head.”

Father Mateo backed away.

“This isn’t the time for argument,” Hiro whispered. “We have no choice.”

“The bathhouse owners will find him in the morning!” Father Mateo sounded close to panic. “The flames may burn his flesh, but not the bones.”

“The owners will bury the bones and ask no questions,” Satsu said. “Now hand it over.”

Father Mateo turned his face away and handed the dōshin’s head to Satsu. When the burden left his hands, he made the sign of the cross and bowed his head to pray.

Satsu ducked into the boiler room and tossed the head into the fire. He added another handful of kindling; moments later the air was filled with the odors of scorching hair and burning flesh.

Father Mateo coughed and retched.

“The smell will attract attention,” Hiro said.

“Fortunately, this bath is known for its scented waters.” Satsu grabbed a fresh pine bough from a pile beside the boiler room. He tossed it onto the fire, and though the smoke that rose from the oven didn’t completely hide the acrid, fatty smells of burning samurai, it did reduce the stench to a level that wouldn’t raise alarm.

“One more problem,” Hiro said. “The body won’t fit in the oven in this condition.”

Satsu reached inside his tunic and withdrew a wicked-looking dagger. “That’s a problem I can solve. It’s time for you to take the foreigner home.”

Father Mateo raised his head. “We cannot leave you here alone.”

“With respect, you also cannot stay.” Satsu turned to the priest. “One of my duties in Kyoto is handling inconvenient corpses. This is not my first dead samurai. I am better trained, and better able, to address this problem. I appreciate your sense of honor, but I promise your concern is quite misplaced.

“Please bring my daughter’s coin to Fushimi Inari tomorrow morning. After that, we must not ever speak again.”