Katsushima kept both of his blades. Out of old habit the ronin flicked his katana back and forth in its scabbard with his thumb.
“What troubles you?” Daigoro asked.
Consternation wrinkled Katsushima’s brow. “Hoofprints,” he said.
“Hm?”
“There weren’t any. The priest said we’d have to hurry to catch the wedding party, but there’s no evidence that they were on horseback. So why should we hurry to catch up with them? They’re on foot; we’re mounted.”
“Maybe they left a while ago.”
“No. He said they’d just left. And did you see the altar?”
Daigoro shook his head. “No.”
“No sakaki branch. You and Aki laid a branch on the altar when you married, neh? This couple didn’t.”
“Come now, Goemon. Couldn’t the priest have—?”
Daigoro cut himself short. He had been about to say “disposed of it already,” but that couldn’t be right. The sakaki branch was a sacred symbol of matrimony. It would be burned with all the rest in a dondoyaki ceremony at the turn of the New Year, not tossed aside like an old chicken bone. Perhaps Daimatsu Shrine had a cupboard set aside for such ritual objects, but even so, it would have been indecorous to take it from the altar so soon. Atsuta was not the place for such impropriety.
“Now you’ve got me worried,” Daigoro said. “Probably over nothing, but still . . .”
“You see?” Katsushima kept his voice low. “Something’s amiss here.”
Daigoro thought about the strong resemblance between the high priest of Daimatsu and the acolyte from the previous shrine. They could pass for twins—or even for the same man, if he were sufficiently skilled at feigning old age. And, of course, if he could fly like a falcon between one temple and the next.
“The botched directions,” Daigoro whispered, thinking aloud. “What if he deliberately steered us awry, to give himself time to race over here? Then . . . then nothing. This is silly, Goemon. We could just as well suspect our horses of playing us false.”
“Did our horses arrange for an entire temple to be empty but for one man? Or did one man beat us here, and then—”
“Then what? Kill every last priest? Leaving no sign of struggle?” Katsushima nodded, apparently quite satisfied. Daigoro scoffed in reply. “Oh go on, Goemon. Think of what you’re saying. Is it so strange for a man to look like his own nephew?”
“Is it so strange for one of Shichio’s bear hunters to dress as a priest instead of an assassin?”
“Only if he wants to dress himself to lose a sword fight. Even if he were armed, how could he draw a blade with those dangling sleeves? He’s more likely to fly away on them.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Katsushima kept his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “This much we know for certain: he was quick to explain why this shrine is empty, even though we did not ask. He was quick to rush us in here, behind closed doors, rather than let us roam around. You said ‘no sign of struggle.’ I say it’s better to look around and see what we can find.”
He started to stand, but then they heard the priest returning to the door. “Drink nothing he offers you,” Katsushima whispered, barely audible. “Let us see how he reacts.”
The priest knocked gently, then slid open the shoji. The smell of hot green tea preceded him into the room. Daigoro studied him closely, trying to convince himself that this couldn’t possibly be the acolyte from the other temple. He failed. Daigoro’s experience with shinobi was limited, but he could not help but remember a certain agent of the Wind, one who had saved his life many times over. That one could pass for a corpse at will, or even pass for Daigoro himself when the need arose. Daigoro had seen him do both, in full view of Toyotomi archers, and not one of them saw through the ruse.
“Please, enjoy,” said the priest, kneeling before them and filling their cups. His black shark-fin hat was so tall that Daigoro had to move his head aside when the priest bowed toward him to offer the tea. “Now then, you had a mind to discuss that old tall tale. The fellow who survived a blade through the heart.”
“Yes.” Daigoro picked up his teacup but did not drink. “But this tale’s not so tall. Many people here have told me it’s true. What do you know of it?”
The priest shrugged. “Not much. But more than most, I suppose.”