Flask of the Drunken Master (19 page)

Father Mateo gave the shinobi a startled look, no doubt caused by Hiro’s breach of etiquette.

“Are you a friend of Yoshiko’s?” the woman asked, though the door stayed closed.

Hiro weighed the cost of a second lie and decided it couldn’t hurt—as long as the woman hadn’t been watching the argument in the street.

“I am,” he said.

The door swung open, revealing a woman about Yoshiko’s age, but far more lovely than any Hiro had seen in Pontocho. She wore no makeup, and when she smiled, her teeth showed no sign of the blackening favored by women who mimicked the courtesans’ style. Many men liked blackened teeth, but Hiro thought they looked as if their owners lost a fight.

“What do you want?” The woman’s tone counteracted any advantage her beauty offered.

“What manner of business do you run?” the shinobi asked.

“If you do not know, you don’t belong here.” She started to close the door.

Hiro stuck a foot in the opening. The woman pressed on the door to force it closed.

Hiro’s temper snapped. He laid both hands on the door and pushed with far more force than necessary. The woman stumbled backward with a startled cry and the door flew open.

Hiro stepped on the threshold but didn’t cross it. “When a samurai asks a question, commoners answer.”

The woman recovered her composure. “Perhaps I do not know the answer.”

Hiro raised an eyebrow and studied the woman. She seemed too bold for a servant, but no entertainer answered the door without makeup. Her obi tied in the back, which meant she wasn’t a prostitute, yet her smooth hands lacked a merchant’s calluses.

He glanced at the front of the building. The narrow frontage and lack of identifying features indicated a business whose clientele did not rely on signage. People came to this door with knowledge and a purpose.

Hiro examined the woman again. The elaborate embroidery on her obi and kimono cost a fortune. Jeweled
kanzashi
pinned her hair in place.

“You do not know what business your house conducts?” Father Mateo asked.

“My business is not of consequence to samurai or priests.” The woman looked from one man to the other. “Samurai visit the Shij
ō
Market. Priests … I do not know.”

The market gave Hiro the final clue he needed. “You’re a moneylender.”

“Yes, for the women of Pontocho.” The moneylender clasped her hands. “I do not lend to samurai or to men. If you need loans, you go to the rice-sellers’ street.”

“You misunderstand,” the shinobi said. “We haven’t come about a loan.”

“Then what do you want—and how, exactly, do you know Yoshiko?” The woman glanced at the door as if wondering whether she could slam it shut before the shinobi stopped her.

“We saw her leaving and wondered what she was doing here at this hour.” Hiro raised his hands, palms up. “As you mentioned, you’re not in the business of loaning money to samurai.”

“If you know her, then you also know I won’t discuss her business, any more than I would tell you of my own.” The woman reached for the edge of the door, but didn’t try to shut it.

“One last question,” Hiro said. “If we did need a loan, who do you suggest we get it from?”

“There is a merchant named Basho who lends to men of every social class.” Her gaze shifted to Father Mateo. “I do not know if he would lend to foreigners as well.”

“Thank you,” Hiro said as she closed the door.

As they turned away from the house, Father Mateo asked, “Now what?”

“Home.” Hiro started north.

“What did you say to Mayuri last night?” Father Mateo asked. “I’ve never seen a woman as angry as Yoshiko was this morning.”

Hiro gave the priest a sidelong look. “It isn’t my talk with Mayuri that made her angry—and I doubt you have much firsthand knowledge about angry women.”

*   *   *

As Hiro and Father Mateo crossed the bridge that spanned the river at Sanj
ō
Road, a voice beneath the end of the bridge said, “SSSST!”

Hiro whirled, hand on his katana. “Get behind me,” he said to Father Mateo.

“Sssst,” the voice repeated. “Hiro-
san
, down here.”

Hiro peered into the shadows beneath the bridge. A figure moved forward, revealing the spattered hem of a familiar brown kimono.

Hiro shook his head in disgust. “Suke, what are you doing under the bridge?”

“Don’t say my name,” the monk hissed. “Someone might hear you and recognize me.”

“Is that the monk from the brewery?” Father Mateo leaned down for a better view.

“You’re attracting more attention by your stealth than you would by talking, Suke,” Hiro said.

Suke poked his head into the light and looked around, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

“Is someone chasing you?” Hiro asked.

The monk emerged from under the bridge, smelling of stale sake, unwashed skin, and human waste. He clearly hadn’t bathed since leaving prison.

Suke looked over his shoulder. “People shouldn’t see us here. Someone might suspect we’re working together
.
”

Father Mateo looked from the monk to Hiro. “Working together?”

Suke nodded solemnly. “I’m helping Hiro solve Chikao’s murder.”

Chapter 37

“You’re working as Hiro’s partner?” Father Mateo asked Suke.

Hiro gave the Jesuit a look that said
don’t encourage him.

Suke nodded, lips splitting into a nearly toothless grin. “I am, and I overheard an important clue the night before Chikao’s murder. I’d forgotten all about it until I saw you talking with that
kitsune
in the street the other night.”

“Yoshiko isn’t pretty enough for a fox spirit,” Hiro said.

Father Mateo asked, “What did you hear?”

“The night before Chikao died, I went for a walk in Pontocho.” Suke’s eyes glazed over with memory. “I like to watch the women … shimmering kimono, pretty faces … I remember pleasant evenings there, before I became a monk…”

Suke faded into silence.

“What did the women say?” Hiro asked.

Suke blinked. “Why did you ask me about the women?”

“You brought it up,” Hiro said. “You claimed to have heard a clue.”

Suke nodded. “I did. An important clue!” He frowned. “Stop interrupting. You’ll make me forget again.”

Hiro raised his hands apologetically.

“I was standing outside the Golden Buddha—or was it the Dancing Crane?” Suke scratched his liver-spotted head with a wrinkled hand. “It had to be one or the other.”

Father Mateo opened his mouth, but Hiro silenced the priest with a look. Suke didn’t need any more distractions.

“From where I was standing, I heard a man say he was going to marry Tomiko. I think he meant Ginjiro’s daughter.”

“Did you recognize him?” Hiro asked. “Did you see his face?”

Suke shook his head. “Tomiko doesn’t have a suitor, so I wondered who he was, but by the time I went around the corner he had gone.”

“Another trail leading nowhere,” Father Mateo said.

“I wouldn’t send you nowhere.” Suke looked offended. “I didn’t know the man who spoke, but I recognized the voice of his companion.”

The monk fell silent, reveling in his secret.

“Well,” Hiro said, “who was it?”

“A rice merchant named Basho. I know, because he bought me sake once.” Suke glanced over his shoulder. “I should go before anyone sees us. The killer must not realize I’m a spy!”

Suke hunched his shoulders and scurried away across the bridge.

Father Mateo watched him go. “I don’t believe that man is entirely sane.”

“Probably not,” Hiro said, “but he does remember the men who buy him sake. If he says he heard Basho in Pontocho two nights ago, Basho was there.”

“We already knew he drank at the Golden Buddha,” Father Mateo said.

“And now we know he may possess important information.” Hiro resumed his walk toward home. “The other man was almost certainly Kaoru.”

“We need to go back to Shij
ō
Market,” Father Mateo said, “to speak with Basho’s family and find out where he went.”

“They will not tell us,” Hiro said. “It seems Basho’s companion is connected to Chikao’s murder. There’s no other reason for the merchant to disappear.”

“Unless he’s dead,” Father Mateo said. “The murderer might have killed him too.”

“I hope not,” Hiro said. “But, dead or alive, I doubt Basho has left the city.” He glanced at a samurai walking south on the opposite side of the river. The stranger strolled at a leisurely pace, watching the sky above and the water below.

The shinobi decided the samurai posed no threat.

“A merchant like Basho has no excuse to leave Kyoto in the summer,” Hiro said. “Without a reason, the Matsunaga guards would never let him leave the city. Basho would know that, or he should. I think he’s hiding in Kyoto, and the story about Edo was a lie.”

“He could tell the guards he needed to see sick relatives in the country,” the priest suggested. “That would get him past the barricades.”

“Unlikely,” Hiro said. “Not without his wife along.”

“Hiding in the city?” Father Mateo asked. “That’s risky, if a killer wants him dead.”

“Better than a scene at the city gates,” Hiro said. “A samurai in the shogun’s service can behead a commoner on a whim. A man who cares about his life won’t take unnecessary risks.”

Father Mateo frowned. “All right, but where could a merchant hide?”

“The question is, ‘Where
did
he hide?’ In this case, I believe he hid at home.”

Father Mateo shook his head. “We already checked his home; he wasn’t there.”

“We asked for him,” Hiro said. “We didn’t search. We asked, and we left—exactly as Basho and his wife intended.”

“The apprentice came after us…” Father Mateo trailed off. “You think he lied.”

“Of course he did.” Hiro paused. “Hama lied to us too. I simply didn’t know what she lied about. Now that I consider it, a frugal man would always hide at home. It costs less money.”

“How do you suddenly know he’s frugal?” Father Mateo asked.

“Sudden has nothing to do with it. Hama wore a sturdy kimono, cut in last year’s style. Her clothes, and the apprentice’s, showed signs of careful washing. The household of a moneylender doesn’t look austere unless the man is frugal.”

“Or in debt,” the priest suggested, “which he is.”

“True.” Hiro smiled. “But while we spoke with Basho’s wife, the apprentice went back into the warehouse behind the shop.”

“Filling a customer’s order,” the Jesuit said.

“I thought so, too, but he returned with empty hands, and gave a guilty glance in our direction,” Hiro said.

“You think he went to tell Basho?” Father Mateo flexed his hand in a manner that suggested it was hurting.

“I do,” Hiro said. “It’s time to return to Basho’s and find the truth—but this time, I must visit the shop alone.”

Chapter 38

At home, Hiro and Father Mateo discovered Luis pacing the floor.

“Why can’t you people keep your enemies straight?” the merchant demanded as Hiro entered.

“Pardon me?” Hiro reminded himself that the merchant didn’t intend a challenge. He tolerated Luis for Father Mateo’s sake, but, even so, Hiro often found the merchant’s words offensive.

“You heard me,” Luis fumed. “You samurai … today you’re friends, tomorrow mortal enemies. It’s like dealing with a bunch of bickering women.”

“Is something wrong?” Father Mateo asked.

The Jesuit clearly hoped the obvious question would diffuse the confrontation.

“Of course there’s something wrong.” Luis made an exasperated gesture. “I asked the Miyoshi, by messenger, if they would mind a delay in the shipment. Apparently, they do, because they need the firearms to go to war.”

An answer that surprises only you,
Hiro thought.

“To go to war or to threaten war?” Father Mateo asked.

“Does it matter?” Luis demanded. “It’s all the same in the end, and they promised it would be my end if I delay delivery. Samurai warriors … savages, every one.”

Gato trotted into the room and rubbed her side along Hiro’s leg in welcome. He bent and scooped the cat into his arms. “Matsunaga-
san
will kill us all if you refuse to stop the sale.”

Gato trilled and butted her head against the shinobi’s wrist.

“I agree, this is a problem,” Luis said.

“I see no problem.” Hiro stroked Gato’s fur. “Matsunaga Hisahide represents an immediate threat. The Miyoshi can kill you only if they win and take the city.”

“Or if I leave Kyoto.” Luis crossed his arms. “I’m disinclined to lose my head at the point of a samurai sword, no matter whose hand holds it.”

Hiro raised an eyebrow. “You do know, it’s not the point they’ll use.”

Father Mateo frowned.

“I found a solution, no thanks to you.” Luis glared at Hiro. “I sent a message to the warehouse at Fukuda. One of the Portuguese merchants there will fill the Miyoshi order and also pay a nice commission on the sale.”

Gato squirmed. Hiro put her down. “Matsunaga-
san
will not approve. He will consider you a traitor anyway.”

“Only if someone tells him what I’ve done,” the merchant said. “Lord Omura controls Fukuda. The weapons will ship from there, or from the Portuguese warehouse at Yokoseura, directly to the Miyoshi. We can tell Lord Matsunaga I cancelled the order. He’ll never know.”

“Until the Miyoshi use those firearms to start a war,” Hiro countered. “Or until Matsunaga’s spies find out the truth.”

“Until a month ago, Lord Matsunaga worked for the Miyoshi.” Luis brushed away Hiro’s words with a wave. “His spies cannot present a real threat.”

“Do not underestimate Matsunaga Hisahide,” Hiro said. “If you lie to him, his spies will know.”

“And if I don’t, the Miyoshi will have me killed,” the merchant said.

Hiro clenched his jaw against the words he could not say, the ones that revealed his shinobi status and that of Hisahide’s hired assassins.

Not that explanations would have mattered. Once Luis made up his mind, an argument would only reinforce his stubbornness.