Flask of the Drunken Master Page 13

  Ozuru paused, then altered course and fell in step at Hiro’s side. Hiro relaxed a fraction. Compliance with a change in plan suggested Ozuru didn’t intend an ambush.

  As they walked along the river, Ozuru said, “Your actions have enraged the shogun. Matsunaga Hisahide wants to know what made you break your word.”

  “Matsunaga Hisahide is not the shogun,” Hiro said. “More importantly, what promise have I broken?”

  “You know which promise,” Ozuru said. “Luis Álvares, the Portuguese merchant who shares a house with your Jesuit friend, has sold a shipment of firearms to the Miyoshi. You promised Hisahide you would prevent this.”

  Hiro remembered his promise, and the circumstances surrounding it, with clarity. He made the bargain with Matsunaga Hisahide on the night the shogun died. The promise saved at least two lives, one of them Father Mateo’s.

  “That wasn’t the agreement,” Hiro said. “I promised Luis wouldn’t sell to Lord Oda. The deal did not include the Miyoshi clan.”

  Ozuru gave Hiro a sideways look. “Shogun Matsunaga has changed the deal.”

  “Matsunaga-san is not the shogun,” Hiro repeated. “The Ashikaga clan retains the shogunate.”

  “For now.” Ozuru paused. “You know as well as I do that the Ashikaga heir is still an infant. You also know how easily a child can meet an accident.”

  “Especially with men like Matsunaga-san around.” Hiro changed the subject. “Why does he object to the Miyoshi buying firearms? The last I heard, he swore allegiance to their clan.”

  “Not anymore,” Ozuru said. “Matsunaga-san broke his oath and declared his intent to keep Kyoto, and the shogunate, for himself. Daimyo Miyoshi did not take this news well.”

  Hiro understood. “The Miyoshi want the foreign firearms to start a war.”

  Ozuru paused beneath a tree. “This sale will have unpleasant consequences, for the city, for the merchant, and for the Jesuit you guard. Do not deny your function. I know a hired guardian when I see one.”

  “This does not concern the priest,” Hiro said. “Luis is a merchant. He sells to whomever he wishes—with the admitted exception of Lord Oda. You tell Matsunaga-san I reject his expansion of our agreement and will not tolerate threats to the foreign priest.”

  Ozuru lowered his voice. “You fail to understand. Matsunaga Hisahide did not send me here. I came to warn you—brother to brother—a dangerous wind is blowing.”

  “Perhaps,” Hiro said, “but the Portuguese merchant is not a kite. He does not have to obey prevailing winds.”

  “You must see that he does,” Ozuru said, “or the coming storm will tear the merchant and the priest to shreds.”

  Hiro said nothing.

  “Heed my warning,” Ozuru hissed. “You may not get another.”

  Chapter 31

  Hiro returned to the Jesuit’s home. As he opened the door, he inhaled the tantalizing aroma of grilling fish. His stomach rumbled. The afternoon’s noodles seemed a distant memory. He hoped that Ana had cooked enough and that Luis and Father Mateo hadn’t eaten it all already.

  Father Mateo knelt beside the common room hearth with a half-empty dinner tray before him. Gato sat to the Jesuit’s right, staring at the priest. The cat’s ears swiveled as Hiro entered, but she didn’t take her eyes off Father Mateo.

  The Jesuit studied his bowl intently.

  Gato studied the priest.

  Hiro grinned. “Tasty fish?”

  Father Mateo looked up. “You should have some. It’s delicious. Have you already finished your business at Ginjiro’s?”

  Gato caught the shinobi’s eye and gave a plaintive mew.

  “She is not hungry,” the Jesuit said. “Ana fed her less than an hour ago.”

  “Apparently, she’s not happy with innards and tails,” Hiro said.

  Ana, the housekeeper, bustled into the room. “Hm,” she said indignantly. “As if I’d force this dear to eat the scraps!”

  She scooped the cat into her arms. Gato purred.

  Ana glared at Hiro. “She had a fish of her very own.”

  “You bought a fish for the cat?” Hiro asked.

  Gato’s purr crescendoed as she kneaded her paws in Ana’s kimono sleeve.

  “I didn’t have to,” Ana said. “The fishmonger found a little fish in a bigger fish’s belly. Not fit for a person, but Gato didn’t mind.”

  A shoji on the eastern side of the room slid open, revealing a sleepy-looking Portuguese man with a bearded chin and a rounded belly.

  “That cat eats better than me,” he grumbled.

  Luis Álvares wore a lace-necked doublet in an uncomplimentary shade of purple. Dark brown leggings stretched over his meaty thighs. Together, the garments put Hiro in mind of a lace-crowned plum swollen far too large for its twig.

  “Good evening, Luis.” Father Mateo gestured toward the hearth. “Would you like to eat?”

  “That depends,” the merchant said. “Is there any the cat hasn’t licked?”

  Ana smiled, but her eyes revealed displeasure. “Of course, Luis-san. I saved you the best of the fish.”

  Hiro wondered whether the merchant knew that, to Japanese, the head was the choicest morsel. He doubted it, almost as much as he doubted Ana would really save that part for Luis. The housekeeper disapproved of the merchant only slightly less than she did of Hiro.

  “Fetch it.” Luis thumped his ample rear to the floor and crossed his legs.

  Despite having watched the merchant sit this way for several years, Hiro didn’t understand why Luis preferred such an ugly and awkward position. Then again, the merchant favored habit over comfort.

  In Hiro’s experience, difficult people often did.

  Ana bowed and carried Gato from the room.

  “Luis,” Hiro said, “I hear the Miyoshi placed a weapons order.”

  He didn’t bother with subtlety. The merchant had no manners and didn’t care about Japanese etiquette anyway.

  Father Mateo gave Hiro a curious look. The shinobi met the Jesuit’s eyes and shook his head a fraction. The priest appeared to get the message. At least, he didn’t ask any questions.

  “You heard correctly.” Luis swelled with pride. “The largest single order I’ve had since arriving in Japan. Two thousand arquebuses now, and more if they like the first ones.”

  “Two thousand?” Father Mateo asked. “Have the Miyoshi gone to war?”

  “Not my business.” Luis shrugged. “I’ll make a nice profit from it, war or no.”

  The Portuguese merchant rubbed his tiny beard. “But, if I can find out who they’re fighting with, perhaps I could double the order.”

  “Two thousand firearms means hundreds, or thousands, of people dead.” Father Mateo set down his chopsticks. “Doubling that means twice as many graves.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, Mateo,” Luis chided. “You know these sales support your work. Without them, you’d be sailing home tomorrow.”

  “The necessity of an income does not mean I support a war,” the Jesuit said.

  “You’re overreacting, Mateo,” Luis said. “This isn’t any different from other sales.”

  “The others you sold for self-defense,” Father Mateo said. “Daimyo and samurai lords protecting their castles. It is different when men seek to start a war.”

  “Tell yourself whatever you like, if it helps you sleep at night,” Luis said. “War or not, these Japanese squabbles are none of our concern.”

  “The lives of the Japanese people are precisely my concern.” Father Mateo leaned forward, preparing to stand.

  “I agree with Father Mateo,” Hiro said. “Sell firearms to the shogunate or samurai nobles in and around Kyoto. Those sales will generate sufficient wealth. Do not choose to facilitate a slaughter.”

  Luis frowned. “You agree … with him? Where did you find a conscience?”

  Hiro looked down at Luis. “No daimyo needs two thousand foreign firearms. No one in Japan controls so many.”

  “Since when do y
ou object to violence? I expect that sort of talk from him”—the merchant gestured to the priest—“but not from a samurai.”

  “Self-preservation is not the same as objection,” Hiro said. “The Miyoshi want those weapons to seize Kyoto and the shogunate.”

  “Nonsense,” Luis said. “Their man’s already on the shogun’s throne.”

  “Matsunaga Hisahide is not the shogun,” Hiro said. “And also, the shogun doesn’t sit on a throne.”

  “Hisahide’s in control,” Luis retorted. “That’s what counts.”

  “Hisahide no longer answers to the Miyoshi,” Hiro said. “He breached his oath. That is why the Miyoshi march to war.”

  “When did you hear this?” Father Mateo’s voice revealed alarm.

  Hiro shifted his gaze to the priest. “Earlier this evening, at Ginjiro’s.”

  “So?” Luis shrugged. “Who cares if they fight? A war just means more profits for us all.”

  Chapter 32

  “You do not understand.” Hiro glared at the merchant. “Matsunaga-san will consider you a traitor for selling firearms to his enemies.”

  “Lord Matsunaga doesn’t even know me,” Luis said. “I’m Portuguese. I’m not his subject. I’ve permission to do business in Kyoto, and that means I’ll sell my weapons to whatever lord I please.”

  “You prove yourself both foolish and shortsighted,” Hiro said. “If you anger the acting shogun, you will put us all in danger.”

  Ana returned with a tray of food, which she set in front of Luis.

  The merchant surveyed the roasted fish and heaping bowl of rice with hungry eyes. “I appreciate your opinion, Hiro, but if you’ve finished foretelling my doom, I’d like to eat in peace.”

  * * *

  The following morning, Hiro woke before dawn and spent an hour in meditation, though not the inward-style reflection Buddhists favored. Instead, he stilled his thoughts and focused on the scents and sounds around him, sharpening his ability to “see” without his eyes.

  A croak and a splash near the koi pond indicated a leaping frog. In the trees, a bird chirped sleepily. She set the nest to crackling as she stirred.

  A breeze filled Hiro’s nostrils with the scents of grass and dew. A hint of sewage followed, as the night-soil collector passed the house on his morning rounds.

  Hiro opened his eyes, returned to the house, and donned his favorite gray kimono and his swords.

  When he left his room, he found Father Mateo waiting in the common room. The priest wore a brown kimono fastened at the waist with a dark blue obi. A wooden cross hung from a braided thong around his neck. The pale light from the firepit highlighted the jagged scar on his neck.

  “Good morning,” Hiro said.

  Father Mateo nodded. “Shall we eat before we leave?”

  “I’d rather have noodles.” Hiro paused. “Wait … you’re coming with me?”

  “I am,” the priest replied, “and do not argue. I spent most of our last investigation recovering from that attack. I’ve no intention of missing this one too.”

  Hiro nodded. The interviews he had in mind would go more smoothly with the Jesuit along to ask the awkward questions.

  “Did you learn any new information yesterday evening?” Father Mateo asked. “Aside from Daimyo Miyoshi’s plans to start a war?”

  “Not much,” Hiro said. “I’m confident that Kaoru owed the Sakura Teahouse money, but I still don’t know if Ginjiro hired a guard or how Yoshiko learned about Chikao’s death.”

  “So we haven’t eliminated anyone,” Father Mateo said.

  “Not yet.”

  They left the house and headed west on Marutamachi Road. The air felt muggy and far too warm for Hiro’s taste. He thought wistfully of autumn’s colder nights and cleaner air.

  As he passed Okazaki Shrine, Hiro shifted to taking shallow breaths. In the mornings, braziers just outside the shrine emitted clouds of cloying incense, and the smoke clogged Hiro’s lungs like lacquer vapor.

  Father Mateo nodded to the priestess selling amulets beside the temple’s tall, white torii gate. She returned the nod and also smiled.

  Father Mateo turned to Hiro. “Where are we headed first?”

  Hiro briefly related his conversation with Mayuri and the relevant parts of his talk with Yoshiko.

  “Almost everyone on our suspect list spent time in Pontocho that night.” Father Mateo counted off names on his fingers. “Kaoru, Yoshiko … well, I guess Basho is not a suspect.”

  “He might be,” Hiro said. “I’d like to know more about what he did there, anyway. But before we head to Pontocho, I have a few more questions for Tomiko.”

  Chapter 33

  Tomiko stood in front of Ginjiro’s, sweeping the street with a wooden broom. The merchants along the street took pride in keeping their storefronts clean.

  Ginjiro’s daughter looked up as Hiro and Father Mateo approached. She stilled her broom and bowed. “Good morning, Matsui-san and Father-san.”

  “Good morning,” Hiro said. “Have you seen your father?”

  “I took him food this morning,” Tomiko said. “He seemed well. At least, as well as any man could seem, in prison.”

  Father Mateo looked confused. “The guards allowed you to take him food?”

  “How else would a prisoner eat?” Hiro asked.

  “In Portugal, the prison feeds them.”

  Hiro stared at Father Mateo and tried to imagine a prison where the guards gave the prisoners food. “Who pays for the meals?”

  “The people do,” the Jesuit said. “The taxes we pay to the king are used, in part, to pay for prisons.”

  “Why should law-abiding people have to pay for feeding criminals?” Hiro asked. “Let the prisoners’ families care for their own—or not, as they may choose.”

  Before the priest could initiate an argument about the proper treatment of prisoners, Hiro turned to Tomiko and said, “We need more information about Kaoru.”

  “Kaoru?” Tomiko repeated. “Why ask me?”

  “He owed your father money, so he must have spent some time here,” Hiro said.

  Tomiko raised her shoulders in what might have been a shrug. “My father always sent me out of the shop when Kaoru came. And yes, before you ask, he had a reason. Kaoru made … comments … some of them about me.”

  “Why didn’t Ginjiro throw him out of the shop?” Father Mateo asked.

  “He did, on at least two occasions,” Tomiko said, “but he decided not to ban Kaoru permanently, at least for now. You see, my father wanted to help Chikao and Ren. The za would never admit a man whose son was banned from entering a brewery. Father didn’t want to hurt Chikao by making an issue of Kaoru’s conduct.”

  “Instead, he made you leave,” Hiro said. “I take it Kaoru’s comments went beyond a compliment on your appearance?”

  Tomiko looked down at her broom and didn’t answer.

  “You don’t have to tell us,” Father Mateo said.

  Hiro frowned at the Jesuit. They needed the woman to talk.

  Tomiko’s cheeks flushed pink as she raised her face. “It happened only once, when he was drunk. Kaoru grabbed my wrist. He wouldn’t let go. He said…”

  Her words trailed off into embarrassed silence.

  Hiro didn’t think Tomiko would complete the thought, but after a moment she drew a breath and continued, “He said, ‘When you’re my wife, I’ll know how you feel inside as well as out.’”

  Tomiko met Hiro’s eyes with an unusual resolve. Few women, aside from prostitutes, could have said such words at all, let alone to an audience of males. The words made Hiro marvel that Ginjiro hadn’t been arrested sooner.

  Father Mateo shifted the subject slightly. “Did your father want you to marry Kaoru?”

  “My father would never force me into such a disgraceful match.” Indignation flared beneath Tomiko’s civil tone.

  “Then what made Kaoru think he could marry you?” the Jesuit asked.

  “I can’t imagine,” Tomiko s
aid. “My father never encouraged him and never discussed the matter with Chikao. I assure you, my father would never consider such a thing.”

  “Could someone else have given Kaoru that idea?” Father Mateo asked. “Chikao, perhaps?”

  Hiro wondered what made the priest believe Chikao would consider such a union possible. By all accounts, the brewer knew his son a worthless match.

  “Anything is possible,” Tomiko said, “but no one mentioned marriage to me, and my father knows my views on the topic.”

  Tomiko’s tone confirmed what Hiro had long suspected: Ginjiro’s daughter did not intend to marry. Though rare, some artisans’ daughters did inherit shops as sole proprietors—a lonely life, but not a bad one in its way. Either that, or she intended to delay her marriage while her parents lived, to ensure Ginjiro and her mother always had her help.

  “Chikao would want his son to marry,” Father Mateo said, “especially if he found a wife with business sense and skills to run a brewery.”

  “Perhaps,” Tomiko said, “but I suspect Chikao knew better than to cast me in that role. He understood the nature of his son.”

  Hiro admired her restraint and changed the subject. “What made your father want to help Chikao join the guild?”

  Tomiko bit her lower lip in thought. “He never told me, and I never asked. Helping people is my father’s way.”

  “Did Chikao ask for help, or did Ginjiro make the initial offer?” Father Mateo asked.

  Hiro glanced at the Jesuit, surprised the priest had thought to ask the question.

  “It was Ren who first approached us,” Tomiko said.

  “Chikao’s business partner?” Hiro asked.

  Tomiko nodded. “Father met him at the New Year’s Festival this year. Ren said he wanted to join the guild, and Father agreed to help. I think he felt sorry for Ren—as he would for any working man who didn’t possess a wife or a growing business.”

  “Indeed,” Hiro said. “Do you know Ren?”

  “Not to speak of.” Tomiko shook her head. “My father introduced him once, but I only really know what my father told me, which isn’t much.”