Flask of the Drunken Master Read online

  Hiro thought of the night Chikao died. “Did you hear the fight between your father and Chikao? I know he sent you out of the shop, but voices sometimes carry through the walls.”

  And women sometimes listen behind the noren.

  Tomiko blushed, understanding the implication. “Arguments upset my mother—she lives in fear of angry ghosts, and shouting also frightens her. She has many fears these days, all unfounded but very real.

  “When Father told me to leave the shop, I understood that Kaoru might cause trouble. I took Mother upstairs, made her tea, and sat with her until she fell asleep. No, I didn’t hear a thing that night.”

  “What time did your father come upstairs?” Hiro asked.

  “I don’t know exactly. Late. He closed the shop and locked the shutters. Then he came upstairs.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t remember if I heard the temple bells.

  “I asked him what happened with Chikao. He told me not to worry. But he did say something strange. He said to wake him if I heard a noise of any kind.”

  “Did you ask him what he meant?” Hiro asked.

  “I did.” Tomiko gripped her broom. “He told me it was nothing. At the time, I trusted him. Now I wish I hadn’t.”

  Chapter 34

  Hiro asked Tomiko, “Did your father go downstairs again that night?”

  Ginjiro’s daughter didn’t answer.

  “I need the truth,” he said.

  Tomiko nodded. “I woke and heard his footsteps on the stairs.”

  “Did you follow?” Hiro asked.

  “Why would I?” Tomiko shifted her broom from one hand to the other. “Father often had trouble sleeping. When he did, he went downstairs to keep from waking Mother. I didn’t follow, but I wish I had. I might have saved him.”

  “Saved your father or Chikao?” the Jesuit asked.

  “Maybe both.” Tomiko shook her head. “I mean, if I had followed, perhaps I could prove my father didn’t do this.”

  Hiro and Father Mateo said farewell to Tomiko and headed for Pontocho. As they approached the narrow alley, Hiro considered how different the pleasure district looked in daylight hours. At night the district blazed with colored lights and shimmering silk, a vibrant dream made touchable and real. In the morning, passion faded into scents of human waste and old perfume.

  A block down the alley, Hiro saw a tiny, handmade sign beside a doorway. Smoky grime obscured the writing, but the faded letters read THE GOLDEN BUDDHA.

  A portly, smiling statue sat cross-legged on the stones beneath the sign. The hands of countless visitors had worn away the bronze atop the figure’s rounded head, leaving Buddha with a crown of brownish-gray.

  “This doesn’t look much like a teahouse.” Father Mateo gestured toward the Buddha.

  “Not much of a teahouse, anyway,” Hiro agreed.

  The businesses of Pontocho displayed as much variety in wealth and reputation as the men who frequented the pleasure district. High-end houses catered to samurai and wealthy merchants. Places like the Golden Buddha served a poorer class.

  Hiro stepped to the teahouse door and knocked.

  The door swung open immediately, revealing a girl of eight or nine. She wore a blue kimono with a red and white striped obi. Her hair fell down her back in a long, thin braid.

  Her eyes grew wide at the sight of Hiro’s swords. Without a word, she dropped to her knees and bowed her forehead to the ground.

  “We wish to see your mistress,” Hiro said.

  The girl stood up, bowed, and disappeared into the house without a word.

  She left the door ajar.

  Hiro thought about entering, but changed his mind when he caught a whiff of the air inside. It reeked of male sweat and stale sake, with an undercurrent of greasy food that hadn’t been good when warm.

  He took a step backward, seeking the slightly fresher air of the street.

  Footsteps approached, and a middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. The tired wrinkles around her eyes suggested a life of hardship that her callused hands confirmed. She wore her graying hair pulled back in a tidy bun, and her blue kimono showed faded spots where cleaning removed the dye along with the stains.

  She bowed to the samurai and the priest. “Good morning. My name is Eba. I own this establishment. How may I help you?”

  Hiro noted her lack of surprise at the sight of a foreigner on her doorstep. Then again, in a place like this, she’d probably seen quite few surprising things.

  “Good morning,” Hiro said. “We have come on official business.”

  “At this hour? I’d imagine so.” Eba didn’t sound hostile, but she didn’t seem curious either.

  “Two nights ago, a murder happened several blocks from here.” Hiro made a gesture that indicated no real direction. “We believe the killer came to your establishment that night.”

  “Before or after he took a life?” Eba sounded strangely calm, considering the news.

  “Before,” Hiro said, noting the woman’s use of the masculine pronoun.

  Eba nodded once. “You want Kaoru.”

  “How did you know that?” Father Mateo asked.

  Hiro wished the Jesuit hadn’t revealed the answer, though he couldn’t fault the reaction. Eba’s words surprised the shinobi too.

  She shrugged. “He has a temper and won’t control it. That kind always comes to no good. Also, he owes everyone money, and trouble finds a man when his debts grow high.”

  “Did you see Kaoru that night?” Hiro asked.

  “Sure.” Eba nodded. “He was here. He drank too much, stayed too late, and didn’t pay for his sake. Who did he kill?”

  Hiro ignored her question. “Did he drink alone that night, or did he have companions?”

  “Couldn’t tell you,” Eba said. “On busy nights, I don’t have enough tables to go around. The patrons sit together, whether or not they arrived that way. I never know who’s who unless I happen to see who pays, and, as I mentioned, Kaoru didn’t pay at all.

  “I can tell you, though, that he’s not a regular patron. He drinks here only when everyone else has cut him off, and then only until his father pays his bills.”

  “Why would you serve him under those circumstances?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Because his father always pays the bills,” Eba said. “Sometimes cash, other times in kind, and though his sake’s mediocre, most of my customers don’t know good from bad.”

  “Did you notice a female samurai here that evening?” Hiro asked.

  “Akechi Yoshiko?” Eba laughed without humor. “She won’t show her face here again. Not after the last time.”

  “What happened?” Hiro asked.

  “She came in here a few weeks back, trying to collect a debt from one of my regular customers. And no, before you ask, it wasn’t Kaoru.” Eba shook her head. “Most samurai aren’t welcome here, and Akechi Yoshiko made it worse by breaking every rule of polite behavior. She confronted the man at his table and threatened him loudly enough to silence the room. When he told her he didn’t have the money, she threw his flask to the floor and pulled him right up out of his chair. I think she would have beaten him on the spot, but other patrons intervened.”

  “They had a fight? Inside the teahouse?” Father Mateo asked.

  “No.” Eba laughed. “I wish they had. Basho would have taught that uppity samurai a thing or two.” She glanced at Hiro. “I’m sorry if that offends.”

  “Just tell us what happened,” Hiro said. “By Basho, do you mean the rice merchant?”

  “You know him?” Eba asked. “He can throw a punch.”

  Hiro found it interesting that Basho drank sake at the Golden Buddha. A man of Basho’s standing could afford a nicer place.

  “Three men escorted Yoshiko out,” Eba continued. “I followed them into the street. I told her if she returned to my house, for debt collection or otherwise, I’d have her arrested and dragged before the magistrate. I won’t have samurai threatening my patrons and starting fights in my sho
p without a cause.”

  Hiro found the woman’s confidence impressive. Few commoners would dare to confront a samurai in anger, and fewer still would admit it without remorse.

  “Did she agree to stay away?” Hiro doubted Akechi Yoshiko would hear such words without a fight.

  “No, but she didn’t argue either.” Eba smiled. “The men who escorted her out were off-duty dōshin. I give them free tea on rounds and complimentary sake when not on duty. My establishment isn’t large, or fine, but it’s one of the safest in Pontocho.”

  So much for samurai not being welcome, Hiro thought. Apparently Eba only objected to the wealthy kind.

  “Then you didn’t see Akechi Yoshiko two nights ago,” the Jesuit said.

  “Better than that,” the shopkeeper said, “I can say with certainty that woman wasn’t here.”

  Chapter 35

  “What time did Kaoru leave two nights ago?” Hiro asked.

  “At closing,” Eba said, “about three hours after midnight.”

  “Did he stay in the teahouse all evening?” Father Mateo asked. “Did he leave alone?”

  Eba considered the questions. “He might have come and gone—I wasn’t watching. Sometimes he does, sometimes he stays all night. As far as leaving, I think Basho and a couple of others stayed that late. Half a dozen of them left at closing time.”

  “Did they leave together?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Not that I noticed, but then, I don’t pay attention unless there’s a fight.”

  Hiro nodded to end the conversation. “Thank you. We appreciate your help.”

  “If I helped.” Eba looked from Hiro to Father Mateo. “You never did say who it was that Kaoru killed.”

  “I did not,” Hiro confirmed, “and I don’t intend to.”

  “Fair enough,” Eba said. “Killer or no, Kaoru isn’t welcome in my teahouse anymore. Not after this. I’d appreciate your telling him so, when and if you see him. Again, no offense intended.”

  “None taken,” Father Mateo replied.

  After Eba closed the door, the Jesuit turned to Hiro and said, “I guess the apprentice told the truth about where Basho went.”

  “About the teahouse,” Hiro said. “I’m still not sure he took the Tōkaidō.”

  He had more to say, but the words died out on his lips when he saw Akechi Yoshiko step out of a building across the street.

  She noticed Hiro a moment later.

  Yoshiko squared her shoulders and stalked toward Hiro, wearing the glare of a furious tiger. Her left hand gripped the hilt of her katana.

  “Matsui Hiro!” she declared. “You stop right there!”

  Hiro sensed no immediate danger, though Yoshiko’s disposition indicated the conversation would not be pleasant.

  “What does she want?” Father Mateo whispered in Portuguese.

  “No idea,” Hiro replied in kind. “She does look angry.”

  “What did you do?” Father Mateo asked, but Yoshiko reached them before the shinobi could answer.

  She didn’t bow.

  “How dare you?” she demanded.

  “Good morning, Akechi-san.” Hiro kept his expression neutral. “I am sorry, I don’t understand your question.”

  “You lied, and you betrayed me!”

  Hiro suspected the samurai woman had talked with Mayuri but feigned ignorance until he knew for sure. “In what way do you believe I have betrayed you?”

  “I can’t afford to lose this job.” Yoshiko gripped her katana far too tightly for someone intending to draw it. “My father’s pension ended upon his death, and my share of the Sakura’s profits does not cover my family’s bills.”

  Her nose turned red as she added, “I considered you a friend.”

  Hiro hoped she wouldn’t cry. He hated it when women cried, especially in public.

  Fortunately, she controlled herself before any tears could fall.

  “Matsui-san,” Yoshiko said, “you accused me of attacking innocent men—and committing murder. Do not deny it. Mayuri told me everything.”

  I doubt that, Hiro thought. Aloud, he said, “I did not accuse you of murder.”

  “I only strike the men who refuse to pay,” Yoshiko said. “Recalcitrant debtors are not innocent men.”

  Her glance flickered over Hiro’s shoulder toward the Golden Buddha. “What are you doing in Pontocho?” She paused. “You do believe I killed Chikao. You lied to me last night.”

  Father Mateo gave Hiro a startled look, but to his credit the Jesuit didn’t speak.

  Hiro chose his next words carefully. “I did not tell Mayuri that I thought you killed Chikao.”

  “How could you, of all people, believe me guilty of murder?” Yoshiko’s lower lip trembled. Hiro caught the injury in her voice.

  Silence stretched between them. As it grew awkward Hiro said, “You do not know what I believe. You make an assumption.”

  Yoshiko straightened and raised her chin. “A reasonable one, I think. You made me trust you, and then you lied to me and betrayed my trust.”

  “That can’t be true.” Father Mateo stepped forward. “Hiro would never betray a woman’s trust.”

  “This is not about trust,” Hiro said. “And it’s not about you, Akechi-san. We are merely using logic to solve a crime. Exactly the way we did with your father’s murder.”

  “Then seek logical answers, which don’t involve me.” Yoshiko removed her hand from her sword. “I have nothing to gain from Chikao’s murder. In fact, it disadvantages me severely.”

  “Disadvantages you?” Hiro repeated.

  “Kaoru will never pay his debt. He’s never paid a debt in his life.” Yoshiko made a frustrated gesture. “You didn’t have to go to Mayuri. I would have told you the truth if you asked. Yes, I saw Chikao the night he died. And yes, we spoke of Kaoru’s debt.”

  “His blackened eye suggests he refused to pay.” Hiro spoke with candor. He doubted Yoshiko would ever speak with him again anyway.

  On the positive side, he had finally rid himself of her affections.

  “Yes, I struck him,” Yoshiko said, “but he had no serious injuries when I left him.”

  “Why did you strike him?” Hiro asked.

  “He said he didn’t have the money, too many other debts to pay. I didn’t believe him, but when he didn’t change his story after I hit him … I decided it must have been the truth.”

  “What changed your mind?” Hiro asked.

  Yoshiko shrugged. “Most men pay up to avoid a second strike.”

  “How did you learn about Chikao’s death?” Hiro watched her carefully, expecting her to lie.

  Yoshiko smiled, though her eyes revealed regret. “I saw you in the prison yard. The dōshin told me who you’d come to see and why. I feigned surprise because I didn’t want to admit to asking about your business.”

  To Hiro’s chagrin, he couldn’t tell if Yoshiko spoke the truth.

  “I would not have killed Chikao,” she continued. “Losing a father is not a thing I would wish on any man. Not even such a worthless one as Kaoru. Chikao would have paid the debt, in time, but even if he refused to pay I would not kill him—or any other man—over money.”

  She met Hiro’s gaze without faltering.

  “What brings you into Pontocho this morning?” Father Mateo asked, a bit too brightly.

  Yoshiko turned to the priest. Her eyes went cold. “I’m afraid that’s not your business. Please excuse me. I have matters to attend to.”

  Hiro and Father Mateo bowed as Yoshiko turned away and started off toward Sanjō Road. After half a dozen paces she turned back. “My mother and I will not be able to host you at our home. Regrettably, it appears our plans have changed.”

  Chapter 36

  After Yoshiko disappeared, Father Mateo said, “Well, that went poorly.”

  “It could have been worse,” Hiro said, “and might have actually helped us.”

  He examined the building Yoshiko had emerged from just before their confrontation. The two-s
tory structure stood almost directly across from the Golden Buddha. No sign hung from its narrow entrance. Without the indigo noren that displayed the shopkeeper’s name during business hours, the barren storefront offered no clue to the business’s name or purpose.

  Hiro stepped to the door and knocked.

  No one answered.

  Hiro hammered his fist against the door. The knocking loosened a shower of detritus from the rafters, dusting Father Mateo’s hair with thatch and one extremely indignant spider.

  The Jesuit brushed the debris away and flicked the arachnid to the ground.

  “We’re closed,” said a female voice from behind the door. “Go away until evening.”

  “No,” Hiro said. “You opened this door for Akechi Yoshiko. You will open it now for me.”

  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.”