Flask of the Drunken Master Page 20

  He moved along the street, staying in the darkness when he could. Although he hoped the assassin had disappeared, Hiro didn’t trust his hopes any more than he trusted assumptions.

  Lights flickered behind the oiled paper windows of Father Mateo’s home. The sight released a bit of the tension binding Hiro’s chest. A shinobi would wait for the lights to go out before infiltrating the residence.

  Hiro paused and watched for movement in the shadows. The house on the opposite side of the street from the Jesuit’s was dark and silent. Hiro found himself suddenly grateful for the neighbor’s akita. The assassin could not approach from that direction without triggering a fit of angry barking.

  Something moved in the shadows near the fence that circled Father Mateo’s yard. Hiro watched with horror as the strange shinobi approached the gate and slipped into the garden without a sound.

  As Hiro started toward the fence, he realized that Matsunaga Hisahide might have sent the assassin after Luis Álvares, believing the merchant’s death would stop the weapon sale to the Miyoshi. That left Hiro with yet another ethical dilemma. He loathed Luis on a personal level but didn’t think the Portuguese merchant deserved to die. Not unless his death would save the priest.

  The Iga ryu didn’t care about the merchant, and the unknown client who paid for Hiro’s services had never mentioned Luis Álvares. Even so, no other shinobi would harm the Jesuit’s household on Hiro’s watch.

  A shout would send the assassin running, but he would return, perhaps at a time when Hiro did not expect him.

  Hiro didn’t intend to let his enemy slip away.

  A shinobi would notice someone following him through the garden gate, so Hiro slipped into the neighbors’ yard and climbed an ancient cherry tree that sent its questing branches across the wall. From the relative safety of the tree, he peered into the Jesuit’s yard.

  A shadowed figure stood on the veranda outside Father Mateo’s room. The Jesuit’s silhouette flickered on the paper panels, separated from the assassin by only a flimsy shoji.

  The strange shinobi reached for the Jesuit’s door.

  Hiro retrieved a shuriken from a pocket inside his sleeve. He preferred to use the metal stars as fistload weapons, not projectiles, but he had no time to close the distance now. He measured the distance carefully. In daylight, and without obstructions, Hiro could strike a fatal blow to the man on the porch with ease. Tonight he had to make the throw in darkness and through branches, and he didn’t know how quickly this assassin would react.

  Hiro drew a preparatory breath.

  The strange shinobi pivoted, and Hiro saw his opponent’s face.

  It was Ozuru.

  Hiro threw the shuriken but knew as he released it that the star would miss its target. He leaped from the tree and hit the ground as the metal star embedded itself in the porch with a silent thump.

  “Don’t move.” Hiro jumped to the veranda and drew his sword. “I missed the throw on purpose. I will kill you if you run.”

  Ozuru raised his empty hands. “We have no dispute, Matsui-san.”

  “We do,” Hiro said, “if you attempt to kill a man that I protect.”

  Ozuru lowered his hands to his sides. “I came to warn you, not to kill the priest.”

  Hiro didn’t believe him—not yet, anyway. “Deliver your warning.”

  Ozuru’s gaze flickered from Hiro’s blade to the spots on his clothing. His eyes narrowed. He met Hiro’s gaze and nodded, accepting Hiro’s decision not to lower the sword.

  “Hisahide has refused the Miyoshi daimyo’s demand to surrender Kyoto. War is now inevitable. If the Miyoshi start that war with Portuguese firearms, Hisahide will declare this household guilty of treason. He will execute the merchant and the priest.”

  “The Miyoshi weapons order has been cancelled,” Hiro said. “Hisahide has no cause to blame the Portuguese. Not the ones in this house, anyway.”

  Ozuru drew back in surprise. “Cancelled? When?”

  “Yesterday,” Hiro said. “The merchant does not want to start a war.”

  “My sources claim the sale proceeds on schedule,” Ozuru said, “and that your merchant simply arranged for a different Portuguese to deliver the firearms to the Miyoshi stronghold.”

  Hiro hid his chagrin behind an innocent expression. “You cannot blame Luis if another merchant revives a cancelled sale.”

  “Matsunaga Hisahide will not consider that a cancellation,” Ozuru said.

  “I appreciate the warning.” Hiro wondered what the Koga ryu would gain from helping Hiro save the Jesuit and Luis. The respect and passive truce between the Iga shinobi and Ozuru’s Koga ryu did not explain the other man’s behavior. Somehow, the priest’s survival—or the merchant’s—benefited Koga’s plans.

  Hiro sheathed his sword.

  Ozuru’s expression softened. “Koga desires stability in Kyoto. Foreign deaths will divide the city, creating opportunities for enemies far more dangerous than the Miyoshi.”

  “You mean Oda Nobunaga,” Hiro said.

  “And others.” Ozuru paused. “Ashikaga Yoshiaki has left Nara.”

  “The former shogun’s brother?” Hiro frowned. “Can a monk lay claim to the shogunate?”

  “Yoshiaki renounced his vows when he left the temple,” Ozuru said. “Rumors say he does intend to claim the shogunate.”

  “How much truth do these rumors hold?” Hiro asked.

  Ozuru shook his head. He would reveal no more. “You should leave Kyoto quickly, with the merchant and the priest. This city is no longer safe for you.”

  “I understand.” Hiro bowed but kept Ozuru’s hands in sight. “And thank you.”

  “Do not thank me. I was never here.” Ozuru sprinted to the wall and disappeared over the top without a sound.

  Hiro hoped he would move as smoothly when he reached Ozuru’s age.

  The door behind Hiro slid open. Father Mateo stepped onto the porch.

  “I heard voices.” The Jesuit looked around the yard. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Hiro said. “It’s only me.”

  Chapter 51

  Father Mateo gave Hiro a knowing look. “Just you, you say.” The priest stepped into his room and beckoned. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’ve been the last few hours?” He frowned. “What’s on your clothes?”

  “Three years ago, I promised I would not lie to you,” Hiro said. “It is better you don’t know about my clothes.”

  The Jesuit frowned but didn’t press the issue.

  “As for the other half of your question, Basho has made a miraculous reappearance.” Hiro explained about his conversation with the missing merchant, though he left out all the details of his journey there and back.

  Father Mateo shook his head at the thought of Suke tackling Yoshiko. He frowned when Hiro mentioned Kaoru’s words about angry ghosts.

  “Phantoms don’t exist,” the Jesuit said. “Not in the sense you mention, anyway.”

  “I agree,” Hiro said.

  “You do?” Father Mateo looked surprised. “I thought all Japanese believed in ghosts.”

  “Most do,” Hiro said, “but I do not. If vengeful ghosts existed, I’d have seen them.”

  Father Mateo slid the shoji closed. “What makes you say so?”

  Hiro didn’t answer.

  The Jesuit gave him a searching look. “Do all shinobi think this way?”

  “My training is not the reason.” Hiro didn’t intend to say more, but found himself continuing. “When I was nine years old, I spent a night with a murdered man.”

  “You what?” Father Mateo ran a hand through his hair, too startled to prevent the nervous gesture. “What kind of parent leaves a child alone with a corpse?”

  “My parents had nothing to do with it.” Hiro knelt, facing the priest. He had never told the tale but felt the Jesuit should hear it. “In fact, I doubt they even know it happened.”

  Father Mateo knelt and waited for Hiro to continue. />
  “The spring I turned nine,” Hiro said, “a spy infiltrated the Iga ryu. My elder brother uncovered the truth, and my father interrogated the spy until he confessed his mission. It took four days, despite my father’s excellent skills at persuading men to talk.

  “The enemy died of his wounds within a day of his confession. Hanzo ordered the body moved to an empty, defiled storehouse in the woods about a mile from the ryu.”

  “They kept the body?” Father Mateo asked.

  Hiro nodded. “Iga doesn’t miss a chance to make a point. Hanzo wanted the body stored until the stiffness that follows death had ended. After that, he planned to return the body to the enemy’s lord—in several pieces.”

  “That’s barbaric,” the Jesuit said.

  Hiro raised an eyebrow. “Civilized people would nail him to a cross?”

  Father Mateo pressed his lips together.

  Hiro stifled a smile and continued, “That morning, while exploring in the woods, I saw a group of older boys on the path that led to the storehouse. The rules forbid our going there, but some boys do not care so much for rules. I followed at a distance.”

  Hiro paused. “I did not think they would notice me.”

  “But they did,” the Jesuit said.

  “Not right away,” Hiro answered. “They dared each other to enter the storehouse and look at the dead man’s corpse. I moved too close, drawn by curiosity and overinflated pride in my own skills. The oldest boy saw me and called me forward. He dared me to enter the storehouse too. Refusing would brand me a coward, so I did it.”

  “You were nine.” Father Mateo shook his head. “No one would call you a coward.”

  “You are not shinobi,” Hiro said. “You cannot understand.”

  The Jesuit leaned back, lips tight with disapproval but unwilling to start an argument. “They locked you in with the body, didn’t they?”

  Hiro hadn’t expected the priest to guess. “Correct. They did.”

  “No one noticed you missing?” Father Mateo asked. “No one heard your cries for help?”

  “I did not call for help.” Hiro considered the Jesuit’s furrowed brow and downcast eyes. “I did not tell this tale to cause you sorrow—and even less to earn your pity. I speak because it proves a vital point about the dead.”

  Father Mateo folded his hands in his lap, as if to demonstrate a willingness to listen without any further questions.

  “At first,” Hiro said, “the terror felt like fishbones in my throat. I breathed too fast, grew dizzy, and sat down on the wooden floor. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed little slivers of light coming in through cracks in the storehouse walls. I saw the spy’s defiled body, barely out of reach across the floor.

  “I thought I saw the body move. I thought I heard him breathe. I pushed my back against the wall, too terrified to move or make a sound.

  “I sat that way for many hours. Evening came, and darkness, and I passed the night in silent terror, listening for the vengeful ghost I knew would come for me. I heard a rustling noise and screamed—just once—when a rat ran across my toes. But it was only a rat. No ghost appeared. The body did not move.

  “By morning, terror left me. As the cracks around the door grew gray with dawn, I realized I need not fear the dead. My father tortured that spy to death. If a man could return as a ghost, to take revenge, he would have done so.

  “I do not know where the life inside a man may go when the body dies. But the corpse of a man is just like that of a fish, or a bird, or a dog. It is dead, and only dead, and nothing more.”

  After a pause Hiro added, “Since the dead cannot return, no man can persuade a ghost to do his bidding, which means Kaoru had some other plan to force the sale of Ginjiro’s brewery.”

  “Perhaps some kind of trick?” Father Mateo asked. “A trick that went wrong and killed Chikao?”

  “I don’t know,” Hiro said, “but I know who does.”

  The Jesuit nodded. “Kaoru.”

  “No,” Hiro said, “Mina, Chikao’s wife. She mentioned a need to atone for her husband’s wrongful acts but wouldn’t give details.”

  “That could refer to anything,” Father Mateo said. “Husbands and wives have many private conflicts.”

  “True,” Hiro said, “but Mina’s words suggested something serious, and judges of the afterlife don’t bother much with trifles. Men don’t endanger their souls by minor quarrels.”

  “Don’t be so certain,” Father Mateo said. “Still, it can’t do any harm to try and find out what she knows.”

  Chapter 52

  The following morning, Hiro and Father Mateo walked to the Lucky Monkey brewery. Father Mateo carried his travel papers to ensure they met no samurai delays. Hiro disliked obeying Hisahide’s protocols but acknowledged that cooperation ended better than spiteful argument.

  They crossed the river at Shijō Road. Only a single samurai stood guard on the river bridge. He seemed relaxed and didn’t ask to see their travel papers.

  Apparently, the missing samurai’s body had not been found.

  A short distance past the river, Hiro turned into Pontocho.

  “Where are we going?” the Jesuit asked. “This isn’t the fastest way to the Lucky Monkey.”

  “We need to make an intermediate stop,” the shinobi said.

  As they walked down the narrow, shuttered alley, Hiro inhaled the distinctive smells that meant the morning’s night-soil collection hadn’t occurred on time.

  He stopped in front of the moneylender’s shop across the street from the Golden Buddha. As he raised a hand to knock, the wooden door swung open before his fist.

  Hiro lowered his hand and nodded to the familiar, beautiful woman in the doorway.

  “What do you want?” she asked. “You already know that I don’t help your kind.”

  “We haven’t come for a loan,” Hiro said. “We want to know about the debt Akechi Yoshiko collected for you.”

  “That is a private matter,” the woman said.

  “Between you and a man named Kaoru?” Hiro asked.

  The woman seemed to consider closing the door in Hiro’s face. “I won’t discuss my loans, or the names of my clients.”

  “So, if I wanted to repay that loan, you wouldn’t let me?” Hiro asked.

  The moneylender crossed her arms. “That trick won’t work with me. Also, I told you, I don’t make loans to men.”

  Hiro nodded. “Very well, I’ll speak with Mina. Thank you anyway.”

  “Mina?” the woman looked confused.

  “Kaoru’s mother,” Father Mateo said.

  The moneylender’s eyes revealed no recognition. “I have never heard that name, Matsui-san.”

  Hiro caught a subtle shift in the woman’s tone. He also noticed something else. “When did you learn my name?”

  “After you left, I went to the Golden Buddha,” the woman said. “Eba didn’t know you, either, so I asked around. Your foreign friend has a good reputation, which is the only reason I opened the door for you today.”

  Hiro gambled on the truth. “We’re investigating a murder, and believe Akechi Yoshiko has information about the crime. Did you see her in Pontocho two nights ago? Perhaps at the Golden Buddha?”

  “The Golden Buddha?” The moneylender laughed. “She wouldn’t cross the threshold. But I did see her that evening. She was here.”

  “Which shop did she visit?” Father Mateo asked.

  “This one.” The woman gestured toward the ceiling. “She was here. She wanted to collect a debt from one of the Buddha’s patrons, but she knew if he saw her coming, he would run. She asked me to let her watch for him from one of my upstairs windows.”

  “And you agreed?” Hiro asked.

  “In a manner of speaking.” The moneylender crossed her arms again. “She made a request I could not refuse.

  “A little over a year ago I brokered a deal to move an entertainer from the Sakura Teahouse to a brothel here in Pontocho. There were lies involved, although I didn’t know them a
t the time. I learned about it only after the girl’s lover died.

  “Two nights ago, Yoshiko said she knew about the lies and that the brothel paid far less than the girl’s real value. She threatened to call me before the magistrate on a claim that I conspired to help the brothel cheat the Sakura Teahouse on the purchase price. That is, unless I let her use my house to wait for the man she sought.”

  “Yoshiko didn’t work for you, then.” Father Mateo frowned. “Why didn’t you call the dōshin?”

  “To what end?” the moneylender asked. “Akechi-san is samurai. I am not. The dōshin may not like her, but her rank would still prevail.”

  A smile crept over the woman’s face. “I handled the situation a different way. I allowed Akechi-san to watch … and also sent a boy to warn the debtor.”

  “So Yoshiko never saw her target leaving,” Hiro said.

  “I don’t know,” the moneylender said. “She was watching from the window when I went to sleep a few minutes before midnight. When I woke, at dawn, she had gone. I sleep soundly. I didn’t hear her leave.”

  “Why did she come here yesterday?” Hiro asked.

  The moneylender smiled. “Much the same reason you’re here now. She threatened to shut my business down if I spoke to anyone about her waiting here that night.”

  “Then why are you telling us?” Father Mateo asked.

  “As I said, you have an unusual reputation.” The moneylender nodded toward the far side of the street. “People say you intervene to stop the poor from suffering without cause. I’d say that merits help when I can give it.”

  “We appreciate your assistance.” Hiro retrieved a handful of silver coins from his purse and dropped them into the moneylender’s palm with a gentle clink.

  She closed her hand around the coins. “Do not call on me to testify before the magistrate. If I ever see your face again, I’ll swear you are a stranger.”

  * * *

  Hiro and Father Mateo left the moneylender’s shop and headed south toward Shijō Road.

  “What made you think to speak with the moneylender?” Father Mateo asked.

  “A guess, though as it happens, an incorrect one. I wondered why Yoshiko would visit a shop that didn’t make loans to samurai. I guessed—inaccurately—that the moneylender had hired her as a debt collector.”