Flask of the Drunken Master Read online

  Father Mateo nodded to the guard but didn’t speak. Hiro noted the behavior with approval. The lowest-ranking samurai drew the assignment to guard the prison gates. No man of rank would engage them in conversation without need.

  After several awkwardly silent minutes, the ancient dōshin returned. This time, he didn’t lock the gate.

  “You may see the prisoner,” he said, “but only briefly.”

  “Acceptable,” Hiro replied, “we don’t need long.”

  “And thank you,” Father Mateo added, to Hiro’s minor disapproval.

  “Follow me.” The elderly dōshin led them into the prison yard.

  The ammonia-rich scent of human waste assaulted Hiro’s nostrils with the force of a physical blow. He coughed but stifled it quickly. Coughing showed weakness. More importantly, coughs required deep inhalation, which renewed the assault on Hiro’s senses.

  The acrid smell rose up from puddles in the dozens of wooden cages that lined the yard and ringed the compound walls. The cages measured three feet across and as tall as Hiro’s shoulder—too short for a man to stand erect and not quite wide enough to sit or kneel. Some of the cages stood empty, but most held a single, miserable prisoner. Without a night-soil bucket, the prisoners’ waste ended up on the ground, creating puddles that even the flies avoided.

  “How long do they keep these men in those tiny cages?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese.

  “Until the magistrate hears their cases,” Hiro replied in the Jesuit’s language, glad to keep the conversation private.

  “And after that?” the Jesuit asked.

  “Fines, or flogging, or execution, depending on the crime.”

  Near the middle of the compound, three wooden posts stood upright in the center of an open space. Each post measured as tall as a man and almost a foot in diameter, and had a pair of shackles secured to the top by a length of rusted chain. Dark red spots on the whipping posts attracted swarms of iridescent flies. Hiro didn’t need to get close to know the spots were blood.

  Just in front of the whipping posts, the dōshin took a left and led the visitors to a row of cages near the compound wall.

  Ginjiro crouched in a wooden cage near the end of the row, feet half-buried in mud and human waste. He kept his eyes on the ground as the jailer approached, in part because of the cage’s height but also, no doubt, in shame.

  The dōshin stopped and called, “Ginjiro, identify yourself!”

  The brewer raised his head. “I am Ginjiro.” His mouth fell open in shock, eyes wide, at the sight of Hiro and Father Mateo. He struggled to bow, but the narrow cage made courtesy impossible.

  “Matsui-san,” Ginjiro said, “I am honored, and shamed, by your visit.”

  “You have five minutes,” the dōshin said.

  “May we approach him?” Father Mateo asked.

  “If you choose,” the dōshin said. “I wouldn’t. The prisoners throw filth if you get too close.”

  Hiro and Father Mateo walked to Ginjiro’s cage as the dōshin departed.

  “Tomiko asked us to help you,” Hiro said.

  Father Mateo added, “—to prove your innocence.”

  Hiro wished the priest wouldn’t promise results when the truth remained uncertain.

  “We have asked the magistrate to delay your hearing,” Hiro said.

  Father Mateo looked up and down the row of cages. “Chikao’s family granted us four days to investigate.”

  “After that, you answer to the magistrate,” Hiro said. “So if you know who killed Chikao, tell us now.”

  “I didn’t kill him. I don’t know who did.” Ginjiro shifted position as if trying to find a more comfortable one. It didn’t seem to work.

  “Tell us about the argument,” Hiro said.

  Ginjiro coughed, likely due to the acrid fumes rising off the puddle in which he stood. “Chikao’s son, Kaoru, owes me a debt. He promised his father would pay, but the debt has gone so long, and grown so large, that I demanded payment.”

  “Did you ask Chikao before you extended credit to his son?” Father Mateo asked.

  “No.” Ginjiro shook his head. “Why would I? Sons don’t use their fathers’ credit without permission.”

  “Kaoru did,” Hiro said.

  Ginjiro nodded. “So I discovered. At first, Kaoru denied the debt and accused me of cheating his father, but his attitude changed as soon as I showed my ledger. Chikao requested a chance to pay the debt down over time. I agreed, but told him I wouldn’t support his application to join the brewers’ guild until he paid the debt in full.”

  “This happened last night?” Hiro asked.

  “No.” Ginjiro scratched his ear. “That happened about a week ago. After that, I considered the matter closed. Then yesterday, around midday, Kaoru tried to buy a cask of my sake for the Lucky Monkey.”

  “Kaoru alone?” Hiro asked. “His father wasn’t with him?”

  “Not the first time,” Ginjiro said. “Kaoru explained that his father wanted a better grade of sake, to serve along with the one they brew. I refused to sell, because of the debt, and Kaoru started making threats. He said I’d lose my daughter, my shop, and everything else I owned.”

  “That’s a serious threat,” Father Mateo said. “Did you call the police?”

  Ginjiro raised his hands. “If I reported every drunk who threatened my business, the magistrate would need to post a dōshin outside my shop on a permanent basis. Kaoru is rude and obnoxious, but matters like this are better resolved in private.

  “After Kaoru’s visit, I sent a message to the Lucky Monkey, warning Chikao that he needed to keep his son away from my brewery.” Ginjiro paused. “Chikao sent a message back, begging me not to involve the guild. He promised to make a payment toward the debt that very night. I didn’t believe him, but yesterday evening he showed up as promised, along with Kaoru.

  “Chikao started to make a payment, but Kaoru objected. Once again, he claimed that I inflated the bill unfairly. When I produced the ledger, he tried to snatch it from my hands. That’s when Chikao pulled Kaoru back and asked me to speak with them privately.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Hiro said. “You told Chikao to go into the alley, not the other way around.”

  “I named the place,” Ginjiro said, “but only after Chikao asked to speak with me in private.”

  “Why did you wait to report the debt and the threats to the brewers’ guild?” Hiro asked.

  “The za will not admit a man whose sons or apprentices act in a shameful manner,” Ginjiro said. “Chikao is a hardworking man with a spoiled son. It seemed unfair to punish him—and also Ren—for Kaoru’s indiscretions.”

  “What happened in the alley?” Hiro asked.

  “Chikao pulled out his purse, but Kaoru snatched it from him.” Ginjiro looked at the ground. “At that point, I lost my temper.”

  After a pause so long that Hiro doubted the brewer would finish the story, Ginjiro said, “The argument escalated. Kaoru wouldn’t return the purse, no matter what his father said. Eventually, he left the alley, taking the money with him. Chikao pursued him down the street. I followed only as far as the mouth of the alley.”

  Ginjiro looked at the ground as if ashamed.

  Hiro said, “You yelled something after them.”

  Ginjiro nodded. “Yes. I said, ‘You will regret this foolishness. I’ll get my money, no matter what I have to do.’”

  Chapter 14

  Ginjiro turned pleading eyes on Father Mateo. “You must believe me, I didn’t intend the words as a threat to Chikao. I meant that I would report this to the magistrate.”

  Hiro found it curious that the brewer appealed to the priest.

  “Did Chikao respond to the threat?” Hiro asked.

  “No,” Ginjiro said. “What could he say? I didn’t expect to see him again for a while. Not until he raised the money to pay off Kaoru’s debt.”

  “But he returned to speak with you again when the shops were closed,” Hiro said.


  Ginjiro shook his head. “He didn’t. Well, he must have, but I didn’t know he had until this morning.”

  Five or six cages down the row, a gnarled hand extended through the bars and started waving.

  “Hiro-san! Hiro-san! It’s me!” Suke the monk gripped the bars and pressed his nose through the opening. “Make the police release Ginjiro. He didn’t kill Chikao.”

  “Make them release me too,” said a ragged man in a nearby cage.

  Suke turned to the speaker. “Shut up. You’re guilty. You told me so.”

  The ragged man shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

  Hiro asked Ginjiro, “Did Suke kill Chikao?”

  “I doubt it,” the brewer said.

  “Then why does he claim he’s guilty?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Who knows why Suke does anything?” Frustration crept into Ginjiro’s voice. “He’s a drunk, with a drunk’s imagination.”

  “If you know he’s a drunk, why do you serve him sake?” the Jesuit asked.

  “He wouldn’t go away if I refused,” Ginjiro said. “Besides, he doesn’t drink that much and doesn’t cause a scene.”

  Hiro redirected the conversation. “Where did Suke go last night when your brewery closed?”

  “Into the alley, as always,” Ginjiro said. “He did take one of my flasks. I saw him slip it into his sleeve. He’s done it before and always returns them. That’s why I let him think I didn’t notice.”

  “Do you let other customers take your flasks away from the shop?” Father Mateo asked.

  “No. They bring a private flask when they want to take sake home,” Ginjiro said.

  “So the broken flask in the alley was the one that Suke took?” the Jesuit asked.

  “Has to be,” Ginjiro said. “I’m not missing another.”

  “I think I’ll talk with Suke.” Hiro looked at Father Mateo. “You stay here. He’ll talk more freely if I go alone.”

  As Hiro approached, Suke’s mouth gaped open in a nearly toothless smile. Hiro wondered how the monk remained so happy with his feet sunk ankle-deep in stinking filth.

  He bent down to look Suke in the eyes. “Why do you proclaim Ginjiro’s innocence so firmly?”

  A drop of drool glistened on Suke’s lower lip.

  “Because I am guilty.” The monk raised a hand to his head. “Can you get me some sake? I have a terrible headache.”

  “You have a headache because of sake,” Hiro said.

  “Exactly,” Suke said, “because there isn’t any here!”

  Hiro couldn’t help but smile. “Why did you kill Chikao?”

  Suke straightened as much as the cage allowed. “Self-defense—he tried to steal my sake flask.”

  “You killed a man over half a flask of sake?” Hiro asked.

  “The flask was empty.” Suke’s smile disappeared. “I am a dangerous man.”

  “Apparently so,” Hiro said. “Tell me, how did you kill him?”

  “I hit him with the flask, of course.” Suke pantomimed the action. “Don’t ask how many blows it took. I did it in my sleep. When I woke up, the flask was gone and the man was already dead.”

  “That doesn’t prove you killed him,” Hiro said. “In fact, it implies you didn’t.”

  “It was me,” Suke insisted. “I am a monk but trained as a warrior. I can kill by instinct, even when sleeping.”

  “That’s some instinct,” Hiro said.

  Suke nodded solemnly. “As I told you, I’m a dangerous man.”

  Hiro raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous enough to kill a man for stealing an empty flask? I thought monks took vows to cherish life.”

  “I never claimed I was a good monk,” Suke said. “Between us—and this goes no further—I might drink more sake than I should.”

  Hiro struggled to find a nonsardonic response and failed. Fortunately, Suke didn’t seem to expect an answer.

  “You’re right that I wouldn’t kill a thief on purpose,” the monk continued, “but since I killed him in my sleep, I couldn’t stop myself. It was me, and also not-me. Understand?”

  “Do you really believe you killed a man while sleeping?” Hiro asked. “I think the killer stole the flask without your waking.”

  “Not possible,” Suke said. “I sleep like a cat.”

  Hiro wondered how much experience Suke had with sleeping cats. “If that’s true, why don’t you remember someone trying to steal your flask?”

  Rippling furrows appeared on Suke’s brow. “I killed Chikao. I know I did. Ginjiro had already locked the shop, and he never leaves the brewery after closing.”

  “Never?” Hiro asked. “You’re sure of that?”

  Suke tipped his head to the side. “I sleep in the alley. If he ever left the brewery, I would know.”

  The way you know you killed a man in your sleep. Hiro’s patience, like his time, was running out.

  Chapter 15

  “One last question,” Hiro asked. “Did you see anyone else in the alley?”

  “Anyone else?” Suke looked confused. “Like a vagrant?”

  “Anyone at all,” Hiro said.

  Suke looked at the ground and scratched his cheek with a filthy hand. “I don’t remember.”

  “Thank you, Suke,” Hiro said. “I’ll try to persuade the magistrate to release you as soon as possible.”

  “He won’t release me.” Suke smiled cheerfully. “He’ll order me hanged and display my head on a pole as a warning to others. I don’t mind. Death will free me to enter my next incarnation. This time, I hope I return as a cat.”

  “A cat.” Hiro had to ask. “Why do you want to become a cat?”

  Suke’s lips curled into a knowing smile. He raised a hand to wipe the tendril of drool that started down his chin. “Cats catch mice. Mice eat grain. Grain makes sake. As a cat, I’ll find a brewery and kill its mice. The grateful owner will give me a bowl of sake every day!”

  “Cats don’t drink sake,” Hiro said.

  “I would,” Suke said.

  Hiro had nothing to say to that. Knowing Suke, he probably would.

  Hiro returned to Ginjiro’s cage and gestured toward the monk. “He doesn’t know anything at all. He claims he murdered Chikao in self-defense, and in his sleep, while defending his precious sake flask.”

  Ginjiro glanced toward Suke. “Did he mention that he’s ‘a dangerous man’?”

  “Once or twice,” Hiro said. A wave of stench from the filth on the ground erased his urge to smile.

  Ginjiro sighed. “Please persuade the dōshin to let him go. They shouldn’t punish a silly old man for something he didn’t do.”

  “I doubt they intend to punish him long.” Hiro remembered the yoriki’s words. “They only arrested him to prevent a scene.”

  “Still,” Father Mateo said, “we will speak to the dōshin on his behalf. Is there anything more you can tell us about the night of the murder before we go?”

  Ginjiro shook his head. “At closing time I locked the shop and went upstairs. My wife and Tomiko were already sleeping. I went to bed and didn’t wake up until the dōshin came to arrest me.”

  “Did you leave anyone downstairs when you locked the shop?” Father Mateo asked.

  Ginjiro stared at the priest but didn’t answer.

  After a moment that lasted a little too long, Ginjiro asked, “Like a customer? No, they had all gone home.”

  “Nobody else?” the Jesuit asked. “Nobody guards the brewery at night?”

  “Why would I need a guard?” the brewer asked. “We live upstairs.”

  Hiro admired the Jesuit’s effort, but Ginjiro’s answers were exactly as expected. If the brewer hired a guard who killed Chikao, he wouldn’t say so.

  Hiro started to turn away but paused when Father Mateo said, “Thank you. We appreciate your answers.”

  The brewer did his best to bow despite the cramped conditions. “On the contrary, I am in your debt. You owe my family nothing, yet you help us. I hope I live to repay your generosity.”


  “We just hope you live,” Father Mateo said. “No thanks required.”

  Hiro nodded, grateful that the foreign priest could speak the words that etiquette denied a Japanese.

  * * *

  As Hiro and Father Mateo left, they found the elderly dōshin waiting near the whipping posts.

  Hiro gestured toward Suke’s cage. “Why is the monk imprisoned?”

  “Him?” the dōshin asked. “He’s just a drunk. Word has it, he embarrassed the yoriki. We have orders to keep him until this evening and then release him. No additional punishment. A few more hours in the cage, and he’ll go on his way.”

  The dōshin looked at Father Mateo. “Does the foreigner speak Japanese well?”

  “A little,” Father Mateo said.

  The dōshin looked impressed. “Your Japanese is very good. Are you new to Kyoto?”

  Father Mateo smiled. He had spoken only two words, but most Japanese seemed highly impressed to hear a Westerner say any words at all.

  “Thank you,” the Jesuit said. “I fear my Japanese is poor, and badly spoken.”

  Hiro approved of the priest’s response, which followed the proper self-deprecating manner for answering compliments. He also noted that Father Mateo passed over the question about his time in Kyoto.

  With good reason.

  The Jesuit mission in Kyoto catered to the samurai ruling class. Nobles would have disapproved of Father Mateo’s work among the commoners, so the Jesuit worked alone from his home on Marutamachi Road instead of living with the other priests. Father Mateo’s mission wasn’t secret, but the priest knew better than to draw unwanted samurai attention.

  “Are you enjoying the capital?” the dōshin asked. “Where are you visiting from?”

  The Jesuit smiled. “Kyoto is a beautiful city. I have never seen a nicer one.”

  “Excuse us,” Hiro said, “we have business to attend to.”

  “Of course.” The dōshin bowed. “Any place is better than downwind from the prisoners’ cages.”

  As they approached the gates, Father Mateo stopped. Hiro walked past the priest and turned, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

  Father Mateo nodded toward the entrance. “Isn’t that Akechi Yoshiko?”

  To Hiro’s surprise, the Jesuit was correct.