Flask of the Drunken Master (10 page)

“What about debtors—aside from Chikao—or debt collectors your father hired to work on his behalf?” Hiro kept the questions light, as if they stemmed from random thoughts. “Had your father mentioned any trouble?”

“Only the argument with Chikao and Kaoru,” Tomiko said. “We don’t have many debtors. Father has hired collectors, from time to time, but I do not think he hired one to deal with Kaoru’s debt. Not yet, at least.”

She paused.

“No,” she continued, “I’m sure he would have told me if he had hired one. But this does give me a helpful idea. I think I’ll hire a debt collector to guard the shop until Father returns.”

Hiro didn’t like the thought of Tomiko dealing with debt collectors, many of whom had flexible attitudes toward personal honor. Her idea surprised him, too. Ginjiro’s daughter seemed too wise to risk her safety with an unknown man.

Tomiko smiled at his concern. “Do not worry, Matsui-
san
. The debt collector I intend to hire is a woman.”

Chapter 18

“Not Akechi Yoshiko?” Hiro asked.

“Yes,” Tomiko said. “Do you know her? My father says she works quite fast and gets results.”

“Your father knows her?” Coincidences started lining up in Hiro’s mind.

“He hired her to collect a debt about a month ago. She brought the money quickly, but I’m not sure he would work with her again.” Tomiko paused. “Last week, I heard him talking with Basho—a merchant who sells the rice we use for sake. Basho had an injured eye and claimed Akechi-
san
had struck him.”

“Over a debt?” Hiro asked.

“She hit him hard enough to bruise his eye?” Father Mateo gave Hiro a look of alarm.

“That’s what he claimed,” Tomiko said. “My father didn’t like it, but I’m glad I heard him say it. I’ll feel safer hiring a guard who uses violence when necessary.”

Hiro felt a sudden need to meet Basho.

“That reminds me,” Father Mateo said, “Ana said we’re out of rice.”

Hiro said nothing. The housekeeper had made that comment days before, and Father Mateo had already purchased rice to fill their barrel.

“Does Basho sell rice for eating or just for sake?” the Jesuit asked.

A smile lit Tomiko’s face. “Both. We use the highest quality rice for our sake.”

“Will he sell to a foreigner?” Father Mateo asked. “And if so, where can we find him?”

“Basho has fifty feet of frontage at the end of the Sanj
ō
rice market, west of Karasuma Street and east of Muromachi Road. You can’t miss it—it’s the largest shop on the block. Tell him Ginjiro sent you. You will get a better price.”

“Thank you.” Father Mateo turned to Hiro. “Shall we go?”

Hiro considered warning Tomiko not to trust Akechi Yoshiko. Unfortunately, he didn’t know if Ginjiro’s daughter had told them all she knew about the night Chikao died. If Ginjiro had hired a guard—Akechi Yoshiko or someone else—Tomiko would know. She would probably also know if the guard had killed Chikao.

If Hiro wanted to learn the truth, he couldn’t assume that anyone was an ally.

Fortunately, Hiro doubted Yoshiko presented any real threat to Ginjiro’s family. Not as long as Ginjiro kept his silence, anyway.

As Hiro stepped down into the street, a familiar balding figure approached the brewery at a rapid trot.

“Hiro-
san
!” Suke raised a hand in greeting.

Prison hadn’t done the monk’s aroma any favors. The pungent odor of human offal mingled with the sake fumes that rose from Suke’s robes, giving the monk the distinctive smell of a man who had bathed in a brewery’s night-soil bucket.

Hiro fought the urge to back away.

Suke grasped the shinobi’s arm. “I’m glad I found you.” He started toward the alley, dragging Hiro by the sleeve. “I need to speak with you right now.”

Hiro started to object, but Father Mateo raised a hand. “No—please—go with him. I will wait for you right here.”

Hiro scowled at the Jesuit’s amusement. They had no time to cater to Suke’s addled needs. Still, he went along with the monk. It was always faster to let Suke speak his mind.

Shadows lurked in the narrow alley, as if daylight avoided the scene of the recent crime. Hiro looked for threats but didn’t see anything out of place.

The monk led Hiro far enough from the street to ensure their privacy. They stopped just short of the place where spattered blood still rusted the ground and wall.

“Hiro-
san
,” Suke said, “I need your help to free Ginjiro.”

“I’m trying to find the killer,” Hiro said. “It may take time.”

“We have no time.” Suke leaned forward. “We need to free Ginjiro
now
.”

“What do you mean?” Hiro had a nasty suspicion he knew what the monk intended.

“You and me,” Suke whispered. “We’ll sneak him out of prison.”

“That won’t work,” Hiro said. “The
d
ō
shin
will catch us and throw us into the cages too.”

“You’re right. We need a diversion.” Suke thought for a moment. “The foreign priest could make a scene outside the gates! Will he help us?”

“I don’t think so,” Hiro said. “He tends to disagree with plans that lead to our arrest.”

“No reason to get upset,” Suke said. “You’re the one who suggested we use the priest.”

Hiro opened his mouth to object but realized it wouldn’t help. “Why did the
d
ō
shin
set you free?”

“They told me I’m not guilty.” Suke shook his head. “They wouldn’t even let me speak to the magistrate. Stupid fools!”

Hiro eyed the monk. “That makes you angry?”

“Of course it does!” Suke crossed his arms. “They plan to punish Ginjiro for my crime.”

“You truly believe you killed Chikao,” Hiro said.

Suke’s eyebrows threatened to launch themselves from the top of his balding head. “It isn’t a matter of what I believe—I killed him!”

“You were asleep when the murder happened,” Hiro said.

“I’m a dangerous man,” Suke replied. “Lethal, even in slumber.”

“Maybe so,” Hiro said with a sigh, “but the evidence says you’re not the killer.”

Suke’s arms fell down to his sides. “You’re sure it wasn’t me?”

Hiro gestured to the bloodstains on the wall. “Chikao didn’t die from a sleepwalker’s blow. I respect your martial prowess, but the killer continued striking the body after Chikao was dead. A sleeper would have woken up and seen the situation.”

Suke’s jaw dropped open. “That is true. This changes everything! But how did my flask end up in a killer’s hands?”

Chapter 19

“The murderer stole your flask without your waking,” Hiro said.

“Impossible.” Suke shook his head. “I’m a dangerous man. No one steals my flask without me knowing. I must have killed him after all. I have to make the
d
ō
shin
understand.”

Hiro realized, with the dismay that accompanies nasty truths, that the only way to stop Suke from interfering with the case was to let the monk believe he was helping solve it.

“How about this?” the shinobi asked. “If the evidence proves you killed Chikao, I’ll make the
d
ō
shin
listen to your story. However, until we know for certain, you keep quiet and help my investigation.”

Suke’s mouth split into a startled grin. “You’d let me help?”

“Yes, but secretly,” Hiro said. “We can’t let anyone know. The killer thinks he’s safe because you confessed.”

“Of course! Of course!” Suke nodded vigorously, sending waves of noxious odors rolling off his robe. “I will help you, Hiro-
san
! Together, we’ll find the killer.” His smile faded. “Even if the killer turns out to be me.”

“Listen carefully,” Hiro said. “I need you to watch Ginjiro’s brewery. Listen to the patrons. Someone might say something about the murder.”

“I understand. The killer might get drunk and confess the crime.” Suke paused. “I don’t suppose you’d give me money to buy a flask of sake—purely to preserve the illusion, of course.”

Hiro removed a couple of silver coins from his purse. “Remember,” he said as he dropped them into Suke’s waiting palm, “your job is to listen
without
revealing you’ve joined the investigation. Do not call attention to yourself.”

Suke nodded and scurried out of the alley.

Hiro followed, reflecting on his decision. He doubted Suke would prove any help but hoped the assignment would keep the monk out of trouble and out of the way.

Father Mateo met Hiro in the street. As they started south the Jesuit gestured over his shoulder and asked, “What did you tell him? He seems much happier.”

Hiro glanced over his shoulder at Suke. The monk had settled in the street to wait for the brewery to open. “I gave him a job, to keep him out of trouble.”

Father Mateo smiled. “Let me know how that works out.”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll both know.” Hiro saw the Jesuit wince and slowed his pace. “Does your injury bother you?”

Father Mateo looked down at his hands, which were covered in angry scars from an attack two months before. “A little. Is it obvious?”

“Only to me,” Hiro lied. “Why did you want to see Basho?”

“To learn how far Yoshiko’s violent tendencies might go,” the Jesuit said. “It doesn’t take much skill to suspect a connection between Ginjiro and Yoshiko. After all, she knew about the crime. Do you think she might be the guard Ginjiro hired?”

“We don’t know, for certain, that he hired one,” Hiro said. “Until we do, we must explore all options.”

“It’s hard for me to believe Yoshiko would kill Chikao,” Father Mateo said. “Not with her own father murdered a year ago.”

“Yoshiko’s father was samurai. Chikao is a merchant. Their deaths are not the same.” Hiro doubted the priest would understand.

“They are to me, and they are to God.” Father Mateo paused. “Could a woman beat a man to death?”

“You’ve seen Yoshiko,” Hiro said. “If a man could do it, she could.”

Father Mateo sighed. “This investigation seems more difficult than the others. Chikao didn’t have any enemies. We don’t even have good suspects.”

Hiro noticed a noodle vendor and headed toward the cart. As he did, he switched to Portuguese. “On the contrary, we have three: Kaoru, Ren, and Ginjiro.”

He switched back to Japanese and ordered two bowls of
udon
.

“The second two I understand,” Father Mateo said in Portuguese, “but why the son? He doesn’t want to work. Also, won’t he share his inheritance with his mother?”

Hiro smiled at the Jesuit’s use of general terms instead of names. “A wife inherits only when the husband leaves a will that names her heir.”

Father Mateo watched Hiro pay the vendor. “I can’t believe you’re hungry.”

Hiro accepted some copper change. “I can’t believe you’re not.”

The vendor handed each man a bowl of steaming noodles in pungent sauce.

Hiro inhaled deeply. His stomach grumbled. As he hoped, the chewy noodles had just the right combination of onions, fish, and savory broth.

Father Mateo ate, but slowly, and fumbled with his chopsticks. His injured hands had not regained their full dexterity.

All too soon, Hiro’s chopsticks clattered against the empty bowl. He returned them to the vendor. Father Mateo returned his, too, though he hadn’t finished his noodles.

The vendor gave the Jesuit’s half-filled bowl a worried look. “I’m sorry you didn’t like the flavor.”

“I enjoyed it.” Father Mateo gave the vendor an apologetic smile. “I am not very hungry this afternoon.”

Hiro glanced at the Jesuit’s hands. He saw no sign of infection but reminded himself to keep an eye on the priest.

Father Mateo switched to Portuguese. “It’s not my hands. I suppose I should tell you—I really don’t like
udon
.”

*   *   *

A samurai in lacquered armor guarded Sanj
ō
Road at Karasuma Street.

Hiro wasn’t surprised. Prosperous rice merchants often served as moneylenders, too. Their storehouses held not only coins but samurai heirlooms left as collateral for loans. With the city on alert, Matsunaga Hisahide would protect them. No man who wanted the shogunate would risk the loss of so much valuable treasure—or the tax revenue that accompanied it.

Despite his understanding, Hiro bristled at the thought of yet another interruption.

The guard stepped into the road and blocked their path. “State your names and business in this ward.”

Hiro felt his patience wane. “Surely the shogun has more important business than keeping honest men from theirs?”

“From their what?” The samurai tipped his head to the side, confused.

“Their business,” Hiro said.

“
My
business is to protect this ward.” The samurai stepped forward until his chin was only inches from Hiro’s chest. “Do not challenge my authority. I speak with the voice of Shogun Matsunaga.”

Hiro raised an eyebrow. “Matsunaga-
san
is taller than you and also better looking.”

“How dare you!” The samurai’s hand moved to the hilt of his katana.

A second armored samurai emerged from a nearby shop, cheeks bulging with an enormous bite from a bun. When he saw the situation, he swallowed quickly, stashed the bun in his armor, and joined his partner in the street. “What’s going on?”

“Your friend believes himself the shogun’s equal,” Hiro said, consciously overlooking the fact that Matsunaga-
san
was not yet shogun. “I chose to disabuse him of that notion.”

The second samurai sighed. “Yujiro, let them pass. We’re only supposed to stop saboteurs and spies.”

The comment revealed these guards hadn’t worked together very long, or very often. Regular partners would not contradict one another in public.

Yujiro nodded at Father Mateo. “The foreigner looks suspicious to me, and everyone knows you cannot trust a ronin.”

Hiro ignored the insult. Men promoted above their abilities often resorted to bullying.

Father Mateo stepped into the samurai’s path. “Indeed, I’m quite suspicious. Best arrest me before I carry out my devious plot … to purchase a sack of rice.”