Flask of the Drunken Master (6 page)

The smell of last night’s grease in the air diminished Kaoru’s personal odor slightly. The lack of adequate ventilation, combined with a low, slatted ceiling, gave the room an oppressive feel. Hiro resolved to leave as soon as possible.

Kaoru walked to a sliding door on the far side of the room. He paused. “My father lies through here.”

Hiro shook his head. “We are not the priests your mother summoned.”

“Then who are you?” Kaoru asked.

“We have business with your mother,” Hiro said.

“Who are you?” Kaoru repeated. “Why have you disturbed a house of mourning?”

Hiro gestured to the Jesuit. “Father Mateo introduced himself already. I am his translator, Matsui Hiro.” After a pause just long enough to allow the youth to absorb the information, Hiro added, “The Jesuit carries the rank of samurai.”

Kaoru should have bowed. He didn’t.

“May I ask your name?” Father Mateo asked in a quiet voice.

Hiro recognized the Jesuit’s attempt to ease the tension.

“I am Kaoru,” the young man said.

“We hoped your mother would grant us a favor,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro considered the overture ill-advised. He didn’t know Kaoru well, but the young man’s appearance and reputation didn’t suggest a helpful nature. The Jesuit should have waited for the widow.

Kaoru squinted at Father Mateo and then at Hiro. “I can’t understand the foreigner. He needs to speak Japanese.”

“I am speaking Japanese,” Father Mateo said.

Kaoru raised a hand to his forehead. “I have a headache. What is he trying to say?”

Hiro didn’t expect most people to bow and scrape because of his samurai status, but Kaoru’s arrogance went too far in the other direction. This came as no surprise. Kaoru had acted just as rudely the few times Hiro saw him at Ginjiro’s.

It was time to make Chikao’s son behave.

Hiro straightened his shoulders and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I know you, Kaoru, though clearly you do not remember me.”

Kaoru rubbed his eyes and squinted, lips apart and breathing through his mouth. At last he said, “Ginjiro’s. I saw you there.”

Hiro nodded. Since they had never spoken, he had not expected Kaoru to remember.

“What are you doing here?” Kaoru demanded. “I said I would pay the bill.”

Before Hiro could follow up on this revealing comment, Father Mateo said, “We haven’t come about your debt, but if you grant our favor I am sure Ginjiro will show leniency.”

“I don’t need a murderer’s leniency,” Kaoru snapped.

“But Ginjiro and his family do need yours,” the Jesuit said.

Kaoru looked at Hiro. “What did he say? I don’t understand his foreign talk.”

Hiro’s frustration rose. “You understood him fine just now.”

“I didn’t.” Kaoru rubbed his temple. “I cannot understand a word he says.”

Hiro stifled a sigh and repeated Father Mateo’s words. Arguments only wasted precious time.

Kaoru considered the offer. “Ginjiro will cancel my debt if I agree to your request?”

“I said he would show leniency,” Father Mateo said, “I cannot promise cancellation.”

Kaoru looked at Hiro until the shinobi translated the words.

“What help do you need?” Kaoru asked.

Father Mateo continued, with Hiro “translating” each sentence as he finished.

“Ginjiro didn’t kill your father. We need the time to prove it. We wish you to ask the magistrate to delay Ginjiro’s trial so that we can find your father’s real killer.”

“You are mistaken.” Kaoru scowled. “Ginjiro is guilty. Ren told me so when he brought the news—not that I needed his opinion. Just last night, Ginjiro made a threat to kill my father.”

Kaoru stared at Hiro as if trying to force a memory through the fog of his sake headache. “That’s why I know you.” He pointed at Hiro. “You were there. You heard the threat!”

Chapter 10

Father Mateo gave Hiro a look of alarm.

“You were there,” Kaoru repeated, jabbing his finger at Hiro. “You heard everything.”

Hiro ignored the young man’s pointing finger. Such an insult gave a samurai the right to kill a commoner, but Hiro didn’t think Chikao’s wife should lose her husband and her son in a single day.

“I did not hear Ginjiro threaten anyone.” Hiro spoke in a tone he reserved for disobedient animals and fools. “If you continue this disrespect, you’ll learn what happens when brewers forget their station.”

Kaoru lowered his hand. “I apologize.” He bowed, though his voice and face revealed no remorse. “Ginjiro threatened to kill my father. You may not have heard, but others did.”

“Tell us what happened,” Father Mateo said.

This time, Kaoru didn’t wait for a translation. “Yesterday evening, I went with my father to buy a barrel of sake from Ginjiro. My father offered a reasonable sum, but Ginjiro tried to cheat us. He claimed I owed him money and refused to sell us anything until we paid in full.

“My father refused to pay, so Ginjiro said he would get his money one way or another, no matter what he had to do to get it.”

“That doesn’t sound like a serious threat,” Hiro said.

“Did Ginjiro try to hurt you?” Father Mateo asked.

“No,” Kaoru said, “but he wouldn’t have, with witnesses around. He waited ’til my father returned, alone, when the shops were closed.”

“Why did your father return to Ginjiro’s?” Hiro asked.

Kaoru scowled. “He didn’t mention his plans to me. He must have gone to pay the bill, because he feared Ginjiro.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?” Father Mateo asked.

“I was sleeping,” Kaoru said. “Why does a foreigner want to help a killer like Ginjiro?”

“I don’t believe Ginjiro killed your father,” Father Mateo said. “I want to help because my faith requires me to practice mercy, and seek justice, for all men.”

“Most interesting,” said a female voice behind them. “You don’t look like a Buddhist priest.”

Father Mateo startled, but Hiro had heard the creak of the door and feminine footsteps in the entry.

Both men turned.

The woman had silver-gray hair and an unlined face that looked far younger than her voice suggested. She wore a pale kimono of creamy silk and a dove-gray obi. The hem of her dark blue inner kimono peeked above the neckline of the outer garment, emphasizing her ruddy complexion. The aftermath of tears still gave her eyes a glossy cast.

She bowed. “I am Mina, wife of Chikao.”

Father Mateo bowed in return. “Father Mateo
Á
vila de Santos.” He gestured to the shinobi. “My interpreter, Matsui Hiro.”

Men of samurai rank didn’t normally bow to a merchant’s wife, but Hiro didn’t mind the gesture. Father Mateo’s foreign status overcame the breach of etiquette, and his courtesy might inspire cooperation.

Mina crossed her hands and bowed again, more deeply than before.

Hiro nodded but didn’t bow.

“How may I assist you?” Mina asked.

“We are deeply sorry for your loss,” Father Mateo said.

“Thank you,” Mina said. “But a man cannot avoid his karma.”

“Karma?” Father Mateo asked.

“Does he know the word?” Mina addressed the question to Hiro.

“I recognize it,” the Jesuit said. “I don’t understand why you think your husband’s karma caused his death.”

Kaoru scowled. “It was not my father’s destiny to die in the street like a dog.”

Mina looked at her son. “Does your disbelief change what happened?”

Kaoru did not answer.

Mina’s gaze returned to the priest. “Do not mistake my acceptance for lack of emotion. I deeply regret my husband’s death. I will miss him as long as I live. But, as a Buddhist, I must strive to sever worldly attachments and to accept the things I have no power to change.”

Tears welled up in her eyes but did not spill over. “I confess, I find this obstacle more difficult than most.”

I find it odd that you refer to your husband’s death as an “obstacle,”
Hiro thought.

“Forgive me,” Mina said. “You did not come to watch a woman mourn. How may I help you?”

“Ginjiro’s family hired us to find your husband’s killer,” Father Mateo said.

Kaoru sniffed. “The
d
ō
shin
already arrested the guilty man.”

“Perhaps they did,” Mina said. “Perhaps they didn’t. Bandits rule this city after dark, and your father was carrying money to pay your debt. A thief does seem more likely than Ginjiro.”

“Bandits carry knives,” Kaoru said. “My father wasn’t stabbed.”

Mina turned to Father Mateo. “Do the facts support Ginjiro’s innocence?”

“We need time to investigate,” the Jesuit said. “We need your help to delay Ginjiro’s trial.”

“You are not
d
ō
shin
,” Mina said.

Father Mateo nodded. “True, but we are men who care about justice, and also mercy.”

Hiro struggled to hide his frustration. Overblown statements of moral purpose rarely persuaded anyone, especially people who had to work for a living.

To his surprise, Mina asked, “How much time do you need?”

Kaoru threw his hands in the air. “This is pointless. Ginjiro killed my father!”

“Did the police recover the money Chikao took with him to pay the debt?” Mina asked.

“Of course not,” Kaoru said. “Ginjiro took it.”

“Someone took it,” Mina said. “We need to get it back, to pay the debt.”

Kaoru opened his mouth to object but his mother continued, “We owe Ginjiro money, and this murder does not change that fact.”

“It does if Ginjiro did it!” Kaoru glared at Mina. “My debt was nothing compared with the value of my father’s life.”

Mina returned the glare with an even look. “A man who does not pay his debts will never join the brewers’ guild. You know this.”

“Don’t you already belong to the guild?” Father Mateo asked.

“Not yet,” Mina said, “our shop remains unlicensed. We petitioned for admission, but the
za
has not yet ruled on our application. We hoped Ginjiro would plead our cause—he did agree to help us—but that was before our son ran up a bill and did not pay.”

“That’s not the truth,” Kaoru said. “Ginjiro inflated the bill in order to bribe us for his support.”

“Forgive my son for his lack of tact.” Mina shook her head at Kaoru. “His anger will not bring his father back, or find the murderer.

“I wish to know the truth about my husband’s death. I will ask the magistrate to give you four more days to find the killer.”

Chapter 11

Father Mateo looked confused. “Four days? Why only four?”

“After seven days of mourning we commit my husband’s body to the flames,” Mina said. “At that time, his spirit has to face the Heavenly Judges. If we know his killer’s name by then, our prayers can intercede on his behalf. Four days for you leaves three for the magistrate to find the answer if you fail.”

Kaoru frowned. “I will not carry that petition to the magistrate for you.”

“I hadn’t planned to ask you,” Mina said. “Ren’s word will carry greater weight than yours.”

She shifted her gaze to Hiro. “I will ask the neighbor’s son to carry a message to Ren this morning. Ren will take my request to the magistrate.”

“Speaking of Ren,” Hiro said. “Where can we find him?”

“He went home,” Mina said, “to change into mourning garments. After that, he intended to speak with the coffin maker.”

Mina cast a sidelong glance at Kaoru. “Ren offered to make the arrangements since my son was … indisposed. I only hope we can afford a reasonable coffin, since the moneylenders will not give a loan.”

Again, she looked at Kaoru, and an awkward silence followed.

“Could you tell us where Ren lives?” the Jesuit asked. “We’d like to find him.”

Mina nodded. “He rents a place on Shij
ō
Road, three buildings west of the apothecary. His room is fourth from the street, as you count the doors.”

“Thank you,” Hiro said.

“Did Ren work last night?” the priest continued. “Did he leave the shop at any point?”

So much for not revealing our suspicions,
Hiro thought.

“He worked all night, as did Chikao,” Mina said. “My husband left to see Ginjiro in the early evening hours. He returned with a bruise on one eye and fear in both. Ginjiro struck him, and threatened worse, if we didn’t make an immediate payment toward Kaoru’s debt.”

Hiro looked at Kaoru. “Where were you last night?”

“Me?” the young man asked. “That’s not your business.”

“Kaoru,” Mina admonished. “This man is samurai, and our guest.” She turned to Hiro. “Please forgive my son’s behavior. He went out for an hour or two in the evening and then returned. He helped us close the shop and went to sleep.”

Hiro knew the woman lied, but let it pass. He asked the question to change the topic and take suspicion off of Ren.

From Hiro’s perspective, Chikao’s family didn’t need to know any details of the investigation or the names of any suspects. Not until the evidence revealed someone’s guilt.

*   *   *

Hiro and Father Mateo left the alley and turned west on Shij
ō
Road. The wind had shifted, filling the air with smoke from the nearby charcoal sellers’ street. The pungent aroma of smoldering pine filled Hiro’s nose, overwhelming every other smell.

Given the lingering scent of the alley, Hiro didn’t mind.

West of the apothecary, rows of rental dwellings filled the block. Property taxes were based on frontage, so most of the buildings presented only their narrow ends to the street. Passageways between the structures led to twisting alleys where the renters lived like soybeans pressed together in a fermentation pot. Each room had a private entrance, but thin walls and tiny spaces meant the residents enjoyed no real privacy.

“I’m glad Mina told us to count the entries,” Father Mateo said, as he looked down the passage at the unmarked doors. “We’d never have found the place.”

Hiro didn’t argue but knew otherwise.

Every dwelling house had an elderly person, usually female, who considered it her duty to keep track of the other residents. These unofficial guardians knew everyone and everything and, in most cases, also loved to gossip.