by Susan Spann
“Shogun’s orders,” the tall guard said. “The magistrate hears all capital crimes in public, at the afternoon session.”
“The afternoon hearing is public?” Father Mateo asked.
The tall guard turned and gestured toward a bed of white sand on the opposite side of the courtyard. Behind the sand, a wooden dais rose several feet above the ground. Neither the wood nor the sand showed signs of weathering.
“The shogun ordered the change a month ago,” the guard explained. “All serious cases must be heard, and the sentences carried out, in public. To help the common people understand the consequences of their crimes.”
“Shogun Ashikaga gave that order?” Father Mateo asked.
“Shogun Matsunaga gave the order—after Shogun Ashikaga’s seppuku,” the guard replied.
Hiro didn’t miss the veiled challenge in the words. Rumors questioned the former shogun’s “suicide,” which took place in the night and under the eye of Matsunaga Hisahide, though no one dared to challenge Hisahide’s version openly.
No one who valued his life, at any rate.
“I apologize,” Father Mateo said. “I did not hear that the emperor had granted Matsunaga-san the shogunate.”
“He has not made the formal announcement,” the samurai said, chin high and shoulders squared, “but he will, when the mourning period for the former shogun ends. Wise men will not wait to recognize Shogun Matsunaga’s status.”
On the contrary, Hiro thought, wise men won’t commit themselves before the proper time. Aloud, he said, “Forgive the foreigner’s ignorance. He does not understand our culture well.”
The samurai nodded. “The magistrate ordered the criminals taken to prison until this afternoon. You will find the man you are seeking there.”
* * *
Hiro and Father Mateo left the magistrate’s compound and turned south on a street that led to the commercial ward.
“Aren’t we going to see Ginjiro?” Father Mateo asked.
“We need to speak with Chikao’s family,” Hiro said. “Preferably without Ren present.”
“Without Ren?” Father Mateo asked.
Hiro nodded. “Chikao’s business partner has the physical strength to commit the crime, and though he seemed upset by the news, emotions can be faked.”
“He cried real tears,” Father Mateo said, “and physical build means nothing. Any person of reasonable size could have beaten Chikao to death.”
“Yes,” Hiro said, “but Ren will gain from Chikao’s murder in ways another man will not.”
“Won’t Chikao’s son inherit his father’s share of the business?” Father Mateo asked.
“Normally, yes,” Hiro said, “but until we know for certain, we must consider everyone a suspect.”
The Jesuit nodded. “Do you know how to find the Lucky Monkey brewery?”
“No,” Hiro said, “I’m hoping Tomiko does.”
* * *
“Today?” Tomiko asked when Hiro told her about the hearing. “But that’s too soon. We need more time to prove my father’s innocence.”
Rustling sounds from the opposite side of the indigo noren suggested Yoka was working in the kitchen.
Tomiko lowered her voice. “I want to attend the hearing, but I cannot leave my mother alone. I cannot take her with me, either. Since the illness, unfamiliar situations scare her. If she sees my father kneeling like a criminal…”
Tomiko pressed her lips together, unwilling to continue.
“Can you tell us where to find Chikao’s family?” Father Mateo asked.
Hiro added, “Magistrate Ishimaki might delay your father’s hearing, if the victim’s family consents.”
“They live at the Lucky Monkey,” Tomiko said, “in an alley south of Shijō and east of Kawaramachi Road.”
“An alley?” Father Mateo asked.
“The address is on Shijō Road,” she said, “but the brewery has no frontage. The building sits behind an old apothecary’s shop. Look carefully, it’s hard to find.”
“Have you been there?” Father Mateo tried to hide his surprise, but failed.
“Once, with my father,” Tomiko said, “about a month ago. We stopped by on our way to a meeting in Fushimi. A visiting relative stayed with Mother so I could go along.”
Hiro noted Father Mateo’s confusion. “Fushimi is the sake brewers’ ward.”
“Isn’t this the sake district?” the Jesuit asked.
“This ward has many businesses,” Tomiko said. “My father chose to open a brewery here because of the traffic and because we offer food as well as sake. Those who sell only sake usually set up shop in Fushimi, because of the water. Also, the guild has greater influence there.”
“Why did you visit the Lucky Monkey?” Hiro asked.
“To ask about the debt.” Tomiko raised a hand to her mouth in sudden embarrassment. “Oh! Matsui-san, I’m so sorry! I forgot to give you a message. A man came looking for you last night, shortly after you left.”
She bowed. “Please forgive my forgetfulness.”
Hiro’s hopes rose. A message from Iga would confirm that Hattori Hanzo, head of the Iga ryu, had learned about the shogun’s death. The message might also contain the name of Hiro’s new shinobi contact in Kyoto. Kazu had filled that role until the shogun’s “suicide” two months before. Since then, Hiro had awaited new instructions from the clan. He doubted the shogun’s death would affect his orders to guard the priest, but Hiro put no faith in such assumptions.
“I do not blame you,” Hiro said. “You’ve had a difficult morning. Did the man leave his name?”
“Ozuru,” Tomiko said. “A carpenter, I think? He said he would return tomorrow night to discuss the job you wanted done.”
“He will return tonight, then?” Hiro maintained a neutral tone, but the message made his stomach churn. Ozuru worked as a carpenter in much the same way Hiro served the Jesuit. Neither man was truly what he seemed.
“Yes,” Tomiko said, “I believe he will.”
Hiro nodded. “I will do my best to meet him.”
The shinobi and the Jesuit left the brewery and headed south.
“Have we time to get to the Lucky Monkey and back to the magistrate before the hearing?” Father Mateo asked.
“We have to,” Hiro said. “We need Chikao’s family to grant us extra time to find the killer.”
“Can they do that?” Father Mateo asked. When Hiro gave him a sideways look, the Jesuit added, “I said so to Tomiko, but I didn’t know for certain.”
“Magistrate Ishimaki cares about justice,” Hiro said. “I think he will grant us extra time unless the victim’s family objects.”
“Will he release Ginjiro until the trial?”
Hiro shook his head. “No magistrate would set a killer free.”
“Do you believe Ginjiro killed Chikao?” Father Mateo asked.
“No,” Hiro said, “but murders turn on evidence, not belief.”
Chapter 9
Despite Tomiko’s warning, Hiro and Father Mateo walked right past the narrow alley on Shijō Road. When they reached the Kamo River, they retraced their steps until they found the unnamed alley, little more than a gap between an ancient apothecary and a brothel too low-class to afford a space in nearby Pontocho.
“I never would have looked for a brewery here,” Father Mateo said.
As they entered the alley, daylight dropped to twilight, blocked by the buildings’ eaves and faded laundry hanging overhead. Mildew and rotting garbage perfumed the air.
Father Mateo coughed and raised a hand to his mouth.
Hiro stifled the almost overwhelming urge to follow suit. The odors burned his sensitive nose and set his eyes to watering. Only the lowest sort of drunk would patronize a dismal place like this.
A pair of sake barrels stood outside the narrow entrance to a building that shared a wall with the apothecary’s shop. A faded indigo noren hung in the entrance. Blocky characters on the barrels and the noren read LUCKY MONKEY, but the doo
r beyond the noren was closed and locked.
“That’s strange,” Hiro said.
“Hardly surprising,” Father Mateo answered. “It’s early yet.”
“Yes,” Hiro said, “but a hanging noren indicates the shop is open.”
Trailing fragments of spiderweb dangled from the noren’s edges, capturing dust and dirt instead of flies.
“Then again,” Hiro said, “this one may never come down at all.”
He reached between the panels and knocked hard on the wooden door.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t disturb them,” Father Mateo said.
Hiro glanced over his shoulder at the priest. “Mourning rituals can’t begin until they wash and dress the corpse. I’m sure that hasn’t happened yet.”
Father Mateo ran a hand through his hair. “I may not share this family’s faith, but I do respect their grief. Imposing on their sorrow—”
“—seemed a good enough idea when we left Ginjiro’s half an hour ago.” Hiro finished the Jesuit’s thought with different words. “If we do not interrupt them now, the magistrate may execute Ginjiro prematurely.”
Hiro turned and knocked again.
Footsteps approached from the other side. The door swung open, revealing a barrel-chested youth with greasy hair and wrinkled trousers. He wore no shirt, his feet were bare, and he smelled like yesterday’s sweat and stale sake.
Hiro recognized the man as Kaoru, Chikao’s son.
“What do you want?” The young man frowned at Hiro with no sign of recognition. He squinted at Father Mateo and added, “You’re not Japanese.”
The Jesuit started to bow, but a look from Hiro turned the gesture into an awkward nod. “I am Father Mateo Ávila de Santos, a priest, from Portugal.”
Kaoru drew the door open farther. He stepped back as if inviting them to enter. “Mother said she sent for priests. She hasn’t returned from the temple, but you can wait inside if you want to.”
Father Mateo opened his mouth, but Hiro shook his head and stepped inside. Wise men didn’t explain mistakes until the host had missed his chance to slam the door.
Father Mateo followed without comment.
Kaoru led the visitors through the entry and into a twelve-mat room. Medium-grade tatami covered the floor. Cheap wooden backrests along the walls and a counter along the left side of the room identified the space as the Lucky Monkey’s drinking room.
Decorative scrolls adorned the walls, but their uneven strokes betrayed a novice hand. The monochromatic ink bled away from the images in jagged lines, like unwanted vines growing wild into a wall.
Three large barrels stood in a corner behind the wooden counter, and a line of lacquered sake flasks stood like soldiers on the countertop. In places, the lacquer had worn away, revealing a black undercoat beneath. The choice of lacquered wooden flasks, instead of expensive stoneware, came as no surprise in a place like this.
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 Ávila 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.”