Flask of the Drunken Master (24 page)

“Basho!” yelled a female voice. “Get up and open this door at once!”

The voice belonged to Akechi Yoshiko.

Chapter 47

Hiro crept along the alley toward the street.

Yoshiko pounded on the shutters. “Basho! I know you’re in there—open up! Quit hiding in your rice like a frightened rat. Get out here now and pay your debt like a man!”

A muffled female voice came through the shutters. “Basho isn’t here.”

“You’re lying,” Yoshiko replied.

“It’s after midnight,” Basho’s wife complained. “Come back tomorrow.”

Yoshiko gave a derisive snort. “Why, so you can claim he isn’t here? We’ve played that game long enough. No more.”

“We haven’t got your money,” Hama called. “Come back tomorrow.”

“No,” Yoshiko growled. “Open this door, or I’ll break it down.”

Hiro jumped as the shutters banged and rattled.

He peeked around the corner just as Yoshiko stepped back and kicked the wooden shutters hard. Hiro didn’t know many women capable of breaking down a door, but Yoshiko had the strength—and the determination too.

Hiro looked at the upper floors of neighboring houses. He saw no lights or movement. No one cried alarm, although that fact did not surprise him. Merchants often worked together to protect their wards from fire and natural dangers, but no one wanted to confront a thief or debt collector in the dark of night. Unless Matsunaga Hisahide’s guards investigated, Hama and Basho were on their own.

Hiro doubted the samurai would come to save the merchant, either. Hisahide’s guards weren’t paid to intervene in debt collections. More importantly, the guard on duty let Yoshiko down the street.

She kicked the door again, and Hiro heard a cracking underneath the shuddering bang.

“Stop it—please!” Hama’s voice revealed an edge of fear. “I’ll open up. Don’t break it down!”

Hiro heard the click of a latch and a rattling sound as the shutters opened.

This time, Hama’s voice was clear. “I told you, my husband is not home. You have no right to harass us in the middle of the night.”

“Your husband owes a substantial debt to the Sakura Teahouse.” Yoshiko’s response held no remorse. “Over a month ago, he asked for mercy, and I granted him additional time to pay. He hasn’t paid a single copper coin. I’m finished waiting.”

“Basho went out of town on business,” Hama said. “He’ll pay when he returns.”

“No rice merchant leaves Kyoto at this time of year.” Yoshiko’s voice sounded slightly farther away, as if she had stepped inside the shop. “He’s hiding, trying to avoid his debt.”

Hiro wondered whether Yoshiko was bluffing.

“You have no authority to threaten this family,” Hama said. “I’ll report you to the magistrate!”

“Go ahead,” Yoshiko said. “In fact, I’ll stand right here and wait. Your husband owes a legitimate debt. I have the right to collect it. Who will the magistrate punish if you wake him in the night?”

“Only a wicked woman would use her status in this way,” Basho’s wife hissed. “You disgrace your family and your class.”

Hiro expected Yoshiko to kill the older woman on the spot. No commoner could legally insult a samurai. Instead, he heard a heavy crash and the shimmering hiss of rice against the floor.

“No!” Hama gasped.

A second barrel crashed to the floor.

“No, please,” Basho’s wife moaned, “I’m sorry—I apologize! Please stop, before you ruin us. We cannot sell the rice once it’s been soiled.”

“Give me the money,” Yoshiko said.

Hiro clenched his fist at his side.

Yoshiko would destroy the shop in her search for Basho’s money. The law protected her right to collect a debt, but her bullying tactics turned the shinobi’s stomach. Unfortunately, Hiro could not intervene without Yoshiko’s wanting an explanation and also recognizing that he wore assassin’s clothes.

The samurai woman would not forgive his interference, either way. Any intervention would embarrass Yoshiko in front of Hama. Hiro knew how quickly infatuation could shift to loathing, and he didn’t want to think about the emotional outburst that might follow if he pushed Yoshiko over that razor’s edge.

Inside the shop, another barrel crashed onto the floor.

Hiro looked around the street, hoping someone would appear. He thought he saw a shadow move in a darkened upstairs window, but it didn’t move again, and no one came into the street.

He cringed at the sound of Yoshiko’s geta crushing the merchant’s rice. His training told him to stay in the alley, silent and unobserved, but a deeper instinct revolted against the unjust injury the woman caused.

At times, a sense of justice proved an inconvenient traveling companion.

Just as Hiro drew a breath and prepared to intervene, a high-pitched cry and the patter of footsteps echoed in the street.

A shadow darted across the road and into Basho’s shop. Moments later, a human body hit the floor. Wooden scabbards clattered and Yoshiko’s voice cried out in startled pain.

“I will not let you hurt these people!” Suke yelled. “You bad
kitsune!
”

The female samurai tried to speak, but her words sounded muffled, as if someone pressed her face against the floor.

Hiro longed to look but didn’t dare expose himself to view.

“The law grants you the right to collect,” Suke said, “but not to ruin a merchant’s rice without good cause!”

“Get off me!” Yoshiko’s words were clearer but sounded strained.

“No,” Suke replied.

Hiro leaned around the corner.

Hama stood inside the entrance, holding a lantern that illuminated a startling scene.

Akechi Yoshiko lay face down on the wooden floor. Suke perched atop her back like the monkey king on his golden throne. He twisted the female samurai’s arm in a way that caused significant pain if Yoshiko moved at all.

Grains of rice and overturned barrels lay on the floor around them.

“Let me up
right now
,” Yoshiko snarled.

“If I do,” Suke said, “will you leave this shop alone?”

“Her husband—OW!” Yoshiko’s words became a yell as Suke pulled her arm a little higher.

“We will pay you,” Hama said, “I promise. But we haven’t got the money now. Matsunaga Hisahide raised our taxes just this month. We had to call in all our loans, and even then we couldn’t pay the bill.”

“Not my problem.” Yoshiko turned her head and glared at Suke. “Get off my back, old man!”

“I should break this arm,” the bald monk mused.

“If you try, I’ll have you dragged before the magistrate and executed.” Yoshiko struggled slightly, then lay still. “You’ve already earned a whipping, if not more, for laying hands on a samurai.”

Chapter 48

“Swords do not make you a samurai, any more than the smell of my robe makes me a sake flask,” Suke told Yoshiko. “The magistrate will not flog me, either. You see, I was born a samurai, which makes this a legal fight.”

A door slid open somewhere in Basho’s shop. Hiro stepped back into the alley and listened as heavy footsteps crossed the floor. The footsteps stopped. Something metallic bounced and jingled on the wooden floorboards.

“There’s your silver,” a deep voice said. “Now go away and leave my family in peace.”

“Basho,” the merchant’s wife exclaimed, “where did that money come from? I thought you loaned everything we had to the man from the Lucky Monkey.”

“The guild has emergency funds. I took a loan.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Hama.”

Hiro glanced around the corner just as Suke released Yoshiko’s arm.

The samurai woman pushed herself to a kneeling position and scooped the pile of coins into her hands. She counted them quickly. “This is only half of what you owe.”

“You agreed to take half to start with,” Basho said.

Yoshiko stared at the merchant. After a long, uncomfortable moment she closed her fist around the coins. “Very well. This much will do for now.”

She stood up and straightened her kimono.

“You got what you came for,” Suke said, “now go.”

Hiro slid out of sight around the corner.

“I expect the rest in a month,” Yoshiko said. “Do not make me track you down again.”

“I will pay as soon as the farmers deliver the harvest,” Basho said. “Sooner, if the men that I’ve loaned money pay their debts.”

“See that you do,” Yoshiko snapped.

Hiro pressed himself against the wall as Yoshiko’s departing shadow crossed the street and disappeared.

“Please excuse me,” Suke said from inside the shop, “I need to go!”

The monk followed the samurai woman down the road. To his credit, and to Hiro’s surprise, Suke moved almost without a sound.

Hiro shook his head. He hoped Suke wasn’t crazy enough to let Yoshiko see him again that night.

“Go back upstairs,” Basho said, presumably to Hama. “I will clean this up and join you. There’s no point in hiding anymore.”

“I’ll leave the lantern,” Hama said. Her footsteps faded away toward the back of the shop.

Hiro looked up and down the silent street. Suke and Yoshiko had disappeared. The buildings remained dark and shuttered, though Hiro felt certain some of the neighbors had watched the scene from upstairs windows.

He hoped they had turned away when Yoshiko left.

After a check to ensure the cloth remained securely tied across his nose and mouth, Hiro rounded the corner and stepped up into the shop.

Basho had started to close the shutters, but startled and jumped backward. The merchant’s jaw fell open as Hiro entered and pulled the shutters closed behind him.

“Take anything you want—just please don’t hurt me,” Basho whispered, clutching the lantern in both hands as if it might protect him from attack.

As Hiro hoped, the merchant took him for a bloodstained bandit.

“I have no silver,” Basho said, “I gave it all to a samurai—you probably saw her leave. But you can have all the rice you want, and anything else I have.”

Hiro pitched his voice as low as he could comfortably speak. “I do not want your rice. It’s information I desire.”

“Information?” Basho echoed. “I don’t understand.”

“My friends and I drink sake at a brewery not far from here. Two nights ago, an unknown person killed the brewery owner. Rumors say you know the killer. I want to know his name.”

Basho’s eyes went wide with terror. “No. I don’t know anything!” His hands trembled. Light from the lantern danced across the walls. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I swear!”

“My sources say otherwise,” Hiro said. “They saw you with the dead man’s son the night the murder happened.”

Basho started to shake his head but stopped as recognition lit his features. “You mean Kaoru? I saw him at the Golden Buddha two nights ago, but I know nothing about a murder.”

Hiro remembered Hama’s mention of the man from the Lucky Monkey. “My sources say you also loaned him money.”

“Kaoru? No—he asked for a loan, but I never gave him money.”

“Let me tell you how this works,” Hiro said. “If you tell me what you know, and tell the truth, I let you live. If you lie or pretend ignorance—you die.”

Basho slipped on the rice-strewn floor and staggered backward several steps. He recovered his balance and shook his head. “I made a loan to the Lucky Monkey and haven’t been repaid, but I don’t know anything about a murder. Sir, I swear it!”

“Then you are of no further use to me.” Hiro reached for his
wakizashi
.

“Wait!” Basho pleaded. “I—I do know something. Not a name, but it might help you find the man you seek.”

“Speak carefully,” Hiro said. “Your life depends upon your memory.”

“I didn’t intend to go out that night.” Basho gripped the lantern hard enough to turn his knuckles pale. “My wife didn’t like my spending money—especially when we already owed so much and our debtors didn’t pay—”

“I care nothing about your debts,” Hiro growled, “and even less about your wife. Unless, perhaps, she’s attractive? Is she here?” He glanced at the ceiling as if considering a trip to the upstairs living quarters.

“No, she’s not attractive,” Basho said, then added, “well, only to a fat old man like me.”

“Then get to the point,” Hiro said, “I have no patience for rambling stories.”

“I stopped at the Golden Buddha for a drink,” Basho said. “I didn’t want to sit with Kaoru—he always leaves his bill for someone else—but the only seat in the place was at his table. After we shared a couple of flasks, he started bragging that soon he’d have lots of money and a pretty young wife as well.”

“Get to the point.” Hiro stepped forward.

“I’m sorry!” Basho raised the lantern to shield himself. “Kaoru said his father intended to buy a bigger brewery and that he—that Kaoru—would marry the brewer’s daughter as part of the deal.”

“How does that help me?” Hiro demanded.

“There’s more to the story,” Basho said. “A lot of
d
ō
shin
drink at the Golden Buddha. They laughed and said no man would let his daughter marry a good-for-nothing drunk. Kaoru took a swing at one and missed.”

“A fight?” Hiro asked.

“No,” the merchant said, “I stopped it. I don’t like Kaoru much, but I didn’t want to see him arrested, either. I asked him to take a walk outside and tell me about his newfound fortune.”

“Why do you care if
d
ō
shin
arrest a drunk?” Hiro asked. “More importantly, why should I?”

Basho glanced over his shoulder, as if to ensure his wife had not returned.

“Get to the point,” Hiro growled, “and quickly, if you want to live.”

Chapter 49

Basho looked at his lantern and murmured, “I didn’t want Kaoru arrested … because of his mother.”

That wasn’t the answer Hiro expected. “What do you mean? Explain yourself!”

“I knew Mina—Kaoru’s mother—before she married.” Basho gestured toward the shutters. “Her father owned the shop across the street and two doors down. I wanted to marry her, but her father chose Chikao instead of me.”

“You stopped an arrest because you care about some drunkard’s mother?” Hiro asked.