Flask of the Drunken Master (5 page)

“Interesting,” the monk replied. “He didn’t defend himself?”

Hiro debated the best response. The
yoriki
told them not to discuss the crime, but Hiro didn’t want the monk to become suspicious and question their authority to view the murder scene.

Before he could make a decision, Father Mateo said, “The first blow knocked him senseless. When he fell, his opponent beat him to death.”

The monk shook his head. “This killer had an angry soul.”

“How do you know that?” Father Mateo asked.

The monk gestured toward the bloody wall. “Only an angry man strikes so many times, or with such force.” After a pause he added, “Also, I would guess the killer was not samurai.”

The statement put Hiro’s curiosity over the edge. “What makes you say so?”

The monk smiled. “I was a physician before I renounced the world. I cannot forget the man I was, or the things I saw, when I lived that life. A samurai kills a man with a sword. He doesn’t use his hands.”

Though accurate, it wasn’t the reason Hiro would have given.

“Also,” the monk continued, “a samurai would have stopped when the man was dead.”

Hiro disagreed. Furious samurai rarely showed much self-control. The shinobi leaned forward and laid two fingers on the dead man’s neck.

“Why check for a heartbeat?” The monk inquired. “We already know he’s dead.”

“I’m feeling his temperature,” Hiro said. “His skin seems cool, but pliant. He died within the last few hours. Some time after midnight, before dawn.”

The monk nodded. “You are a physician also.”

It wasn’t a question, and Hiro saw no need to correct the error. He stood up and looked at Father Mateo. “We’ve seen what we need to see.”

The monk bowed. “I will care for his needs from here.”

*   *   *

Hiro and Father Mateo left the alley and headed north, but not toward home.

“I want to speak with Ginjiro before the hearing,” Hiro said. “That is, if we still have time.”

The magistrate’s compound lay north and west of the brewery, in the southern end of the administrative ward. Hiro and Father Mateo arrived to find the compound gates wide open.

Commoners filled the yard. They spoke in whispers as they waited for the magistrate.

Hiro bowed to the pair of stern-faced samurai guarding the compound gates. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m looking for a brewer named Ginjiro.”

“If you want a brewer, look in the sake district,” the taller samurai said with a grin.

His companion snickered at the joke, though neither Hiro nor Father Mateo smiled.

“The man I seek was arrested this morning,” Hiro said.

The samurai’s smile faded. “No one remembers a criminal’s name. The
d
ō
shin
bring them in by the dozen.”

Father Mateo stepped forward. “This man is not a criminal. He was wrongfully accused. He has graying hair, and was wearing a blue kimono.”

The guard considered the Jesuit’s words. “I did see such a man. He’s accused of murder.”

“Wrongfully accused,” the priest repeated.

“I doubt it,” the guard replied, “but, innocent or not, he isn’t here. The
d
ō
shin
brought him, briefly, to lodge his name and case with the magistrate, but his case will not be heard until this afternoon.”

Chapter 8

“Not until the afternoon?” Father Mateo repeated. “Why?”

“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 Shij
ō
and east of Kawaramachi Road.”

“An alley?” Father Mateo asked.

“The address is on Shij
ō
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 Shij
ō
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 door 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
Á
vila 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.