Chapter 21

“You don’t know where your husband is?” Father Mateo asked.

“No,” Hama said. “He went to a teahouse with friends and didn’t return.”

“A teahouse?” Hiro asked. “Does he sleep there often?”

Hama’s frown deepened. “My husband doesn’t frequent the kind of teahouse that lets patrons stay the night.”

As far as you know, Hiro thought.

“Have you spoken with your husband’s friends?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro wished the priest had waited longer before asking. Too many questions in quick succession allowed for accidental omissions as well as conscious evasion.

“They haven’t seen him,” Hama said. “At least, that’s what they told me.”

Hiro thought it strange that Basho’s wife showed only frustration, and not distress, at her husband’s absence.

“Has this happened before?” he asked.

“What did you say you needed?” Hama gave them a searching look. “I reported the disappearance to the yoriki, but you don’t look like dōshin.”

“That is true,” the Jesuit said, “we haven’t come from the yoriki’s office.”

“And you haven’t come for rice.”

Hama’s pause demanded an answer.

“Not exactly,” Father Mateo said, with a dip of his head that suggested an apology. “I’m new to Japan and trying to learn about life in Kyoto. I hoped Basho might help me sample all the grades of rice. I will buy them, but I need to learn about them first.

“You see, in my homeland, we only have one kind.”

Hiro wondered when Father Mateo had changed his position on telling lies. He also wondered how the priest lied so well with so little practice.

“One grade of rice?” Hama shook her head. “Can’t imagine such a thing. Unfortunately, my husband has disappeared and cannot help you.”

“May we help you search for him?” Father Mateo asked.

“Wouldn’t know where to start,” Hama said.

“Was the teahouse in Pontocho?” Hiro asked.

“He didn’t go to a brothel,” Hama said. “Basho does not waste money on prostitutes.”

Father Mateo’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Hiro gave the priest a look that warned against further questions.

“Thank you anyway,” Hiro said. “When Basho returns, would you let him know that Father Mateo, who lives on Marutamachi Road, would like to ask him questions about rice?”

“Why does he want to learn about merchants’ work?” Hama spoke as if the Jesuit wasn’t there.

Hiro shrugged. “Foreigners are curious—and in his land, any man can become a merchant.”

“Truly?” Hama stared at Father Mateo. “I’d heard foreign lands were strange.”

“Will she consider it odd that I haven’t offered to let her teach me?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese.

“On the contrary,” Hiro replied in the Jesuit’s language, “she would consider it strange if you did.”

Hama smiled with a hint of discomfort, as people often did in the presence of languages they didn’t understand. “I will give my husband the message—when, and if, I see him.”

“I hope he comes home soon,” Father Mateo said.

“Soon enough.” Hama folded her arms across her chest. “And when he does, he’ll spend more time on business and far less on expensive sake.”

Hiro thought, in Basho’s place, he might not come home at all.

“If you know he’s coming home,” the Jesuit asked, “why report him missing?”

Hama uncrossed her arms and rested her hands on her hips. “I wanted the dōshin to bring him home. He deserves it, for trying to escape a scolding by leaving me here to worry. The first time, yes, but I’m wise to his tricks by now.”

*   *   *

Hiro and Father Mateo headed home along the path that paralleled the Kamo River.

“Why do you think Matsunaga-san has so many samurai guarding the city?” Father Mateo asked. “Shogun Ashikaga never used this many guards.”

“Matsunaga-san has controlled the city for only two months,” the shinobi said. “You heard the guards. He is looking for spies.”

“Spies would justify guards at the city boundaries and the gates, not samurai at the entrance to every ward.” Father Mateo thought for a moment. “Do you think the Ashikaga clan will challenge Matsunaga Hisahide’s claim to the shogunate?”

Hiro found the Jesuit’s guess surprising but not startling. Father Mateo paid attention to local Japanese politics, and generally remembered what he learned.

“The Ashikaga blame Matsunaga-san for the shogun’s recent death.” Hiro offered a simpler truth in place of the deeper problem. “They do not believe the shogun committed suicide.”

“I wondered,” Father Mateo said. “It struck me as odd that Hisahide announced himself as the shogun’s chosen successor. Matsunaga Hisahide serves the Miyoshi daimyo. Why would Shogun Ashikaga name another lord’s retainer to succeed him?”

Hiro knew the truth about the shogun’s reported suicide, but he would not break an oath to satisfy the Jesuit’s curiosity. Not when the words would cost the priest his life.

Instead, he focused on the larger issue. “The Ashikaga no longer possess the strength to defend Kyoto against Lord Oda. Matsunaga Hisahide has the power, and the allies, to keep the city safe.”

“Provided the Ashikaga do not rebel.” Father Mateo nodded. “These samurai guards are a show of force. Matsunaga Hisahide wants to send a message to the Ashikaga clan.”

“Yes,” Hiro said, “and also to Lord Oda. Hisahide will not tolerate threats to his bid for the shogunate.”

Father Mateo stopped walking. “We made a mistake. We forgot to ask the names of the friends who went to the teahouse with Basho.”

“You forgot,” Hiro said. “I decided not to ask. Hama would not have remembered the names.”

The Jesuit gave the shinobi a cautious look. “You mean, she would have lied.”

“She lied already,” Hiro said. “No woman shows so little concern about her husband’s disappearance.”

“Unless she caused it,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro gave the priest a disbelieving glance. “Especially if she caused it. No, I think she knows where Basho went.”

“Then why say otherwise?” Father Mateo asked.

Hiro smiled. “Because she doesn’t want us to find him.”