“Not without cause.” Hiro infused his voice with unfelt warmth. “Not over money. I know you better than that, Yoshiko. You wouldn’t stoop to such an act.”
A flush rose in the samurai woman’s cheeks, but not from anger.
Hiro startled as someone grabbed his arm. He turned, fist cocked, but relaxed when he recognized Suke at his side.
“Do not grab me,” Hiro said. “I almost hurt you.”
A smile lit Suke’s face. “You wouldn’t hit me, Hiro-san. I need your help.”
“Just a moment,” Hiro said.
“I need you now,” Suke insisted. “Urgent business.”
Yoshiko gave Hiro the smile a woman gives her husband when their children play at mischief. “Please, do not make him wait on my account. I apologize for misunderstanding your intent. I was not aware you knew my heart so well.”
Hiro gave her a smile that he remembered from the days when he actually cared to understand a woman’s heart. From the look in Yoshiko’s eyes, he faked the feeling well.
“Please excuse me,” Yoshiko said with a dip of her head and a genuine smile. “We can continue our conversation later. I don’t know any more about the matter you mentioned, but I will gladly help you investigate if I can.”
Yoshiko knelt up onto the brewery floor.
The samurai at the counter stood up and turned to leave. His eyes widened at the sight of Yoshiko approaching. As soon as Tomiko returned his sword, the samurai hurried out of the brewery and scurried into the night. Hiro wondered whether the man thought Yoshiko frightening on her own account or whether he owed a debt and was afraid she had come to collect it.
Suke tugged on Hiro’s sleeve and dragged the shinobi toward the alley. Hiro lengthened his steps to keep the pace. He didn’t want his kimono torn, and Suke’s grip seemed strangely tight for a man of advancing age and drunken tendencies.
When they reached the relative privacy of the alley, Hiro asked, “What’s going on?”
In the dim light, Hiro saw the whites of Suke’s eyes grow large. “I found important evidence—of the crime!”
The monk peered around the shinobi, as if to see that no one followed them from the street. Satisfied, he leaned toward Hiro and whispered, “The woman you arrived with is a debt collector. She beats up men who do not pay. Chikao was beaten to death—I think she did it!”
“You think so?” Hiro asked.
“That’s why I rescued you,” Suke said, “before she could attack you too.”
“She might attack me,” Hiro said, “but not the way you’re thinking.”
Suke tilted his head in confusion. “What?”
“Never mind,” Hiro said. “The fact that Chikao was beaten to death does not mean Yoshiko killed him. We have to connect the killer with the crime.”
“But how?” Suke asked.
“With evidence,” Hiro said. “Facts that put the killer in this alley at the time Chikao died.”
Suke frowned. “I think she did it. I will keep an eye on her and find the evidence we need.”
“Be careful,” Hiro warned. “A suspicious killer hides his tracks.”
“Don’t worry.” Suke nodded. “I am sneaky. She won’t even know I’m watching.”
Hiro doubted Suke’s form of stealth could fool a child. “Good. Remember, the less you watch, the better.”
“I did well, though, figuring out she’s a debt collector?” Suke looked anxious.
Hiro smiled. “Yes, you did. That’s very helpful.”
“Good enough, perhaps, to merit payment?” Suke asked.
Hiro grinned at the monk’s transparency. “Of course. A flask of sake?”
They left the alley as Yoshiko stepped out of the brewery and tucked a stoppered flask in her kimono. Hiro only saw the flask for a moment, but its color and lacquered surface indicated it hadn’t come from Ginjiro’s stock.
“Is that a wooden flask?” he asked.
Yoshiko frowned. “I can afford a stoneware one. I carry the wooden type by choice. It doesn’t break as easily.”
And, also, makes a better weapon, Hiro thought.
She gave the shinobi an awkward smile. “Speaking of which, you were correct. Starting tomorrow, after dinner, I will guard the brewery until Ginjiro … well, until the magistrate hears his case.”
Before Hiro could reply, a voice behind him said, “Good evening, Matsui-san.”
He turned to see a commoner, a man in his early forties with wiry, muscled arms and a slender build. The man wore the clothes of a carpenter, and his cropped hair glittered with silver that he didn’t bother to hide with colored oils.
Hiro nodded in recognition. “Good evening, Master Carpenter Ozuru.”
He used the man’s official title, though Hiro knew this carpenter was more than he appeared.
Ozuru’s gaze shifted to Yoshiko. He bowed. “Good evening.”
Hiro noted the omission of gender-specific honorifics. Ozuru knew better than to offend by choosing poorly.
“Good evening,” Yoshiko said. “I will not delay you further, Hiro. I look forward to seeing you at dinner tomorrow night.”
A slow smile crept over Ozuru’s face as he watched Yoshiko stroll away. He turned to Hiro. “Charming woman.”
Hiro didn’t return the smile. “You might think differently if you knew her well.”
“I’ll trust your judgment.” Ozuru glanced at the brewery. “We need to talk. Not here.”
“I need a minute.” Hiro caught Tomiko’s eye, withdrew a coin from his kimono, and held it high. “Give Suke a drink, and see that he eats tonight?”
Tomiko nodded.
Hiro handed the coin to a customer at the near end of the counter. The man put the silver into Tomiko’s hand.
Suke gave Hiro a one-toothed grin as he climbed into the brewery. “A thousand blessings on you, Hiro-san. The kami will remember your generosity forever.”
Hiro faced Ozuru. “Shall we walk?”
The shinobi matched the carpenter’s rapid pace through the crowded streets. Neither spoke, though Hiro didn’t wonder why. Ozuru clearly intended his message for Hiro’s ears alone.
The men had met two months before, when Hiro investigated the death of a ranking shogunate clerk. The carpenter—a shinobi from the rival Koga ryu—was neither Hiro’s ally nor his enemy. As a result, Hiro followed Ozuru with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
When they reached the Kamo River, Ozuru turned south as if to follow the path along the river bank. Hiro turned the other way and headed north.
Ozuru paused, then altered course and fell in step at Hiro’s side. Hiro relaxed a fraction. Compliance with a change in plan suggested Ozuru didn’t intend an ambush.
As they walked along the river, Ozuru said, “Your actions have enraged the shogun. Matsunaga Hisahide wants to know what made you break your word.”
“Matsunaga Hisahide is not the shogun,” Hiro said. “More importantly, what promise have I broken?”
“You know which promise,” Ozuru said. “Luis Álvares, the Portuguese merchant who shares a house with your Jesuit friend, has sold a shipment of firearms to the Miyoshi. You promised Hisahide you would prevent this.”
Hiro remembered his promise, and the circumstances surrounding it, with clarity. He made the bargain with Matsunaga Hisahide on the night the shogun died. The promise saved at least two lives, one of them Father Mateo’s.
“That wasn’t the agreement,” Hiro said. “I promised Luis wouldn’t sell to Lord Oda. The deal did not include the Miyoshi clan.”
Ozuru gave Hiro a sideways look. “Shogun Matsunaga has changed the deal.”
“Matsunaga-san is not the shogun,” Hiro repeated. “The Ashikaga clan retains the shogunate.”
“For now.” Ozuru paused. “You know as well as I do that the Ashikaga heir is still an infant. You also know how easily a child can meet an accident.”
“Especially with men like Matsunaga-san around.” Hiro changed the subject. “Why does he object to the Miyoshi buying firearms? The last I heard, he swore allegiance to their clan.”
“Not anymore,” Ozuru said. “Matsunaga-san broke his oath and declared his intent to keep Kyoto, and the shogunate, for himself. Daimyo Miyoshi did not take this news well.”
Hiro understood. “The Miyoshi want the foreign firearms to start a war.”
Ozuru paused beneath a tree. “This sale will have unpleasant consequences, for the city, for the merchant, and for the Jesuit you guard. Do not deny your function. I know a hired guardian when I see one.”
“This does not concern the priest,” Hiro said. “Luis is a merchant. He sells to whomever he wishes—with the admitted exception of Lord Oda. You tell Matsunaga-san I reject his expansion of our agreement and will not tolerate threats to the foreign priest.”
Ozuru lowered his voice. “You fail to understand. Matsunaga Hisahide did not send me here. I came to warn you—brother to brother—a dangerous wind is blowing.”
“Perhaps,” Hiro said, “but the Portuguese merchant is not a kite. He does not have to obey prevailing winds.”
“You must see that he does,” Ozuru said, “or the coming storm will tear the merchant and the priest to shreds.”
Hiro said nothing.
“Heed my warning,” Ozuru hissed. “You may not get another.”