“I don’t understand why Magistrate Ishimaki changed his mind,” Father Mateo said as he and Hiro hurried toward the prison.
“Magistrates change their minds for many reasons,” Hiro said. “We need to hurry, not to speculate.”
A dōshin stopped them at the prison gates.
“What is your business here?” he asked.
“We wish to see a prisoner,” Hiro said. “The brewer, Ginjiro.”
“Come back later,” the dōshin said. “You cannot see him now.”
Hiro looked past the dōshin and saw Ginjiro tied to one of the whipping posts in the compound yard. The brewer was naked except for a loincloth. Shackles bound his hands to the top of the post. His body drooped and dark red stains traced jagged lines along his back.
No one stood nearby, suggesting a break in the interrogation.
“The questioning seems to be finished,” Father Mateo said.
Hiro appreciated the Jesuit’s use of “questioning” rather than “whipping” or “torture.” The priest objected to violent punishments, deserved or not, but antagonizing the dōshin now would not advance their cause.
The dōshin glanced over his shoulder as if confirming the Jesuit’s words. “He wouldn’t confess. We’re giving him time to reconsider his lack of cooperation.”
“An innocent man has nothing to confess,” the Jesuit said. “Besides, the magistrate suspended the brewer’s case.”
“He unsuspended it this morning,” the dōshin said. “New evidence changed his mind.”
“What kind of new evidence?” Father Mateo asked.
“How would I know?” The dōshin shrugged. “The magistrate doesn’t share his thoughts with me. I overheard the yoriki telling the prisoner.”
Hiro squared his shoulders and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. “We will speak with Ginjiro now. You have no authority to refuse the shogun’s special investigators.”
“You’re…” The dōshin bowed without finishing the statement. “A thousand apologies, noble sir. Of course you may enter at once.” He stepped aside and bowed again as Hiro stalked into the prison yard.
Father Mateo followed, though without the shinobi’s swagger.
When they left the guard behind, Father Mateo leaned toward Hiro and whispered in Portuguese, “What will happen when he learns we’re not the shogun’s men?”
“We’ll be gone before that happens,” Hiro whispered back.
Father Mateo didn’t look reassured.
The brewer stood before the post, head down and trembling slightly. The lines on his back looked darker and angrier, welts and bruises highlighted by streaks of blood.
Hiro smelled the salty scents of human blood and sweat. The odors caused an unexpected ache of sympathy, which made him pause—never once had he felt empathy for the guilty.
Although Ginjiro’s innocence remained an open question, Hiro found himself inclined to trust his instincts.
The brewer rested his forehead against the post, eyes shut and lips drawn tight against the pain. He didn’t look up as Hiro and Father Mateo approached, though sudden tension in his back revealed he heard their footsteps.
“Ginjiro, listen,” Hiro whispered. “Don’t reveal you know us.”
The brewer winced. “Tell me that my daughter isn’t with you.”
“No,” Hiro said, “but she knows what happened. She’s the one who told us we should come.”
Ginjiro sighed. “She must not ever come here again.”
“Why did they do this?” Father Mateo asked. “What made them beat you?”
“The yoriki claims I lied about killing Chikao,” Ginjiro said. “He demanded a confession. I wouldn’t give it.”
“Did you kill Chikao?” Hiro asked.
“Of course he didn’t!” Father Mateo said.
Ginjiro tilted his head, trying to look Hiro in the eye. “I did not, but I did lie to the yoriki.”
“Tell us,” Hiro said. “We need the truth, and we need it now.”
Ginjiro sighed again and nodded. “I might as well tell you, now that the magistrate knows.
“A month ago, or a little more, Chikao and Ren made an offer to buy my brewery. They wanted a better location, and they thought, if I sold them mine, the guild would approve their application on the spot. They wanted to buy my recipes, too, the entire business.
“I told them I didn’t want to sell. They left, and then, a few days later, Chikao returned alone. He tried again to make me sell. When I refused, he asked me to let Tomiko marry his son. As if I would consider such a thing…”
Ginjiro drew a deep, slow breath and exhaled with a gingerness that spoke of real pain.
“How did that provoke a beating?” Father Mateo asked.
Hiro frowned at the priest. “He hasn’t finished.”
The brewer closed his eyes and said, “I refused the offer and told Chikao I would never let my daughter wed his son.
“But Chikao and Ren would not accept my refusal. They came again—the last time, just three days before Chikao died. They asked for Tomiko as well as the shop. I told Chikao if he didn’t stop, I would withdraw my support for their application to join the brewers’ guild, and also do everything in my power to ensure the za refused them membership.
“I lost my temper. I made a foolish threat—but I didn’t mean it. Not the way it sounded, anyway.”
“How did Chikao respond?” Hiro asked.
“He swore to make me change my mind.” Ginjiro looked at the ground. “I told him I would like to see him try.”
“Did he fight you?” Hiro asked.
“No.” Ginjiro shook his head. “He made an excuse and left.”
“Why didn’t you explain all this before?” Father Mateo asked.
“I didn’t think it really made a difference,” Ginjiro said. “I didn’t kill Chikao. We argued, spoke unpleasant words. Men argue with each other all the time.”
“Perhaps,” Hiro said, “but most men’s arguments do not end in murder.”