Hiro slid his shoji open as Suke appeared in the doorway separating the narrow foyer from the oe. The monk looked startled by the people in the common room.
Father Mateo walked toward Suke. “Good evening. Welcome to my home.”
Suke looked from the priest to the gathered people. “Where is Hiro-san?”
Ana stepped into the common room from the kitchen entrance, opposite the one where Suke stood. A dusting of rice flour on her hands indicated a tasty snack in progress, probably for after the prayer meeting. The housekeeper’s gaze settled on Suke and dropped to his filthy feet.
Suke shifted nervously. Crumbs of something fell from his kimono to the floor.
Ana slowly turned to Hiro. She caught his eye and shook her head, lips set in a line that boded ill for Hiro’s gastronomic future. He wondered how many sweetened rice balls Suke’s visit cost him.
He stifled a sigh. He would miss the tasty snacks.
Father Mateo’s parishioners stared at Hiro and the monk. One of the older women looked nervous; the others just seemed confused.
Hiro wished that Suke had arrived a little later. The shinobi stayed away from Father Mateo’s religious meetings, mostly so the converts wouldn’t ask why Hiro didn’t care about the foreign god. To his credit, Father Mateo didn’t seem to mind Hiro’s absence. A decision not to pray was not the same as showing disrespect.
Hiro felt no guilt about rejecting Father Mateo’s god and faith. The unknown benefactor who hired the Iga ryu—and Hiro—did not make religion part of the job assignment. All he asked—and paid for—was a man to guard the priest.
Suke noticed Hiro and lit up with recognition. He bowed with such excitement that he almost tumbled over. “Hiro-san, we need to speak … alone.”
Father Mateo’s converts shifted. Rudeness made most Japanese uneasy.
Suke blinked and looked around. “Who are all these people?”
Hiro gestured toward his door. “Please come this way. We can speak in private.”
Suke surveyed the room. “Is this a meeting?” He bowed to a woman who knelt nearby. “Good evening, Miss. Is this a dinner party?”
The woman wore her obi tied in front, which marked her as a prostitute. She had a narrow face and deep-set eyes. When she smiled, her face showed real kindness.
“No,” she said. “We gather here to worship Jesus God. Do you know Him?”
“I’m on a first-name basis with all the kami.” Suke straightened proudly, though a wobble drained the dignity from his pose.
The woman gave Suke a sorrowful look. “Kami are evil spirits, trying to lead your soul astray.” She patted the floor beside her. “Sit. I will tell you of the real god.”
Suke glanced at Hiro, clearly torn between his errand and the prostitute’s attention.
“We’ll have snacks and tea together afterward,” she promised.
Suke’s head snapped toward the woman. “Sake?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “God disapproves of people drinking sake.”
“What kind of selfish god keeps all the sake for himself?” Suke demanded. “Never mind. I haven’t time. I’m on important business. No distractions.”
Suke crossed the floor and entered Hiro’s room.
Hiro gave Father Mateo an apologetic look. The Jesuit smiled and nodded.
Hiro stepped back into his room and slid the shoji closed behind him.
Suke knelt beside the open door that led to the veranda. Gato sat on Hiro’s futon, staring at the monk. She leaned toward Suke and inhaled, lips apart as if to taste the air.
She sneezed.
Suke laughed at the cat.
Gato stood and shook herself, offended by the laughter. She gave the monk a disdainful look, stalked to the other side of the mattress, and cleaned herself with a vigor that, in a human, would show chagrin.
Hiro knelt. Under the circumstances, he dispensed with formal greetings. “You have news?”
“Urgent news,” Suke said. “This afternoon, the jailers whipped Ginjiro!”
When Hiro didn’t respond at once, Suke said, “I see your shock. Magistrate Ishimaki changed his mind.”
Hiro reminded himself that Suke believed his “news” would help.
“Yes,” Hiro said. “I heard about the beating. In fact, I visited the prison this afternoon.”
Suke frowned, eyebrows drawn together and lips pushed out like a petulant child’s. “How can I help if you learn all the information before I do?”
Hiro struggled not to smile at Suke’s genuine disappointment. “I appreciate your help. It’s quite important.”
“It is?” Suke’s smile returned. “I’ll find the next clue first.” The smile faded. “Hiro-san, we have to help Ginjiro. Never once has he refused me food—or sake—even when nobody pays him for it. Some nights, Tomiko brings food to the alley after closing. Ginjiro watches from behind the door. He is generous and kind. I can’t believe he killed a man in anger.”
“I agree,” Hiro said, “but our opinions will not save Ginjiro. We need proof to show the magistrate.”
“I will think of a way to find some proof.” Suke closed his eyes. His forehead furrowed as he searched his addled brain.
Hiro contemplated the errand he would run when Suke left. A sliver of moon hung low in the sky, making concealment easier. Hiro appreciated that advantage, especially with nervous warriors guarding Kyoto’s streets.
Gato stepped off the bed and approached the monk, ears pricked forward and tail extended. She sniffed the air, nose twitching at the unfamiliar odors emanating from the stranger’s robe.
Suke opened his eyes but didn’t move. The cat extended her whiskers until they grazed Suke’s left knee. The monk’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smile. Gato lowered her nose and sniffed at one of the greasy spots that dotted the monk’s kimono like fleas on a dog.
Then, to Hiro’s horror, Gato licked it.