Chapter 31

“When? Father Mateo rose to his feet. Come in and tell us everything.”

Mume glanced at Kane. “I. . .”

“A married woman should not meet with two strange men alone, in a ryokan,” Kane said.

Understanding softened Father Mateo’s features. “Would she feel more comfortable if you remain with her?”

Instead of answering, Kane stepped across the threshold. Mume followed, still clutching her hands together but looking slightly more relieved.

“Tell us what happened,” Father Mateo said again, as Kane closed the shoji.

“Our silver—all we had—is gone.” Mume looked on the verge of tears.

“And you just discovered it missing?” the Jesuit asked.

“Right now—I mean, a few minutes ago.” Mume bit her lip. “When I went to the latrine.”

“You keep silver in the latrine?” Father Mateo seemed to find that difficult to believe.

“Not anymore,” Mume replied. “It’s gone.”

“But you kept it there, when you had some,” the Jesuit clarified.

“Taso said no one would look there for it.”

“Perhaps your husband took it with him,” Hiro suggested, “to keep it safe.”

“He would not have left the sack behind.” Mume bit her lower lip again.

Father Mateo took a step toward the door. “If you show us where it was, perhaps we can find a clue to its disappearance.”

Despite his intense desire to avoid a tour of Mume and Taso’s latrine, Hiro followed the others through the kitchen and out the door at the back of the ryokan.

When they reached the small, squat building adjacent to Taso’s home, Mume opened the door, revealing a hole in the ground surrounded by a narrow square of wooden boards. The pungent odor of human waste that emanated from the hole made Hiro glad that winter temperatures muted smells.

In summertime, the stench would kill an ox.

Father Mateo coughed and took a step backward.

Mume gestured to a pair of beams that supported the wooden roof. “Up there. You see the sack?”

A piece of limp, dark cloth hung over the side of the nearest beam.

Hiro stepped into the narrow space, reached up, and retrieved the bag. Its weight and flexibility left no doubt that it was empty.

“Last night, that bag had thirty silver coins.” Mume’s voice held an edge of desperation.

“Why did you keep your silver on a beam, where anyone could see it?” Father Mateo asked.

“We hid it against the beam.” Mume pointed to a dark place in the corner of the roof. “You could only see it if you knew. . .” She bit her lip, which had begun to quiver.

Hiro considered the latrine a ridiculous hiding place, but held his tongue. Shaming a woman in distress would serve no purpose.

Mume clasped her hands against her chest. “Please, sir. Ask your servant to return it.”

“Ana did not steal your silver,” Father Mateo said. “Even had she known where you hid it, she could not reach that beam.”

“Your servant did know where it was hidden,” Kane countered. “Mume and I discussed her silver after ours was stolen. We were in the ryokan kitchen, and your housekeeper was in there, cleaning, at the time.”

“Kane told me to move my silver.” Mume’s eyes filled up with tears. “But I forgot to tell Taso. Now it’s gone!” She began to cry.

“Ana did not do this,” Father Mateo repeated.

“Taso will be so angry,” Mume sobbed.

“I will speak to him on your behalf,” Father Mateo said. “This theft is not your fault.”

“If you will not acknowledge your servant’s guilt, and restore my sister’s silver, we will take the matter to Otomuro-sama,” Kane threatened.

“I will not call an innocent person guilty,” the Jesuit said, “but I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to catch the thief and recover your stolen silver.”

“I hate to suggest this,” Father Mateo told Hiro after their return to the ryokan, “but perhaps we should discuss these thefts with Ana.”

“How long has Ana worked for you?” Hiro asked.

Four years next spring.

“And has she ever given you the slightest reason not to trust her?”

“No.”

“So. Does it make more sense that Ana would risk her trusted position, not to mention her life, for a handful of silver, or that someone else in this village is a thief?” He laid a hand on the door. “While you think that over, I’m going to get some exercise.”

Hiro left the ryokan and walked to the empty rice field at the far end of the village near Otomuro’s mansion. A thin, ice-crusted layer of snow lay over the field, obscuring the stubbly remains of the stalks beneath. Hiro entered the field, drew his katana, and began the first of the samurai weapon forms he used in place of shinobi katas when training where other eyes could see. For over an hour, he forced himself to concentrate on movement, form, and steel.

By the time he stopped and sheathed his sword, his muscles burned and his robe was damp with sweat. The sun rested about a hand’s breadth above the pines in the west, bleached to a pale white disc by the hazy sky.

Hiro’s stomach snarled like an angry wolf.

As he returned to the ryokan, he hoped this evening meal would prove more edible than the last.

In the guest room, Father Mateo knelt on the floor with the Bible in his lap. Gato perched on the edge of the table, watching the book with hungry eyes.

The Jesuit pulled a cloth from his sleeve and sneezed.

“Do you want me to take Gato back to Ana?” Hiro asked.

“Hm.”

Hiro turned at the sound of the housekeeper’s voice. She stood behind him, holding a laden tray.

“I see you’re back in time to eat, as usual,” she said.

Hiro found the insult unexpectedly reassuring. “Did you cook?”

“The innkeeper asked me to prepare the evening meal early.” She stepped over the threshold. “So I can return to my room before dark.”

Hiro stepped aside. As Ana passed him with the tray, he caught the pungent scent of onions and the oily, slightly fishy smell of eel past its prime.

His stomach lurched and a lump rose in his throat.

“I am sorry about his accusations,” Father Mateo said, “and that they have imprisoned you unfairly.”

Ana set the tray on the table. “Do not apologize for someone else’s failings.” She straightened. “Just find the thief so we can leave for Edo.”

“We will,” the Jesuit said, “I promise. Thank you for preparing this meal, despite the circumstances.”

Hiro joined the Jesuit at the table.

In addition to a teapot and a pair of cups, the tray held two steaming bowls of golden broth laden with chunks of winter vegetables and topped with inch-wide strips of pale, ribbed flesh. Beside the eel-topped soup sat a pair of empty rice bowls and a covered circular container that undoubtedly held rice.

“Unagi soup?” Father Mateo asked.

“With eels ‘fresh caught today,’ if you believe the innkeeper’s wife.” Ana’s tone suggested she did not.

Hiro swallowed against the nausea that rose in his throat. He could barely eat fresh eel without gagging, and the smell suggested the one in the bowls was anything but fresh.

“I used every onion I could find.” Ana scooped Gato into her arms and started toward the door. “I hope it helps. There’s also rice, but not much else.”

“It is winter.” Father Mateo sounded apologetic.

“And too far from Kyoto to find any decent food.” Ana paused on the threshold. “I appreciate you watching Gato while I cooked. She can spend the night with me, so you don’t sneeze.”

“Not by her doing, anyway.” Father Mateo sniffed and forced a smile.