Free Flask of the Drunken Master by Susan Spann Page A

“On the contrary, I am in your debt. You owe my family nothing, yet you help us. I hope I live to repay your generosity.”
    “We just hope you live,” Father Mateo said. “No thanks required.”
    Hiro nodded, grateful that the foreign priest could speak the words that etiquette denied a Japanese.
    *   *   *
    As Hiro and Father Mateo left, they found the elderly d ō shin waiting near the whipping posts.
    Hiro gestured toward Suke’s cage. “Why is the monk imprisoned?”
    “Him?” the d ō shin asked. “He’s just a drunk. Word has it, he embarrassed the yoriki . We have orders to keep him until this evening and then release him. No additional punishment. A few more hours in the cage, and he’ll go on his way.”
    The d ō shin looked at Father Mateo. “Does the foreigner speak Japanese well?”
    “A little,” Father Mateo said.
    The d ō shin looked impressed. “Your Japanese is very good. Are you new to Kyoto?”
    Father Mateo smiled. He had spoken only two words, but most Japanese seemed highly impressed to hear a Westerner say any words at all.
    “Thank you,” the Jesuit said. “I fear my Japanese is poor, and badly spoken.”
    Hiro approved of the priest’s response, which followed the proper self-deprecating manner for answering compliments. He also noted that Father Mateo passed over the question about his time in Kyoto.
    With good reason.
    The Jesuit mission in Kyoto catered to the samurai ruling class. Nobles would have disapproved of Father Mateo’s work among the commoners, so the Jesuit worked alone from his home on Marutamachi Road instead of living with the other priests. Father Mateo’s mission wasn’t secret, but the priest knew better than to draw unwanted samurai attention.
    “Are you enjoying the capital?” the d ō shin asked. “Where are you visiting from?”
    The Jesuit smiled. “Kyoto is a beautiful city. I have never seen a nicer one.”
    “Excuse us,” Hiro said, “we have business to attend to.”
    “Of course.” The d ō shin bowed. “Any place is better than downwind from the prisoners’ cages.”
    As they approached the gates, Father Mateo stopped. Hiro walked past the priest and turned, eyebrows raised in a silent question.
    Father Mateo nodded toward the entrance. “Isn’t that Akechi Yoshiko?”
    To Hiro’s surprise, the Jesuit was correct.
    A little over a year before, Hiro and Father Mateo solved the murder of Yoshiko’s father, retired samurai general Akechi Hideyoshi. The general had raised his only daughter as a samurai warrior, allowing her to dress—and act—like a man.
    Yoshiko hadn’t changed her appearance since her father’s death. If anything, she looked more masculine now than she had before. She wore a blue kimono bearing the five-petaled bellflower mon that symbolized the Akechi clan. With her hair drawn back in a samurai knot and a pair of swords at her side, only her unshaven pate revealed her gender.
    Yoshiko stood talking with the samurai guard at the gate.
    Hiro approached and bowed. Yoshiko returned the gesture instinctively, but as she straightened her eyes widened with recognition. She smiled a genuine smile.
    “Matsui Hiro,” Yoshiko said. “A pleasant surprise.”
    “Good morning Akechi- san ,” Hiro said. “I trust you also remember Father Mateo.”
    “Of course.” She bowed to Father Mateo. “Please, call me Yoshiko.”
    The woman’s tone seemed a bit too friendly, her smile a bit too bright. Worst of all, her eyes had a sparkle that made Hiro fear her interest in him went beyond professional courtesy.
    Before Hiro could find a way to avoid further conversation, Father Mateo said, “It’s nice to see you, Yoshiko. If you’ve finished your business here, we can walk together.”
    Her smile widened into a grin. “As it happens, I’ve just finished.” She looked at Hiro. “I would be delighted to walk with you.”
    Hiro fought the urge to turn around and return to the cages. He had seen a smile like that on