Free Flask of the Drunken Master by Susan Spann Page B

a woman’s face before. Given his aversion to Akechi Yoshiko, Hiro already knew this walk would end in an awkward scene.

 
    Chapter 16
    “What brings you to the prison?” Father Mateo asked Yoshiko as they walked along the narrow street. “I hope nothing has happened to your relatives?”
    “I went to the prison on business,” Yoshiko said. “After we finished mourning my father, I went to work for the Sakura Teahouse.”
    Hiro tried to imagine the samurai woman dressed as a painted entertainer from Kyoto’s floating world. His mind refused the image.
    Father Mateo looked even more disturbed.
    Yoshiko laughed at the priest’s confusion. Amusement softened her features, but not enough to make her attractive.
    “Not as an entertainer,” she said. “I collect the teahouse debts. I also handle collections for several merchants.”
    Hiro found it odd that she spoke so openly of her work. Most samurai considered a job a humiliating necessity. Worse, most debt collectors were commoners, making collections a shameful occupation for samurai.
    Then again, Yoshiko’s very existence flouted the rules of samurai conduct. Her choice to live an independent life should not surprise him.
    Hiro respected that independence, even though he found the woman personally repellant.
    “You’re a debt collector?” Father Mateo asked.
    Hiro caught the surprise in the Jesuit’s tone.
    “Yes.” Yoshiko glanced at Hiro. “I find it pays quite well.”
    “Does your mother object to your employment?” Father Mateo asked.
    Once again, the Jesuit had blundered into a social error. Family conflict wasn’t a permitted topic of conversation among the Japanese. Not for people outside the family, anyway.
    Hiro gave the priest a warning look.
    “Mother doesn’t know,” Yoshiko said, “and I would appreciate your discretion, if you see her in the street.”
    Hiro found the answer surprising—not for its content, but because Yoshiko spoke the words aloud.
    “After my father’s death,” she continued, “the shogun terminated our stipend. We had bills but no income with which to pay them.”
    Yoshiko paused and looked at Hiro. “It appears I, too, am ronin now.”
    “Doesn’t your mother ask where the money comes from?” Father Mateo asked.
    “That is not our business,” Hiro said. “Forgive my employer. He forgets his manners.”
    “His questions do not offend,” Yoshiko said. “I am different from other women. It is normal for men to wonder.
    “Do you visit the prison often? I haven’t seen you there before.”
    Hiro glanced at Father Mateo, giving the priest permission to answer.
    “No,” the Jesuit said, “I’ve never been there before today.”
    “Visiting a friend?” Yoshiko asked.
    Father Mateo nodded. “Ginjiro, the brewer.”
    Hiro closed his eyes and stifled a sigh. Yoshiko had set a trap and the priest didn’t see it coming.
    “Of course,” Yoshiko said. “He doesn’t seem the type to commit a murder.”
    Hiro wondered how she knew the nature of the brewer’s crime.
    “We don’t believe he’s guilty, either,” Father Mateo said. “In fact, Matsui- san and I are trying to help the family prove his innocence.”
    “As you identified my father’s killer?” Yoshiko held Hiro’s gaze a little longer than necessary.
    “Nothing that complicated.” Hiro forced a smile and glanced at the priest. “In fact, it’s not important enough to discuss.”
    The conversation flagged, but Yoshiko didn’t leave as Hiro hoped. Instead, she matched the shinobi’s pace, in what she seemed to consider friendly silence.
    Tension crept up Hiro’s back. Yoshiko’s bearing indicated an interest that transcended mere acquaintance. He hoped he misinterpreted her bearing and proximity, but Hiro had seen—and refused—too many women’s advances to be wrong.
    He wondered how to free himself of Yoshiko before they reached Ginjiro’s. Hiro needed to talk with Tomiko, but didn’t want to give the female samurai