Claws of the Cat by Susan Spann Page A

substitution of “temple” for “church,” a deliberate choice on Father Mateo’s part, and one the shinobi had not taught him, though Hiro approved of it more each time he heard it. Kyoto had hundreds of temples dedicated to many deities. One more caused neither confusion nor concern.
    “That would be very nice,” Hidetaro said politely. “Every god should have a temple.”
    They sipped their tea. Hidetaro sampled a rice ball and made a surprised sound. “These are good!”
    The compliment seemed genuine but the comment sounded forced. Hiro suspected Hidetaro wanted to explain the point of his visit, though convention prevented him from speaking directly until the host invited him to do so.
    Hiro raised his eyebrows at Father Mateo.
    “My condolences on your brother’s death,” the Jesuit said. “Can I do anything to help you in this difficult time?”
    Hiro noted with approval that the priest didn’t ask why Hidetaro had come, or how the samurai learned about their involvement in the murder. He was learning subtlety after all.
    Hidetaro looked at Hiro, “Can I trust the foreigner’s discretion?”
    “His religion forbids repetition of information told in confidence,” Hiro said. “If he reveals a secret, his god will banish him to the Hell of Everburning Flames forever.”
    Hidetaro leaned back and blinked in surprise at the mention of eternity. Buddhist hells were only temporary. After a brief pause he blurted out, “Sayuri is not responsible for Hideyoshi’s death.”
    Hiro gave him a sideways look. “Why do you say that?”
    Hidetaro’s gaze flickered to the hearth and back. “I just know. She would not kill him.”
    “Was she in love with him?” Hiro watched Hidetaro’s reaction carefully.
    “No.” The samurai’s face revealed nothing. His posture did not change.
    “She entertained him often,” Hiro said. “Perhaps she was.”
    “No,” Hidetaro repeated. He seemed to be struggling with something.
    Just before Hiro asked another pressing question Hidetaro said, “I am the one she loves. In fact, I had made arrangements to buy her contract and marry her.”
    Hidetaro’s words sounded genuine and he met Hiro’s eyes when he spoke, but his shabby clothes and aging face made the claim improbable at best. Hiro saw another problem too, but etiquette didn’t allow him to broach that subject.
    “Hideyoshi didn’t mind?” Father Mateo asked. “After all, he visited her often.”
    Hiro almost choked on his tea. It was precisely the question he never would have asked. He wondered whether the Jesuit was relying on his foreignness to excuse the indelicate question or whether the priest was really so socially ignorant. He suspected the former, but a glance at the priest revealed nothing. As always, Father Mateo’s face wore a pleasant and honest smile.
    “No more than I minded his visits to her,” Hidetaro said.
    The ambiguous response was worthy of a shinobi. Hiro hadn’t expected such facility from a samurai.
    “Hideyoshi enjoyed Sayuri’s company,” Hidetaro continued, “but he wanted me to buy her contract. He thought she deserved a better life than a teahouse.”
    “He didn’t mind his brother marrying an entertainer?” Hiro asked. Samurai honor forbade most marriages to people outside the samurai class.
    Hidetaro shifted slightly. “Until a few months ago, I wanted to become a Buddhist monk. In Yoshi’s eyes, any marriage was preferable to that.”
    Samurai did not discuss family issues in public. The hint alone ended the conversation and made the ensuing silence awkward.
    At last, Father Mateo said, “His death must have come as a terrible shock.”
    “Yes,” Hidetaro said. “I learned of it this morning, at the teahouse. Mayuri would not take my payment. She said she could not accept it because Nobuhide intends to execute Sayuri. She also told me about your investigation and that you hoped to prove Sayuri innocent.”
    “Did you see Sayuri?” Hiro asked.
    “No.