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crime.”
    Nobuhide must have told him not to mention murder.
    “Precisely the reason for our visit,” Hiro said. “Father Mateo Ávila de Santos, of the Portuguese foreign mission, is investigating the death of Akechi Hideyoshi.”
    The older d ō shin stepped back to clear the path, but the younger man stood up and blocked the way.
    “Foreigners have no jurisdiction here. This is a police matter.” His knuckles whitened as he clutched the jitte .
    “A police matter?” Hiro asked. “Under your jurisdiction?”
    The older man’s eyes shifted downward. The younger one drew his shoulders back and said nothing.
    “Who is your supervisor?” Hiro asked. He knew the answer. The question served a different purpose.
    “I don’t have to tell you that.”
    Hiro looked at the older d ō shin, raised an eyebrow, and waited.
    “Akechi Nobuhide,” he said, “ Yoriki of Pontocho.”
    “Pontocho.” Hiro glanced over his shoulder toward the bridge. “This teahouse lies outside Pontocho.”
    “That’s none of your business,” the younger d ō shin snapped. “Go away before I call the magistrate.”
    The words rolled off his tongue with the facility of frequent use.
    “A fine idea,” Hiro said politely.
    The d ō shin ’s eyes went wide as Hiro continued. “Magistrate Ishimaki ordered full police cooperation with the priest’s investigation, but I’m sure he won’t mind you interrupting his morning audience to ask for repetition of those instructions.”
    The young d ō shin narrowed his eyes and seethed. His older companion shifted from foot to foot. Policemen did not disagree with their partners in public, but the more experienced man seemed on the verge of speaking.
    At the garden gates, the other two men watched the scene with interest. They were too far away to hear the conversation, but would close the distance instantly if anyone drew a sword.
    The young d ō shin pointed his jitte at Hiro’s chest. “No funny business. When you leave, you leave alone. No companions and no parcels. Is that clear?”
    Hiro wanted to take the bully down a notch or two, but pragmatism required otherwise, for the moment at least. He bowed slightly and allowed the tension to defuse.
    “Thank you for your cooperation. You are indeed an example for your companions.”
    What kind of example, Hiro didn’t say.
    Instead, he nodded to the older d ō shin and followed the Jesuit up the path to the teahouse.

 
     
    Chapter 7
     
    Mayuri opened the door just as Father Mateo reached out to knock. He withdrew his hand awkwardly and lowered it to his side. Mayuri lowered her own hands even faster, but not before Hiro saw the dark smudges on her fingers and an angry burn on her left hand that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.
    Father Mateo noticed too. “Are you injured?”
    Mayuri pulled her hand into her sleeve. “It is nothing. I burned myself lighting a fire. The servant ran away when she heard about the murder—superstitious little fool. Why do you think I’ve answered the door myself all morning?”
    She cast a harried glance toward the road as though hoping the servant would return. As her eyes shifted back to Hiro, she forced a smile. “Did you forget something earlier?”
    Father Mateo bowed. “We hoped to speak with Sayuri.”
    “And also the other women who work in the house,” Hiro added.
    Mayuri’s smile wavered. “No one saw or heard anything. I spoke with each of them myself.”
    “Then it will be a short conversation,” Hiro said. “Thank you for accommodating us.”
    “It will take some time,” Mayuri said. “We are not prepared for company so early.”
    “We can talk with Sayuri while we wait.” Hiro smiled pleasantly, knowing the teahouse owner could not refuse without bringing more suspicion on herself.
    When she realized Hiro had no intention of leaving, Mayuri tilted her head in consent and turned to lead the men into the house. Her kimono rustled slightly, like a mouse in a sack of