Claws of the Cat by Susan Spann Read Free Book Online Page B

find out how deeply they run.”
    *   *   *
     
    The House of the Floating Plums lay deep within the shadows of Pontocho, a tiny two-story teahouse squeezed between seedy-looking brothels. The overhanging upper floors of the buildings kept the earthen road in near-perpetual twilight, making it difficult to read the signs that identified businesses. Sunset would transform the dingy alley into a glittering paradise of paper lanterns, silk kimonos, and painted faces, but daytime Pontocho reminded Hiro of an aging prostitute without her makeup on.
    “This is it?” Father Mateo asked as they paused before the door.
    Hiro tried to see the teahouse as it looked through the Jesuit’s eyes. The pine façade had weathered to brownish-gray, with darker patches of rot beneath the eaves. The second story hung over the alley, almost touching the upper floor of the brothel across the street. No stone dogs or cherry trees adorned the entry. Instead, a hand-painted board read FLOATING PLUMS .
    “This is a brothel,” Father Mateo said.
    “Probably.” Hiro didn’t share the priest’s dismay.
    He knocked. Footsteps approached on the inside and a woman opened the door. Her plain blue kimono and narrow sash identified her as a servant. She bowed deeply at the sight of Hiro’s swords. As she straightened, she noticed the priest. Her mouth fell open in shock and her eyes grew wide. She covered her surprise with a second bow, though it didn’t give her quite enough time to recover her composure.
    “Is this the House of the Floating Plums?” Hiro asked.
    “Yes, sir, but I am sorry to say we do not open until evening. A thousand apologies. The girls are resting now.”
    “We are not customers,” Hiro said.
    The woman clasped her hands and bit her lower lip. Hiro understood her inner turmoil. She could not invite them in without incurring her mistress’s wrath, but leaving a samurai and a foreigner on the doorstep showed an appalling lack of hospitality.
    “We are here on official business,” Hiro added. “Please fetch your mistress.”
    The woman bowed and scurried away.
    “That was a lie,” Father Mateo said.
    Hiro raised an eyebrow at the priest. “Not as big as the one you told Nobuhide. Besides, I am on official business. Nobuhide is an official and I want to know his business.”
    The priest did not return his smile.
    Hiro grew frustrated. “I went along with your lie back at the teahouse.”
    “That was different. I told it to save Sayuri’s life.”
    “Which makes it all right with your god?”
    Father Mateo didn’t answer.
    Hiro laughed and the tension fell away. “I thought as much.” Then he grew serious. “I didn’t ask to get involved in this, and I still disagree with your decision, but we are involved now, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure that your head stays on your shoulders. A lie is only the beginning.”
    Hiro and Father Mateo stepped inside and seated themselves on the built-in wooden bench that ran along the left wall of the entry. Yellowish paper lined the wooden lattices. A smell of greasy smoke hung in the air, reminiscent of cheap food cooked too quickly and left out overnight.
    Ten minutes elapsed. Hiro passed the time by finding patterns in the stains on the walls.
    “I don’t think anyone is coming,” Father Mateo said at last.
    “The mistress would need time to dress and fix her makeup,” Hiro said. “She was probably still asleep.”
    A faint sound made Hiro look to the inner door. Moments later, a woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a silk kimono adorned with hand-painted butterflies. A purple silk obi glowed at her waist, and butterfly ornaments glittered in her graying hair. Her makeup did not quite hide the wrinkles around her eyes, though her cheeks and neck were smooth.
    Hiro bowed. “Good morning.”
    The woman frowned at the visitors. “You are not from the shogun or the magistrate. This establishment does not open until evening.”
    She gestured toward the