Read Online Claws of the Cat by Susan Spann - Free Book Online

that hung from a ceiling beam. Steam rose from the kettle and mingled with the tendrils of woodsmoke that curled toward the ceiling.
    The hearth fire could have cooked a meal, and did in smaller homes, but the priest’s house had a separate kitchen beyond the oe, where Ana did the cooking. Father Mateo initially tried to help, but the elderly woman resented any intrusion or assistance, particularly from a man whose efforts she viewed as a fire hazard.
    The priest knelt before the hearth, in the position facing the door. He knelt directly on the tatami, like a Japanese would, without any cushion or chair. Hiro took the place to Father Mateo’s left, on the side of the hearth normally used by the other members of a family.
    The seat of honor to Father Mateo’s right was already occupied by the final member of the Jesuit’s household.
    Luis Álvares was a portly man with skin the color of wilted primroses and an unusually large, red nose that looked to Hiro like a cross between a berry and a gourd. He had long dark hair pulled back in a greasy ponytail and piggish brown eyes that missed only what their owner chose not to see. He wore a short-waisted, high-necked doublet and fitted hose that did no courtesies to his ample figure. Slashes in the doublet sleeves revealed a cream-colored blouse beneath.
    “Good morning, Mateo,” Luis said in Portuguese. He wiped his sweaty forehead with the hand that held his chopsticks.
    “And to you, Luis,” Father Mateo said. “I’m surprised you’re still here at this hour.”
    “Been to the warehouse and back already,” Luis said between mouthfuls. “One of the rice merchants made a major purchase.”
    “Curious,” Hiro said. “I wouldn’t think rice dealers had much use for firearms.”
    Luis looked down his nose at Hiro. “I sell more than weapons, you know.”
    “How are those textiles selling for you?” Hiro asked. “Wool, I believe you called them?”
    Luis made an exasperated noise. A grain of rice flew from his mouth and sizzled in the fire. “The Japanese refuse to buy it. Yesterday a woman had the nerve to tell me it smelled bad!”
    Hiro couldn’t agree more. Wool smelled like a three-day-old corpse. He couldn’t believe anyone wore it willingly, though the bolts in Luis’s warehouse suggested that someone considered it worth the trouble to produce and sell.
    “Silk kimonos are comfortable in this climate.” Father Mateo sounded almost apologetic.
    “I still can’t believe you wear that ridiculous native costume,” Luis said. “You look like a woman.”
    “You should try it,” Father Mateo replied. “It’s cooler than doublets and hose.”
    “And more difficult to rip,” Hiro added, with a pointed look at the merchant’s tunic.
    “My sleeves are made this way,” Luis said indignantly. “The style is very fashionable, though I suppose I shouldn’t expect a Japanese to understand.”
    “I’m afraid not.” Hiro smiled. “We ignorant natives prefer to buy new clothes instead of calling damaged ones ‘fashionable.’”
    Father Mateo changed the subject. “What did the merchant buy this morning?”
    Before Luis could reply Ana scurried in and set a tray on the floor in front of Father Mateo. It held a bowl of miso soup with tofu, a teapot, and a pair of chopsticks balanced on an ivory rest.
    She frowned at the men around the hearth. “Who brought that cat in?”
    The tortoiseshell kitten had followed her into the room. As she pointed in its direction, it turned around and streaked into Hiro’s room.
    Hiro and Father Mateo exchanged a look.
    “I did,” Hiro admitted, “as a present for Father Mateo.”
    He hoped Ana’s love for the Jesuit would prevent a scolding, but didn’t count on it.
    “Hm,” she said. “Is it staying?”
    “Yes?” Father Mateo asked.
    She nodded. “Good. When it grows up it will keep the mice away. It’s already started on the spiders.”
    “It eats spiders?” Hiro asked.
    “Plucks them right off the