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wall.” Ana gave Hiro a rare nod of approval as she turned back toward the kitchen.
    “Three dozen arquebuses.” Luis continued the conversation as though Ana had not spoken. The merchant acknowledged servants only when he had no other choice. “The man has been having trouble with thieves and wanted to arm his guards.”
    “They want muskets instead of swords?” Father Mateo asked.
    Hiro thought the idea made good sense. A firearm beat a sword for stopping thieves.
    “You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” Luis said. He set down his bowl and chopsticks and poured himself a cup of tea. “Francis Xavier approved this trade to finance mission work in Japan, and if the former head of the Jesuit order didn’t mind you have no reason to object.”
    “Even you must see the irony in taking lives with one hand while the other tries to save them,” the priest replied.
    “The Japanese are quite capable of taking lives without my assistance,” Luis snorted. “They were hacking each other apart with swords long before we landed.”
    Father Mateo did not respond. It was an old argument, and not one he would win.
    The maid returned with a tray for Hiro. She set it down and disappeared without a word. As Father Mateo blessed the food, Hiro noted his own soup contained seven cubes of tofu—three more than usual—doubtless a reward for bringing the cat.
    “Where have you been this morning?” Luis asked.
    Father Mateo set down his bowl. “One of my converts was accused of killing a samurai.”
    Luis sipped his tea. “Did he?”
    “She,” Father Mateo corrected, “and no, she didn’t.”
    “Pity,” Luis said without feeling. “I take it you went to perform last rites? The murderous bastards doubtless killed her anyway.”
    “Actually, no. She has been granted two days to prove her innocence, and I’m going to help her do it.”
    “Why would you want to do that?”
    “Because if he doesn’t,” Hiro said, “the dead man’s son will kill him too.”
    Luis sputtered in surprise and lost his grip on the egg-shaped teacup. Hot liquid spilled down his doublet and onto his hose.
    “Pestilence!” Luis swore as he brushed at the stain. “I’ll have to change! Hiro, that isn’t funny.”
    Luis realized no one was laughing.
    “Mateo, please tell me he’s joking.”
    “It’s no joke,” Father Mateo said, “but we’ll find the killer in time.”
    “Blind faith won’t save you from swords.” Luis turned a sweaty glare on Hiro. “How could you let this happen? Why did you translate things that would get him killed!”
    “It’s not his fault,” Father Mateo said.
    “Get the magistrate to intervene,” Luis continued. “They’re always bragging about their powerful judges.”
    “The law allows a nobleman’s son to avenge his father’s death,” Father Mateo said. “If I don’t help, the girl is as good as dead.”
    “Then let her die,” Luis said. “What is she, anyway, some kind of prostitute?”
    “Entertainer,” Father Mateo corrected.
    “Prostitute,” Luis repeated as he hoisted himself to his feet. “Let her die. Leave town if you must. She’s not worth jeopardizing your work, or my profits.”
    Hiro watched in silence as Luis disappeared into his room. For the first time ever, he found himself agreeing with the merchant.
    He swallowed the last of his soup. As he set the empty bowl on the tray the scrap of paper from the teahouse scratched his arm inside his sleeve. He pulled it out to toss it in the fire, but at the last moment he snatched it back from the flames.
    The palm-sized fragment of parchment contained columns of names and figures written in a feminine hand. The lower edge was dark and smudged with dirt or ash but not actually burned.
    Teahouses kept careful records and never destroyed their ledgers. Hiro wondered why this one had been torn, and whether its destruction was intentional or merely coincidence.
    Given the ash, and Mayuri’s burned hand, he decided against