Sano held the lamp to the crevice and saw an ascending passageway. The lamp’s flame wavered in a cool draft. “A tunnel. The smugglers must use it to carry the loot away. They have a head start on us, but maybe we can still catch them.”

But before he and Hirata could enter the tunnel, they heard sounds outside the mouth of the cave: the rustle and snap of tree branches, then footsteps clattering over the rocky shore.

20

二十

Sano put down the lamp and crept along the ledge to the cave’s mouth, Hirata behind him. The footsteps outside drew closer. Now Sano could hear the intruder’s harsh, rapid breaths. A hand groped at the wall of the cave; a sandaled toe probed for the ledge. When the intruder’s leg came into view, Sano grabbed it and yanked hard.

With a startled cry, the intruder thudded to the ground outside the cave. Sano lunged out and threw himself on the intruder, who shrieked and flailed. In a tangle of thrashing limbs, they rolled over the rocks. Sano banged his head and caught a blow to his jaw. His opponent struck his wounded shoulder, and he gasped. But the man was smaller and lighter than he. Sano grabbed the man’s right wrist before he could draw his sword and quickly pinned him to the ground, faceup in the moonlight. Surprise shot through Sano as he saw handsome, youthful features, distorted with terror.

“Kiyoshi?” he said. Was Chief Ohira’s son a smuggler—or Jan Spaen’s killer?

In the woods above them, branches crackled; voices rumbled. “More smugglers,” Hirata said. “I’ll catch them.” He scaled the rocks and disappeared into the dark forest.

Kiyoshi struggled. Sano kept a knee planted on his stomach and his hands immobilized. “Who sent you? Who are you working for? What do you know about the smuggling?”

The boy’s chest heaved with panicky breaths. “Please, let me go,” he begged. “I have to stop—I have to warn—I mean, I don’t know anything.”

Sano thrust his weight against Kiyoshi. “Who killed Jan Spaen? Was it you?”

“No, no!”

Bright light swept over them, and the sound of running footsteps echoed in the night. Sano tensed; Kiyoshi moaned.

“There they are!” male voices shouted.

Down a path from the forest tramped a band of samurai. The four leaders held flaming torches; their helmets bore the Nagasaki harbor patrol insignia. Then came two dōshin armed with jitte, accompanied by assistants who carried clubs, spears, and ropes. Last strode Yoriki Ota. Quickly they surrounded Sano and Kiyoshi.

“So. Kiyoshi. And Sōsakan Sano.” Ota glared down at them, his face ruddy in the torchlight. To his men, he said, “Arrest them.”