Iishino tried to step around Sano, failed, then grimaced in resignation. “I know you’re thinking maybe I killed the barbarian, sōsakan-sama. But I didn’t. I liked Spaen the way I do all the Dutch—they’re my friends.” At Sano’s surprised look, he amended hastily, “Oh, not in any improper way; I never favor barbarians. But I enjoy being with them. You see, they have no choice but to accept my company. They have to listen to me and talk to me. They can’t run away when they see me coming, or brush me off the way other people do.”

He sighed, and his face took on a mournful cast. “All my life I’ve had difficulty making friends. When I was young, the other boys at the temple school shunned me and played cruel jokes on me. One night they carried my bed outside while I was sleeping and put it beside the river. When I got up, I fell in the water and almost drowned. Learning the Dutch language was my salvation, my salvation. If not for the barbarians, I would be a very lonely man. And Jan Spaen was nice to me. He told me about his adventures. He followed my advice when I taught him how to behave in this country. I would never have done anything to hurt him.”

Hearing the pained sincerity in Iishino’s voice, Sano felt an unexpected rush of pity for the interpreter. He hadn’t realized how much Iishino minded being disliked; some obnoxious men were unaware of the antipathy they inspired, or indifferent to it. How sad that a Japanese should turn to foreigners for friendship because his countrymen shunned him.

“You might be more popular if you stopped being so bossy and critical,” Sano suggested.

The interpreter’s wide eyes blinked in surprise. “But it’s my duty to correct people when they’re doing something wrong,” he said with self-righteous pomp. His head bobbed emphatically. “If they don’t appreciate my advice, it’s because they’re too sensitive or proud to benefit from my superior wisdom.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t always assume that your wisdom is superior,” Sano said, though he saw the futility of trying to change Iishino’s attitude. The interpreter seemed destined to remain friendless. “You can’t be right all the time.”

“I beg to differ—at least in your case, sōsakan-sama.” Iishino grinned smugly. “Because you should have heeded my warning against getting too close to the barbarians. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in all this trouble.”

He dodged around Sano and scurried up the hill toward the burial ground. As Sano watched him go, he glimpsed other possible motives for Iishino’s actions. Did the interpreter so greatly resent the universal rejection of his advice and friendship that he’d taken revenge on Sano, a convenient target? Were both Iishino and Ohira pawns of Governor Nagai and Chamberlain Yanagisawa?