Or was Iishino a criminal, trying to hide his guilt by destroying a man who might expose and destroy him?

Sano retrieved his horse and started down the road toward town. It was afternoon now; Kiyoshi would have had plenty of time to reflect on his dire situation. Perhaps he was ready to tell the truth about why he’d been in the cove last night, and supply answers that the suspects had not.

24

二四

“You can see Kiyoshi if you want, but don’t expect him to talk,” said the warden, leading Sano through Nagasaki Jail. “He hasn’t spoken a word to anyone since he arrived.”

In the prison’s dim corridors, ironclad doors studded dingy plaster walls. From behind these issued the wails of inmates, most of whom were convicted criminals awaiting execution. The air reeked of excrement, rotten food, and sickness. Patrolling jailers banged on the doors, ordering the inmates to shut up and behave. Sano tried not to picture himself and Hirata as prisoners. He would clear their names, and Kiyoshi was going to help him.

“He’s in here,” the warden said, unbarring a door. “Just call when you’re done, and I’ll come let you out.”

Sano entered the cell; the warden secured the door behind him. Except for a wastebucket in one corner, the room was unfurnished. Rain streaked past the single window at ceiling level and dashed the tile roof. A tray of rice and pickles sat beside Kiyoshi, who knelt in the middle of the dirty floor. Stripped of his swords and shoes, he wore a ragged muslin kimono and didn’t react when Sano spoke his name. Sano squatted across from the youth, shivering in his wet garments and the unpleasant chill exuded by the prison walls.

“Kiyoshi?” Sano repeated. “Can you hear me?”

The boy’s face seemed made of ivory, the handsome features sharp, pale, and devoid of animation. A split lip and bruised cheekbone added touches of livid color. His eyes focused inward; his hands lay motionless, palms down, upon his thighs. Yet Sano perceived an aura of agony radiating from Kiyoshi. All thought of using verbal or physical aggression to force the truth out of him fled Sano in a rush of sympathy. The boy’s lies had incriminated Sano, but also condemned himself to a disgraceful death.

“How are you feeling, Kiyoshi?” Sano asked quietly. “Are the jailers treating you well?”

No answer. The youth’s expression registered no sign that he even knew anyone was in the room with him. Sano, seeking a way to reach him, turned to the tray of food.

“It doesn’t look as if you’ve eaten,” he said. “Would you like to now?”

Then, seeing the condition of the food, he grimaced in disgust. The rice was burnt, the radish pickles moldy. A stale, sour smell arose from the mess.