“That’s funny; I don’t recall your name turning up during my investigation of Iishino.” Madam Kihara squinted at Hirata through the haze of smoke. Already too warm, he began to sweat. Could she tell he was lying? Then Madam Kihara coughed and shrugged. “Ah, well … I can’t track down everyone a man has ever known, and it doesn’t matter, as long as I don’t miss any important contacts. And the negotiations did turn out well.”

She preened. “Interpreter Iishino married the governor’s niece. And the Nagai clan got rid of a girl who was born in the year of the horse—very unlucky.” Madam Kihara refilled her pipe. “Now, tell me, young master: Have you any references who can vouch for your character?”

Hirata was growing nervous, trapped in this stuffy room, unarmed, while the troops scoured the city for him. He wondered what Sano was doing. He thought of the Dutch ship sitting in the harbor like a bomb ready to explode, and the tribunal magistrates who would arrive in Nagasaki in two days. And to continue the charade would only increase his chance of exposing his fraud.

“Before we talk about me,” he said, “I need to know what kind of information you give clients about prospective matches. For instance, what did your investigation turn up on Interpreter Iishino?”

Madam Kihara frowned. “The results of my investigations are confidential.” She paused, and Hirata waited, hoping that the enjoyment of learning and reporting facts about people was why she arranged marriages instead of idling away her time like most rich old ladies. “ … However, since you’re an old acquaintance of Iishino, it can’t hurt to use him as an example of what I can do for you.”

“Interpreter Iishino’s service record was spotless.” Madam Kihara picked up her embroidery and began to stitch. Hirata’s heart dropped, then swelled with hope as she continued, “His salary is twenty koku—higher than usual for a man of his rank—but he often takes out loans.” She named last year’s total, a sum almost equal to the cash equivalent of his rice-based government stipend. “He always pays the money back promptly, though. He frequents the pleasure quarter but has no regular courtesan; he likes variety.”

Hirata wondered why Iishino merited a high salary. Because he performed dubious tasks—like smuggling—at his superior’s behest? Why did he need loans, and how did he repay them? Did Iishino patronize the Half Moon Pleasure House, where Peony had died?

“Iishino’s prospects were very solid,” Madam Kihara went on. “Dutch is a valuable skill. His only real fault is his personality—he’s the most irritating man I’ve ever met!” She stitched, puffed, and grimaced. “Do you know what he said to me?”