“ ‘Madam Kihara, I must tell you something for your own good, your own good.’ ” Head bobbing, eyes and smile wide, she did an excellent imitation of Iishino. “ ‘You shouldn’t smoke; it’s unfeminine, and the pipe draws attention to your missing teeth.’ The gall of that man!” Madam Kihara jabbed her needle into the cloth. “During the miai, I had to burn his arm with my pipe whenever he started to speak, so he wouldn’t offend the Nagai family.”

Hirata laughed at this amusing picture, despite his burgeoning need to reclaim his weapons and be gone. “But you couldn’t have hidden Iishino’s problem forever. And surely the Nagai could have found a better match for the girl, even if she was born unlucky. Why did they accept Iishino’s proposal?”

“For the same reason Governor Nagai and other officials tolerate him: He buys the favor of people he wants to impress, with gifts.”

That might explain why Iishino needed loans. Perhaps Iishino borrowed money to cover his purchases, then paid his debts when he received a share of the smuggling profits. Maybe Peony had seen him remove goods from Deshima. But the interpreter had no apparent motive for killing Jan Spaen; there was no evidence to tie him to Spaen’s murder, or Peony’s. And without this, the tribunal wouldn’t believe he’d framed Sano.

“Please excuse me for rambling on so long,” Madam Kihara said. “Let’s talk about you now. Who are your people? What is your income? Do you expect to inherit any property? Speak up, don’t be shy. Any good family will require this information before they consider a proposal from you.”

Just as Hirata was wondering how to make a graceful exit, he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor, and men’s voices: “ … fugitive … reason to believe he’s posing as a dōshin … possible sightings reported … headed this way …”

Aghast, Hirata bolted toward the outer door, reaching automatically for his jitte and sword—which were still sitting on the shelf in the entryway.

“What’s wrong, young master?” The pipe fell out of Madam Kihara’s gaping mouth. “Where are you going?”

“Forgive me, madam,” Hirata stammered, sliding open the door. Panic arced through him when he saw three samurai searching the garden. One was the paunchy guard from Sano’s mansion. Hirata leapt back into the house, but too late.

“There he is!” shouted the guard.

All three men rushed Hirata. At the same time, four more entered the reception room, swords drawn, trapping him.

“How dare you attack my guest?” Madam Kihara demanded. “Get out!”

“This man is a fugitive from the law,” the leader told her. To Hirata he said, “Come along easy, and you won’t get hurt.”