A search for better witnesses to the arson proved futile, but the god of luck did grant Sano two compensatory blessings. His money, sealed in a fireproof iron chest, had survived the fire. And when he left the site, no one followed: News of his survival had not yet reached his enemies. He hurried to take advantage of his temporary autonomy.

He gave his long sword to the street headman for safekeeping. In the merchant district, he replaced his burnt clothes with a short cotton kimono, wide straw hat, sandals, leggings to cover the bandages on his burns, and a baggy cloak to hide his short sword. At a ropemaker’s, he bought a coil of straw cable and attached to it an iron hook purchased from a blacksmith. He tied the rope around his waist under his cloak, then headed for the waterfront.

A diminishing stream of evacuees made their way toward the hills; many shops were already closed, houses shuttered and empty. Sano surveyed the view and cursed under his breath. Troops still occupied the promenade, docks, and beach. Sentries still guarded the Deshima guardhouse and bridge; watchboats still circled the island. The evidence Sano needed to incriminate the smugglers and clear himself and Hirata was on Deshima. But how to get there?

Past Sano trudged water bearers, each with two wooden buckets suspended from a pole on his shoulder. Sano’s interest roused as he watched the men fill the buckets at a well and carry them downhill. The morning was sultry, overcast, and windless; moisture from yesterday’s rain steamed up from the earth. The water shimmered like colorless silk beneath the Dutch ship, Japanese war vessels, and patrol barges. The beat of the war drums continued, their relentless pulse underscoring the heat. Sano sweltered under his bulky clothing, but smiled when he saw the water bearers busily serving the thirsty troops. Hurrying over to the well, he approached a bearer who’d just obtained a refill.

“Give me your buckets,” he said, drawing his sword.

The bearer gulped. “Yes, master!”

Sano shouldered the pole and hurried downhill, wincing under the awkward load. How did those fellows carry such heavy buckets all day long? He imitated the way they let the pole teeter so that the weight constantly shifted. Water sloshed from his buckets. A sore spot quickly formed on his shoulder. Sano reached the promenade breathless and panting.

“Water!” called a mounted soldier.

Sano hurried over. Keeping his face averted, he set down the buckets and filled the ladle. As he handed it up to the soldier, the horse suddenly reared. Water splashed the soldier’s armor tunic.

“Clumsy oaf!” he said, cuffing Sano on the head.

Sano’s samurai pride bristled at the insult. He stifled an angry retort, preserving his peasant disguise. “A thousand pardons, master,” he said meekly.