The palanquin tilted as the bearers ascended Nagasaki’s narrow, crowded streets. Crammed closely together, the shops and houses of the merchant district clung precariously to the hillside. Stone staircases were built alongside the steepest roads. People scurried up and down these, and through the mud from a heavy rain last night. Merchants and peddlers hawked sake, food, and housewares; children gathered around a juggler; an old woman told fortunes. A fishy tang laced the bright morning air. And through the normal everyday bustle, Sano saw news of the Dutchman’s disappearance spread.

Mounted samurai in full armor barked questions and orders at pedestrians: “Has a foreign barbarian passed this way? Report any sightings at once!”

Footsoldiers ransacked houses and shops, shouting, “Anyone caught harboring or aiding the barbarian will die!”

Sano feared they might begin slaughtering innocent townspeople if the missing trader wasn’t found soon. Trapped in his cushioned vehicle, he longed to run off and join the search. But the captain would kill him if he did, then probably collect a reward from Chamberlain Yanagisawa. And without the governor’s sanction, Sano had no right to interfere. Clenching his teeth in frustration, he forced himself to sit still for the ride.

The palanquin crossed a wooden bridge over a river that flowed between high stone embankments. Here, above the merchant district, the streets were wider, less crowded, and populated mostly by samurai. Tile-roofed mansions, enclosed by long barracks with barred windows, lined the streets. Sano saw the crests of Kyūshū daimyō on guarded gates. Troops streamed through these, searching for the Dutch barbarian. Finally the procession stopped before an ornate portal with a double tile roof. From beyond the barracks came men’s angry shouts, and the stomp and neigh of horses.

“I’ve brought the shōgun’s envoys to Governor Nagai,” Sano heard the Nagasaki official announce.

Guards admitted them into a courtyard jammed with men. Mounted troops and footsoldiers marched past Sano as he stepped out of the palanquin. A commander issued orders to his squadron: “Search the hills. If you find him, capture him alive. We don’t want an international incident.”

In a stall by the gate, guards checked men in and out, hanging a wooden name plate on a board to indicate someone’s entry, or taking one down when someone else left.

“If you will please come this way?” Sano’s escort led him, Hirata, and the captain into the rambling, two-story mansion with half-timbered walls and latticed windows. They left their shoes and swords in the entryway and walked down a corridor past chambers where officials argued loudly as they pored over maps and secretaries drafted reports about the disaster. At the corridor’s end, by the open door to a garden, stood two men.