“Please protect us from evil, and replace our troubles with blessings,” Sano read over the chief’s shoulder. The names of Ohira’s large family followed. It was a commonplace prayer, but poignant under the circumstances. Sano hated what he must do, but Chief Ohira had earned his own destiny.

Now Ohira looked up and saw Sano. “You again,” he said wearily. “How dare you disturb me in a sacred place?” He seemed more gaunt than ever, as if his flesh had withered around a core of pain, all that was left of him. “What do you want? How did you find me?” Turning away, he walked to the statue of Daikoku.

Sano followed. “Your commander told me where you were.”

Ohira’s steps faltered. “You’ve been to Deshima? But how? … Your pass was revoked.” He stared, then shook his head when Sano’s appearance offered no clue.

Before coming to the shrine, Sano had discarded the stolen armor. His clothes had dried in the afternoon heat, and with his lone short sword at his waist, he looked like any ordinary low-rank samurai. Now he didn’t waste time explaining his escapade to Ohira, who would find out soon enough anyway. The Deshima guards would report what he’d done. Troops would be searching for him. He must act fast.

“How I got to Deshima isn’t important,” Sano said. “It’s what I found there that matters.” He pulled the scroll and the unfinished copy out of his kimono. “The tribunal will be interested in these, don’t you think?”

Recognition flared in Ohira’s eyes. A shudder ran through him. Then he squatted and pushed his prayer stake into the ground amid others at the stone god’s feet. His hands trembled.

“So I am in your power now,” he said, despair reflected in the slump of his shoulders, the melancholy timbre of his voice. He touched the stake. “I’ve sent my prayers too late for them to do any good.”

The moment seemed as fragile as a priceless porcelain tea bowl Sano had once used at an Edo Castle tea ceremony: thin, translucent, its surface crazed by the heat of the kiln. He took a deep breath, seeking the wisdom to handle the moment without damage. “Or maybe your prayers have already been answered,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Ohira rose, avoiding Sano’s gaze.

“You left these documents out in the open, as if you hoped someone would find them and punish you, although there was little chance of that on Deshima. You’re not really sorry I found them.” Sano tucked the scroll and copy back in his kimono. “The gods are wise. Sometimes they know and grant our deepest, most secret wishes.”

Ohira emitted a humorless laugh. “Through you, the agent of my fate? Do you think I wish public disgrace and dishonorable death? I can assure you that’s not the case.”