The forest had been razed and the ground leveled to create a large plaza open to the sky. Ornamental trees lined gravel paths. Flower beds surrounded rock gardens; frogs sang in a gleaming pond. Arrayed before Sano in imposing grandeur stood worship halls, pavilions, tall stone lanterns, a huge bell in an ornate wooden cage. On roofs, walls, and pillars, carved demons leered, their colors reduced to shades of gray by the moonlight. The pagoda rose like a sculptured shadow above Nagasaki’s Chinese Temple: once the sacred domain of a thousand priests, now the lair of Abbot Liu Yun and the smuggling ring.

“I see no lights,” Judge Segawa said. “The place looks deserted. Takeda-san, may we abandon this nonsense now?”

But Chief Ohira was moving down a path across the temple precinct. “Quiet,” Sano warned. He and Hirata hurried after Ohira. The others trailed. When Ohira abruptly took cover behind a tree, Sano followed suit, motioning for the others to do the same.

Ahead stood the main worship hall, crowned with a snarling lion, the eaves of its massive tile roof upturned like demon wings, huge double doors shadowed by a deep veranda. In front paced a samurai, the silhouette of his swords clearly outlined against the white gravel path. From somewhere beyond him came thumps, scraping sounds, and muffled voices. Excitement sped Sano’s pulse. He couldn’t make out any words, but he recognized the now-familiar cadence of Dutch, mixed with Japanese. The smugglers must be bringing the goods now. Which barbarian had come with them?

Sano gestured for his companions to accompany him to the back of the worship hall, where the activity seemed centered. He’d taken several steps before noticing that Ohira hadn’t moved. The other men, led by Hirata, ran across the garden and hid behind the bell cage. Casting an uneasy glance at the lookout, Sano signaled his party to wait. Then he ran back to Ohira.

“What’s the matter?” he whispered.

“You don’t need me anymore.” Ohira turned his face away. “Go, and leave me in peace.”

Sano couldn’t let the chief stay here alone. Ohira was behaving so strangely; what if he warned the smugglers? “Come on,” Sano said, dragging Ohira toward the others.

Moving from tree to rock, rock to statue, and skirting the pagoda, they circled the worship hall. Sano hung on to Ohira, who stumbled and lagged. The noises grew louder, and Sano heard snatches of talk: “Careful, now … don’t drop it …” When they reached the back of the hall, they hid behind a pavilion with a thatched roof and lattice walls. Stone lanterns flared outside the hall’s rear entrance. Two samurai, carrying between them a large wooden crate, staggered up the steps. Another stood on the veranda.

“Hurry up,” he said. “We haven’t got all night.”

“Nirin,” Hirata whispered.

The men carried the crate through the open doors and into the hall’s brightly lit interior.