He joined Supreme Judge Takeda and two surviving retainers in the battle against Nirin and seven remaining guards. Sano hesitated, loath to abandon his allies. Then he looked around. Interpreter Iishino was nowhere in sight. Sano raced down the hall, past hulking statues and gleaming murals, fearing that the leader of the smuggling ring had escaped during the confusion. Then he spotted Iishino.

In a niche near the altar, the interpreter squatted beneath an arch of gilt flames, his desk in front of him. Anticipating a victory for his side, he’d apparently chosen this spot as a safe place from which to view the battle. He blanched when he spied Sano. Clutching his desk, he scooted farther back into the niche.

“Sōsakan-sama, this is not what you think.” He flashed a sickly version of his grin. “I can explain everything, everything.”

Sano stopped before the despicable man who had framed him and left his cohorts to fight alone. “Come here, Iishino.” He wouldn’t kill the interpreter, but oh, how he would enjoy seeing Iishino tried and executed.

Iishino flapped his hands. “Wait, wait. I am not one of them.” His eyes darted with anxious cunning. “I—I discovered the smuggling and infiltrated the ring to learn who the criminals were. I was going to report them to the authorities in time to save you.” Iishino smiled and bobbed his head. “It’s the truth, I swear!”

“He’s … lying.”

The hoarse croak came from Abbot Liu Yun, who lay beside the altar. Blood from stab wounds on his torso stained his saffron robe crimson. His face was a mask of agony. Nearby, Assistant Director deGraeff lay dead, the dagger beside his hand. Liu Yun coughed, gasped, then continued:

“Iishino … started the smuggling. … Paid me to make the mysterious lights … and arrange contact with … black market. And he … killed Spaen. … I saw. He stole … my revenge. But the I Ching was right. I have crossed the abyss … and killed … my brother’s Dutch murderer’s comrade. Now I can die … in peace. Hsi! I join you now …”

His face relaxed; his eyes dulled. Sano marveled at the revenge lust that neither time, faith, nor reason could obliterate. Then he looked back at Iishino—and down the bore of a gun the interpreter aimed at him.

“Get away from me, get away!” Iishino quavered.

The tubular pistol with carved ivory grip and long metal barrel wobbled in his shaky hands. Sano had instinctively raised his swords to ward off the threat. Fear paralyzed him, even as he registered satisfaction at learning the identity of Spaen’s killer. His lungs seemed made of iron, incapable of inhaling or exhaling air. He’d never faced a gun before, and his knowledge of firearms came from reading war manuals. Now he truly recognized the power of the foreign weapon. In a swordfight, he could have easily defeated Iishino. The gun made Sano the weaker of them.

“Drop your swords!” Iishino ordered.