“The one in white is Captain Pieter Oss, and the others are East India Company officials,” Iishino said. “They want to know why you ask them to stop here, instead of at Takayama, where they usually moor.”

Sano’s neck was getting stiff from looking up, and whatever the differences between Dutch and Japanese cultures, he suspected that they shared one similarity: The man who stood below lost the advantage to the man above.

“Captain Oss,” he called, pronouncing the name as best he could. He was glad for the barbarians’ distinctive costumes and hair color, for their facial features looked identical to him. “I request permission to come aboard.”

Iishino gasped. “Sōsakan-sama, you can’t. The barbarians are dangerous, very dangerous. Just tell the captain that if he doesn’t obey, we’ll sink his ship.”

Sano saw no reason for hostility, and with the harbor security forces out searching for Director Spaen, any threat of military aggression would be an empty one. Also, though he feared the barbarians, the ship exerted a powerful attraction on him.

Once Japanese had traveled the world. Embassies had ventured to Rome and Spain to foster trade and learn about the West. Monks made pilgrimages to Russia, India, Persia, Portugal, and Jerusalem. Traders settled in China, Tonkin, and the New World. Mercenaries fought in Malaysia, the Philippines, and Indonesia; exiles were sent to Cambodia. But fifty-five years ago, the bakufu, fearing that its citizens would ally with foreigners, had forbidden them to go abroad. As a boy, Sano had yearned to sail the seas, while knowing he never could. Now, seeing the Dutch ship revived his youthful dreams and increased his resentment toward the regime that curtailed his freedom and knowledge.

“Do as I say, Iishino-san,” he ordered.

Iishino conveyed the request. Captain Oss nodded, motioning for the barge to pull alongside port deck.

“Sōsakan-sama, please be careful,” Iishino hissed.

Sano gazed in awe at the ship as they circled it. The hull bore the scars of a long journey: gouges from rocks and reefs; repaired holes; barnacles clinging near the waterline. The square stern, crowned by bulbous lanterns, was like the facade of some bizarre temple, with gilded garlands dividing two rows of mullioned glass windows. The unbleached linen sails were seamed and patched. The Dutch had come from the other side of the world, braving other dangers besides the elements. Square outlines in the hull defined the gunports: The ship was prepared to defend itself against human threats as well.

An order from the Dutch captain brought sailors swarming onto the ship’s deck to help attach the barge. They seemed even more bestial than he, with shaggy fair hair on their heads, faces, and bare limbs and chests.

“Who is the leader?” Sano asked Iishino urgently.

“Oh, the captain rules the ship. But the officials are partners in the East India Company, which owns it.”