The peasant scuttled over the wall, but the captive thief bowed and smiled. “Allow me to introduce myself, master,” he said. “Old Carp, kitchen provisioner, at your service. Perhaps you’re hungry?” He plucked a round bamboo box from the basket and offered it to Hirata.

Hirata laughed in spite of himself. With his bulging eyes and puckered mouth, the man really did resemble a fish. And how quick he was to bribe his way out of trouble—with stolen goods, yet! Then Hirata saw the two guards in the kitchen, coming straight toward him. Releasing Old Carp, he said, “I’ll punish you later,” and turned to flee.

The wily servant acted quickly. “Have this, master, with my compliments,” he said, thrusting the box into Hirata’s hands. Then he picked up the basket, ran toward the kitchen door—and collided with the guards as they ran out.

The basket crashed to the ground, spilling its contents. Amid streaming water and broken eggs, live prawns squirmed. The guards cursed as their feet slipped in the mess.

“A thousand apologies, masters!” Old Carp bleated.

“Get out of the way!”

Old Carp motioned for Hirata to run. The paunchy guard skidded on the eggs and fell flat on his back. The tall man dodged Old Carp, only to trip and sprawl facedown beside his comrade.

Hirata raced across the courtyard to the wall. He would have discarded the box Old Carp had given him, but for the delicious smell emanating from it. Tossing the box over the wall, he scrambled after it. He landed in the next yard, retrieved the box, ran out the gate, and sped down the street, dodging pedestrians. Ducking into an alley, he leaned against the wall and burst out laughing.

What a perfect getaway! Now he was free as the wind, his dinner in hand. He would overlook Old Carp’s thievery just this once. With tears of mirth still wet on his cheeks, Hirata opened the box and found ten round white buns. Eagerly he ate them, savoring the prawns, soy sauce, and scallions in the filling. He licked his fingers and dropped the box in a wooden wastebin. Stomach full and humor restored, he cautiously emerged from the alley, looking both ways. No trace of his guards. He started downhill toward the waterfront in search of leads on the Dutch barbarian.

The streets grew narrower and more crowded as the mansions of Nagasaki’s affluent merchants gave way to the modest quarters of humbler townsfolk. Keeping an eye out for the guards, Hirata passed open storefronts and the red torii gate of a Shinto shrine. As he descended a stone staircase, he looked over the rooftops and saw soldiers storming a pottery workshop. More soldiers rushed up the street. One grabbed Hirata by the front of his kimono.

“Have you seen the barbarian?” he shouted. “Speak up, rōnin!”

“No, master,” Hirata said.