“Out of the way! Let us through!” shouted the harbor patrol officers who had escorted Sano from the barge to the beach, where the Dutch trader’s body had been recovered from the sea. They cleared a path through the crowd that had come to witness the anticlimax of the great manhunt.

Gritty sand cushioned Sano’s footsteps as he walked past staring faces to the water’s edge, with Interpreter Iishino close by his side. Both ends of the beach’s long curve terminated at warehouses that jutted into the harbor. Beyond them to the right Sano could see Deshima’s walled compound. Ahead waited a circle of soldiers and officials, their expressions grave. As Sano approached, his initial relief at hearing that Director Spaen had been found gave way to disappointment.

The investigation was over. He was out of danger. The Dutch ship and the Deshima barbarians were no longer his responsibility. He could simply document today’s events, then spend the rest of his time in Nagasaki completing a cursory inspection and staying out of trouble until he could return to Edo. He and Hirata could visit scenic spots and relax at seaside inns. Yet Sano’s spirit rebelled at the prospect of such meaningless leisure. He remembered his hunt for the body thieves: the painstaking investigation; the battle; his ultimate triumph. With an almost physical hunger, he wanted to experience it all again.

From amid the waiting officers, the commander came forward and bowed to Sano. “We left the body just the way we found it,” he said uneasily. “It seemed the right thing to do, under the circumstances.”

Before Sano could request an explanation, Hirata hurried up to join him, accompanied by two guards, one short and paunchy, the other tall and thin. Simultaneously Governor Nagai arrived with Chief Ohira and two other men.

“What circumstances?” Nagai demanded.

In answer, the circle of officers opened to admit Sano, Hirata, and Governor Nagai’s party, then closed protectively around them. Everyone gazed down at the dead Director Spaen.

Tall and muscular, the barbarian lay sprawled on his back on the damp sand just above the waterline. His square jaw, firm chin, and jutting nose reflected the masculine vigor he must have possessed in life. But now his face was a stark, pallid white; death had leached expression from his eyes. His parted lips revealed a bloated tongue and strong teeth. Strands of his long, straw-colored hair stirred in the wind. He wore only a pair of knee-length black trousers. His bare feet, though pale and large, were nonetheless human: So much for the Dutch dog-feet story. Sano’s stomach contracted when he looked at the corpse’s midsection.