Ohira ushered Sano and Iishino through the gate. A short passage, bordered by high fences, led to Deshima’s main street. Entering the world he’d often imagined, Sano found it disappointingly small, yet still intriguing. The street curved along the island’s lengthwise axis, between two-story wooden cottages. On the ground floors of these, sliding doors faced the road; above, barred windows formed orderly rows beyond covered balconies. A sentry stood at each door; others patrolled the street or perched on the roofs. Chief Ohira had indeed made sure that no more barbarians escaped.

“These buildings have all been searched?” Sano asked.

“Of course.” Annoyance tightened Ohira’s features. “I can assure you that no corner was overlooked during the hunt for Director Spaen, and I would have reported any evidence of foul play. This incident wasn’t caused by negligence on my part, and if the killer isn’t caught, it won’t be my fault.”

“I’m not accusing you,” Sano hastened to say, surprised at the chief’s defensiveness. “If I’ve given you that impression, I apologize. But I’d like to look inside the houses and see everything for myself.”

Resentment smoldered in Ohira’s bloodshot eyes, but he nodded. At his command, the sentries opened doors, showing Sano large storerooms with shuttered windows, all empty except for one, which contained crates and bundles.

“Those came on last year’s ship, but were not sold then,” Interpreter Iishino explained, head bobbing. “The law says they must be stored until the next ship arrives, then offered for sale again along with the new goods.”

Sano examined the warehouses and the vacant rooms upstairs, but found nothing remarkable. Under Chief Ohira’s glowering gaze, he proceeded to the street’s east end. There stood a guardhouse with more sentries inside. At its doorway Sano saw buckets and ladders—firefighting equipment—and a short, cylindrical structure faced with stones.

“A cistern?” he guessed, moving closer to inspect the barbarian’s possible escape route.

“Fresh water comes to Deshima through bamboo pipes, from the river.” Chief Ohira tapped the cistern’s wooden lid. “This is kept nailed down, except when the servants fetch water.”

“Is there another access to Deshima besides the bridge?”

“Yes. The water gates.”

Ohira led the way to the island’s opposite end, past another guardhouse, and into a large corner compound where more sentries paced. This contained a house with a prominent entry porch and latticed balcony; two cottages; a long one-story building; and two small, square ones with plaster walls, ironclad doors, and tile roofs. Grudgingly Ohira named each building’s function: “My office. The interpreters’ office; the governor’s deputies’ office. The store where the barbarians sell their goods to Japanese merchants. Fireproof warehouses.”

At his orders, two guards opened a wide double gate in the fence. Sano saw stone steps leading down to the sea, and, perhaps twenty paces beyond, the signs warning ships away from Deshima.