With a sly smile, Nirin said, “Director Spaen treated Peony like dirt. He cursed her and called her names, and had the interpreters translate so she knew what he was saying. He would force her to carry away his chamber pot, then trip her and make her clean up the mess. And sometimes we heard noises coming from his bedchamber when she was there. Slaps. Blows. Screams.”

“If you’re looking for someone with cause to kill Spaen, you won’t find better than Peony.”

Nagasaki’s pleasure quarter occupied the slope of a hill south of town, and was surrounded by a high wall that kept the women from escaping and the revelry contained. As Sano rode through the guarded gate and began searching for the Half Moon Pleasure House, he noticed many similarities between Edo’s Yoshiwara and this smaller quarter. The brothels had barred windows in which courtesans sat like exotic caged animals, flirting with potential customers. From eaves hung red curtains printed with the name and crest of each establishment. Samurai and commoners thronged the streets, browsed the windows, and drank in teahouses. But Nagasaki’s houses boasted balconies and roof terraces with a harbor view, where paper lanterns fluttered and shrubs bloomed. A procession moved past Sano toward the gate: mounted samurai, escorting ten palanquins. Through the windows, Sano saw plain-faced, gaudily dressed courtesans leaving the quarter as the Yoshiwara’s never did.

“Chinamen’s whores! Barbarian’s whores!” a group of strolling samurai jeered at the women. “Give the sailors some fun in the foreign settlements tonight!”

The women hid their faces and wept in shame: Serving foreigners was a distasteful task reserved for courtesans so unattractive that Japanese men shunned them. Recalling the barbarians’ foul odor, hairy bodies, and crude manners, Sano pitied the women. Many had been sold into prostitution by poor families, or sentenced to the quarter as a punishment for petty crimes. Being forced to consort with foreigners added to their disgrace.

Down the street, a familiar figure suddenly caught Sano’s eye. Alarm stabbed him. “Hirata!”

The young retainer blanched when he saw Sano. He turned and darted into an alley. Obviously he hadn’t come here for women or drink, but to pursue the lead he’d gotten from the Deshima second watch.

“You’re going back to Edo,” Sano muttered to his absent retainer. “Tomorrow, if not today.”

He found the Half Moon Pleasure House, a small brothel near the quarter’s back wall. Dismounting, he gave the reins to a stableboy, then introduced himself to the doorman.

“I wish to speak to Miss Peony,” he said.

The doorman gaped. “But master, we have many prettier courtesans. Surely—”

“Maybe he likes ugly girls,” called a woman seated in the window. Her companions giggled.

Sano had no time for argument or banter. “Take me to Peony,” he told the doorman, “now.”