“Who put the crucifix around Spaen’s neck?” Sano demanded, standing over her. “You or your accomplice? And why? Because you’re Christians?”

Abruptly Peony’s moans stopped; she went still. “I’m not a Christian,” she muttered. “It’s against the law.”

Either she hadn’t known about the crucifix, or its mention had struck a nerve. “The Christian doctrine forbids killing,” Sano said, “and requires people to love one another. Did you atone for your sin by putting the crucifix on Director Spaen and praying for his soul after you killed him? Do you love him now, because he can’t hurt you any more? Did your hatred die with him?”

“I never hated Spaen-san.” Peony raised her head, tossing back her hair. Her teary eyes glistened with new defiance and cunning. “But I can tell you who did. Urabe, the foreign-goods merchant. Because Spaen-san cheated him. And he was on Deshima that night, too.”

“But yours was the only name listed in the visitors’ ledger,” Sano said.

She laughed scornfully. “Then the ledger is wrong. I saw Urabe with my own eyes. Not everything that happens on Deshima is recorded, you know.” Then she looked stricken, as if she’d said more than she had intended. Ducking her head, she whimpered, “I’m tired. I have work to do, and Minami will starve me if I don’t finish. Please, leave me alone. I’ve told you everything I know.”

When questioned about the staff’s and the other barbarians’ relations with Director Spaen, she pleaded ignorance. “The guards don’t let me see everything they do. And I can’t understand what the barbarians say.”

Finally Sano rose to go, more confused than ever. The scope of the investigation kept growing. How many secrets must he expose before discovering the truth about Spaen’s murder? How did the Christian element fit into it? Sano didn’t trust Peony’s veracity any more than the guards’. She was hiding something; he could tell. But he must at least check out her story about Urabe, his latest Japanese suspect.

10

十

Peony remained in the room, listening to the sound of the sōsakan’s receding footsteps. She heard him speak and Minami reply. Then their voices faded as they left the garden. Hurrying to the door, Peony looked outside. The courtesans had gone from the veranda. Maybe no one would miss her for the moment. As much as the forced sex with strangers, she hated the constant demands made upon her by the brothel’s residents. But now a path to liberty had opened. Soon she would no longer be a prostitute by night, a servant by day, despised and scorned.