Instantly an arrow hummed over his shoulder and hit the wall of a nearby building. The assassin had guessed his purpose, but Sano refused to turn back. The mysterious lights must be on Deshima now. He had to catch them and determine their cause.

Now Sano could hear footsteps pounding above him as he rode. He saw the archer, clad in black, long bow in hand, kneel on a roof and take aim. The arrow struck his right shoulder with a bone-shuddering impact. Tumbling off his horse, Sano landed hard on his hip. He cried out as horrible pain flashed down his arm and into his chest. He felt along the shaft to the head embedded at an angle just below the outer edge of his collarbone. Warm blood flowed over his hands. He didn’t dare yank out the arrow for fear the bleeding would increase. Vigorous activity would worsen the damage. Yet he couldn’t stay here for another, fatal shot.

Sano lurched to his feet. Then he heard the archer’s steps, fleeing across the rooftops. A sudden fury gripped Sano. “Come back here!” he yelled, reaching for his sword.

The movement sent fresh agony shooting through his shoulder. In his condition, he would never catch his assailant. Without prompt medical care, the injury could prove permanently disabling, if not deadly. He hated to abandon his pursuit of the mysterious lights, but he had to get home, now.

Wincing, Sano remounted his horse, clasped a hand over his injury, then began the long, slow ascent through the hushed streets, wondering who had shot him—and why the person had left without finishing him off. He suspected an assassin sent by Chamberlain Yanagisawa, the rival responsible for past attempts on his life. How he hated the bakufu for allowing such crimes! But it could have been Jan Spaen’s murderer, because he was getting too close to the truth. Or someone else who didn’t want him to discover the secret of the mysterious lights.

Reaching his mansion exhausted, weak, and soaked with sweat and blood, Sano collapsed outside the gate. The two guards stationed there helped him into the house.

“Sōsakan-sama!” Hirata came running to greet him in the corridor, accompanied by a manservant with bulging eyes and a puckered mouth. “What happened to you?”

“Shot. At the harbor,” Sano gasped out as the guards carried him to his bedchamber. “Get a doctor.”

The fish-faced servant spoke up cheerfully. “No need for a doctor, master. Old Carp, at your service. Better at healing than anyone else in Nagasaki, if I may be so bold to admit. A moment, please.”