Like the other brothels, the Half Moon boasted a noisy gala of courtesans and clients. Peony could hear the music from her room, a tiny chamber at the rear of the second floor. Wringing her hands, she paced before the open window. The odors of liquor, cooking, and urine tainted the breeze that cooled her flushed cheeks. The lamp on the low table cast her restless shadow against bare walls. Peony prayed that her visitor would come before Minami noticed she wasn’t serving drinks at the party and sent someone to fetch her.

All day she’d slaved in the house, hoping he would reward her obedience by not sending her to the Arab settlement. Fortune had favored her: Two maids had fallen ill, and Minami had kept her home to do their work. But if she didn’t win her freedom tonight, she might suffer days of pain and degradation before another opportunity arose. The shōgun’s sōsakan might discover the truth about Deshima and Spaen-san’s murder before she could profit from the use of the evidence she possessed.

A sound outside halted Peony’s nervous steps. Face pressed against the window bars, she peered down into the alley. She’d left the back door open and a lantern burning there for her visitor. Now her pulse fluttered as someone moved into the dim light. A man in a hooded cloak, coughing—the sound she’d heard. Stopping beside the door. Looking around to see if anyone was near. Lifting his garments, urinating against the wall …

… and walking away.

Clutching the bars, Peony sank to her knees and shut her eyes. Maybe he hadn’t gotten her message. Maybe he couldn’t get the money. Disappointment crushed Peony’s heart. Rising, she looked out the window again.

The alley remained empty, enlivened only by noise from the streets beyond. Peony lumbered to the cabinet where she and her two roommates kept their possessions. She needed something to occupy her, to make the agonizing wait bearable. Among her bedding, clothes, and other personal articles, she found her comb and mirror. After a moment’s hesitation, she took out the lacquer box containing her treasure. She’d meant to keep it safely hidden until she got the money, but she needed the hope it represented. She knelt and set the box on the table beside the lamp, then unpinned her hair. The gleaming mass cascaded around her shoulders. Holding the mirror before her face, she began to comb. The rhythmic motion and the sensuous feel of her hair lifted Peony’s spirits. In the mirror’s clouded glass, her ugly reflection smiled as she fantasized about the future.

She saw herself, money in hand, striding into the reception room. The crowd would jeer; Minami would scowl and say, “Where have you been, Peony? The guests want you to dance ‘Rising River.’ ”