I love her, comes the thought, as true as sunlight.

Jacob is flying down the stairs, barking his shin on a corner-post.

He leaps the last six or eight steps and runs across Flag Square.

Everything is happening too slow and too fast and all at once.

Jacob clips an astonished priest and reaches the Land-Gate as it closes.

The Captain is brandishing his pike, warning him not to take another step.

Jacob's rectangle of vision is narrowing as the gates close.

He sees Orito's back as she is led away over Holland Bridge.

Jacob opens his mouth to call out her name . . .

. . . but the Land-Gate slams shut.

The well-oiled bolt slides home.

PART II.

A Mountain Fastness.

The Tenth Month in the Eleventh Year of the Era of Kansei

XIV.

Above the Village of Kurozane in Kyoga Domain

Late on the Twenty-second Day of the Tenth Month.

Twilight is cold with the threat of snow. The forest's edges dissolve and blur. A black dog waits on an outcrop. He scents a fox's hot stink.

His silver-haired mistress struggles up the twisted path.

A dead branch cracks under a deer's hoof across the loud stream.

An owl cries, in this cedar or that fir . . . once, twice, near, gone.

Otane carries a twentieth of a koku koku of rice, enough for a month. of rice, enough for a month.

Her youngest niece tried hard to persuade her to winter in the village.

The poor girl needs allies, thinks Otane, against her mother-in-law against her mother-in-law.

'She's pregnant again, too, did you notice?' she asks her dog.

The niece had charged her aunt with the crime of making the entire family worry about her safety. 'But I am am safe,' the old woman repeats her answer for the root-truckled steps. 'I'm too poor for cut-throats and too withered for bandits.' safe,' the old woman repeats her answer for the root-truckled steps. 'I'm too poor for cut-throats and too withered for bandits.'

Her niece then argued that patients could consult her more readily down in the village. 'Who wants to trek halfway up Mount Shiranui in midwinter?'

'My cottage is not not "halfway up" anything! It's less than a mile.' "halfway up" anything! It's less than a mile.'

A song thrush in a mountain ash speaks of endings.

A childless crone, Otane concedes, is lucky to have relatives to house her . . is lucky to have relatives to house her . . . .

But she also knows that leaving her hut would be easier than returning.

'Come spring,' she mutters, 'it'll be, "Aunt Otane can't go back to that that ruin!" ' ruin!" '

Higher up, a pair of raccoons snarl murderous threats.

The herbalist of Kurozane climbs on, her sack growing heavier with each step.

Otane reaches the gardened shelf where her cottage stands. Onions are strung below the deep eaves. Firewood is stacked below. She puts her rice down on the raised porch. Her body aches. She checks the goats in their stall, and tips in a half-bale of hay. Last, she peers into the chicken coop. 'Who laid an egg for Auntie today, I wonder?'

In the ripe murk she finds one, still warm. 'Thank you, ladies.'

She bolts the cottage door against the night, kneels before her hearth with her tinderbox and coaxes a fire into life for her pot. In this she makes a soup of burdock root and yams. When it is hot, she adds the egg.

The medicine cabinet calls her into the rear room.

Patients and visitors are surprised to see such a beautiful cabinet reaching nearly to the ceiling of her humble cottage. Back in her great-great-grandfather's day, six or eight strong men had carried it up from the village, though as a child it was simpler to believe that it had grown here, like an ancient tree. One by one, she slides out the well-waxed medicine drawers and inhales their contents. Here is toki toki parsley, good for colicky infants; next, acrid parsley, good for colicky infants; next, acrid yomogi yomogi shavings, ground to a powder for moxibustion; last in this row, shavings, ground to a powder for moxibustion; last in this row, dokudami dokudami berries or 'fish mint' to flush out sickness. The cabinet is her livelihood and the depository of her knowledge. She sniffs soapy mulberry leaves, and hears her father telling her, 'Good for ailments of the eye . . . and used with goatwort for ulcers, worms and boils . . .' Then Otane reaches the bitter motherwort berries. berries or 'fish mint' to flush out sickness. The cabinet is her livelihood and the depository of her knowledge. She sniffs soapy mulberry leaves, and hears her father telling her, 'Good for ailments of the eye . . . and used with goatwort for ulcers, worms and boils . . .' Then Otane reaches the bitter motherwort berries.

She is reminded of Miss Aibagawa and withdraws to the fire.

She feeds the lean flames a fat log. 'Two days from Nagasaki,' she says, 'to "Request an Audience with Otane of Kurozane". Those were Miss Aibagawa's words. I was digging manure into my pumpkin patch one day . . .'

Dots of firelight are reflected in the dog's clear eyes.

'. . . when who appears at my fence but the village headman and priest.'

The old woman chews a stringy burdock root, recalling the burnt face.

'Can it truly be three whole years ago? It feels like as many months.'

The dog rolls on to his back, using his mistress's foot as a pillow.

He knows the story well, thinks Otane, but shan't mind indulging me again but shan't mind indulging me again.

'I thought she'd come for treatment, seeing her burnt face, but then the headman introduced her as "the celebrated Dr Aibagawa's daughter" and "practitioner of Dutch-style midwifery" - as if he he knew what such words mean! But then she asked if I might advise her on herbal treatments for childbirth and, well, I thought my ears were liars.' knew what such words mean! But then she asked if I might advise her on herbal treatments for childbirth and, well, I thought my ears were liars.'

Otane rolls a boiled egg to and fro on her wooden platter.

'When she told me that amongst druggists and scholars in Nagasaki the name "Otane of Kurozane" is a guarantee of purity, I was horrified that my my lowly name was known by such elevated folk . . .' lowly name was known by such elevated folk . . .'

The old woman picks off the fragments of eggshell with her berry-dyed fingernails and remembers how gracefully Miss Aibagawa dismissed the headman and priest, and how attentively she wrote down Otane's observations. 'She wrote as well as any man. Yakumoso Yakumoso interested her. "Smear it over torn loins," I told her, "and it prevents fevers and heals the skin. It soothes nipples inflamed by breastfeeding, too . . ." ' Otane bites into the boiled egg, warmed by the memory of the samurai's daughter acting quite at home in this commoner's cottage while her two servants rebuilt a goat-pen and repaired a wall. ' interested her. "Smear it over torn loins," I told her, "and it prevents fevers and heals the skin. It soothes nipples inflamed by breastfeeding, too . . ." ' Otane bites into the boiled egg, warmed by the memory of the samurai's daughter acting quite at home in this commoner's cottage while her two servants rebuilt a goat-pen and repaired a wall. 'You remember the headman's eldest son bringing up lunch,' she tells the dog. 'Polished white rice, quail eggs and sea-bream, steaming in plantain leaves . . . Well, we thought we were in the Palace of the Moon Princess!' Otane lifts the kettle's lid and drops in a fistful of coarse tea. 'I spoke more in a single afternoon than I had done all year. Miss Aibagawa wanted to pay me "tuition money" - but how could I charge her a single sen? So she bought my stock of motherwort, but left three times the usual price . . .' remember the headman's eldest son bringing up lunch,' she tells the dog. 'Polished white rice, quail eggs and sea-bream, steaming in plantain leaves . . . Well, we thought we were in the Palace of the Moon Princess!' Otane lifts the kettle's lid and drops in a fistful of coarse tea. 'I spoke more in a single afternoon than I had done all year. Miss Aibagawa wanted to pay me "tuition money" - but how could I charge her a single sen? So she bought my stock of motherwort, but left three times the usual price . . .'

The darkness opposite stirs and quickens into the form of a cat.

'Where were you hiding? We were talking about Miss Aibagawa's first visit. She sent us dried sea-bream the following New Year. Her servant delivered it all the way from the city.' The sooty kettle begins to wheeze, and Otane thinks about the second visit during the Sixth Month of the following year, when the butterbur was in flower. 'She was in love that summer. Oh, I didn't ask, but she couldn't refrain from mentioning a young Dutch interpreter from a good family named Ogawa. Her voice altered' - the cat looks up - 'when she said his name.' Outside, night stirs the creaking trees. Otane pours her tea before the water boils and embitters the leaves. 'I prayed that, once they were married, Ogawa-sama would still let her visit Kyoga Domain to gladden my heart, and that her second visit would not be her last.' She sips her tea, recalling the day when the news reached Kurozane, passed up a chain of relatives and servants, that the head of the Ogawas had denied his son permission to marry Dr Aibagawa's daughter. Then in the New Year, Otane learned that Ogawa the Interpreter had taken another bride. 'Despite this unfortunate turn,' Otane pokes the fire, 'Miss Aibagawa didn't forget me. She sent me my shawl made out of the warmest foreign wool, as a New Year's gift.' would still let her visit Kyoga Domain to gladden my heart, and that her second visit would not be her last.' She sips her tea, recalling the day when the news reached Kurozane, passed up a chain of relatives and servants, that the head of the Ogawas had denied his son permission to marry Dr Aibagawa's daughter. Then in the New Year, Otane learned that Ogawa the Interpreter had taken another bride. 'Despite this unfortunate turn,' Otane pokes the fire, 'Miss Aibagawa didn't forget me. She sent me my shawl made out of the warmest foreign wool, as a New Year's gift.'

The dog wriggles on his back to scratch his flea-bites.

Otane recalls this summer's visit, as the strangest of Miss Aibagawa's three excursions to Kurozane. Two weeks before, when the azaleas were in flower, a salt merchant had brought news to the Harubayashi Inn about how Dr Aibagawa's daughter had performed 'a Dutch miracle' and breathed life into Magistrate Shiroyama's still-born child. So when she visited, half the village walked up to Otane's cottage, hoping for more Dutch miracles. 'Medicine is knowledge,' Miss Aibagawa told the villagers, 'not magic.' She gave advice to the small crowd, and they thanked her, but left disappointed. When they were alone, the young woman confided that it had been a trying year. Her father had been ill, and the careful way she avoided any mention of Ogawa the Interpreter indicated a badly bruised heart. Brighter news, however, was that the grateful Magistrate had given her permission to study on Dejima under the Dutch doctor. 'Well, I must have looked worried.' Otane strokes her cat. 'You hear such stories about foreigners. But she assured me that this Dutch doctor was a great teacher, known even to Lord Abbot Enomoto.'

Wings beat by the chimney flue. The owl is out hunting.

Then, six weeks ago, came the most shocking news of Otane's recent life.

Miss Aibagawa was to become a Sister at Mount Shiranui Shrine.

Otane tried to visit Miss Aibagawa at the Harubayashi Inn the night before she was taken up the mountain, but neither their existing friendship nor Otane's twice-yearly delivery of medicines to the Shrine convinced the monk to ignore the prohibition. She could not even leave a letter. She was told that the Newest Sister could have nothing to do with the World Below for twenty years. What sort of a life What sort of a life, Otane wonders, shall she have in that place? shall she have in that place? 'Nobody knows,' she mutters to herself, 'and that is the problem.' 'Nobody knows,' she mutters to herself, 'and that is the problem.'

She turns over the few known facts about Mount Shiranui Shrine.

It is the spiritual seat of Lord Abbot Enomoto, daimyo daimyo of Kyoga Domain. of Kyoga Domain.

The Shrine's goddess ensures the fertility of Kyoga's streams and rice-fields.

None but the Masters and Acolytes of the Order enter and leave.

These men number about sixty in total, and the Sisters, about a dozen. The Sisters live in their own House, within the Shrine walls, and are governed by an Abbess. Servants at the Harubayashi Inn report blemishes or defects that, in most cases, would doom the girls to lives as freaks in brothels, and Abbot Enomoto is praised for giving these unfortunates a better life . . .

. . . but surely not but surely not, Otane frets, the daughter of a samurai and doctor? the daughter of a samurai and doctor?

'A burnt face makes marriage harder,' she mumbles, 'but not impossible . . .'

The scarcity of facts leaves holes where rumours breed. Many villagers have heard how former Sisters of Shiranui received lodgings and a pension for the rest of their lives, but as the retired nuns never stop in Kurozane, no villager has ever spoken with one face to face. Buntaro, the blacksmith's son, who serves at the Halfway Gate up Mekura Gorge, claims that Master Kinten trains the monks to be assassins, which is why the Shrine is so secretive. A flirty chambermaid at the inn met a hunter who swore he had seen winged monster-women dressed as nuns flying around Bare Peak at the summit of Shiranui. This very afternoon, the mother-in-law of Otane's niece in Kurozane observed that monks' seeds are as fertile as any other men's, and asked how many bushels of 'angel-making' herbs the Shrine ordered. Otane denied, truthfully, supplying abortifacients to Master Suzaku, and realised that discovering this had been the mother-in-law's goal.

The villagers speculate, but they know better than to hunt for answers. They are proud of their association with the reclusive monastery, and are paid for provisioning it; to ask too many questions would be to bite the hand of a generous donor. The monks probably The monks probably are are monks monks, Otane hopes, and the Sisters live as nuns . . and the Sisters live as nuns . . . .

She hears the ancient hush of falling snow.

'No,' Otane tells her cat. 'All we can do is ask Our Lady to protect her.'

The wooden box-niche set into the mud-and-bamboo wall resembles an ordinary cottage altar-alcove, housing the death-name tablets of Otane's parents and a chipped vase holding a few green sprigs. After checking the bolt on the door twice, however, Otane removes the vase and slides up the back panel. In this small and secret space stands the true treasure of Otane's cottage and bloodline: a white-glazed, blue-veiled, dirt-cracked statuette of Maria-sama, the Mother of Iesu-sama and Empress of Heaven, crafted long ago to resemble Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy. She holds an infant in her arms. Otane's grandfather's grandfather, the story goes, received her from a Holy Saint named Xavier who sailed to Japan from Paradise on a magical flying boat pulled by golden swans. and Empress of Heaven, crafted long ago to resemble Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy. She holds an infant in her arms. Otane's grandfather's grandfather, the story goes, received her from a Holy Saint named Xavier who sailed to Japan from Paradise on a magical flying boat pulled by golden swans.

Otane kneels on painful knees with an acorn rosary around her hands.

' "Holy Maria-sama, Mother of Adan and Ewa, who stole Deusu-dono's sacred persimmon; Maria-sama, Mother of Pappa Maruji, with his six sons in six canoes, who survived the great flood that cleansed all lands; Maria, Mother of Iesu-sama, who was crucified for four hundred silver coins; Maria-sama, hear my--" '

Was that a twig snapping, Otane holds her breath, under a man's foot? under a man's foot?

Most of Kurozane's oldest ten or twelve families are, like Otane's, Hidden Christians, but vigilance must be constant. Her silver hair would grant her no clemency if her beliefs were ever exposed; only apostasy and the naming of other followers might transmute death into exile, but then San Peitoro and San Pauro would turn her away from the Gates of Paradise, and when seawater turns to oil and the world burns, she would fall into that Hell called Benbo.

The herbalist is confident that nobody is outside. 'Virgin Mother, it's Otane of Kurozane. Once again, this old woman begs Her Ladyship to watch over Miss Aibagawa in the Shiranui Shrine; and keep her safe from illness; and ward off bad spirits and . . . and dangerous men. Please give back what has been taken from her.'

Not one rumour, Otane thinks, ever told of a young nun being set free ever told of a young nun being set free.

'But if this old woman is asking too much of Maria-sama . . .' . . .'

The stiffness in Otane's knees is spreading to her hips and ankles.

'. . . please tell Miss Aibagawa that her friend, Otane of Kurozane, is thinking--'

Something strikes the door. Otane gasps. The dog is on his feet, growling . . .

Otane slides down the wooden screen as a second blow strikes.

The dog is barking now. She hears a man's voice. She arranges the alcove.

At the third knock, she walks to the door and calls out, 'There is nothing to steal here.'

'Is this,' a frail man's voice replies, 'the house of Otane the herbalist?'

'May I ask my honourable visitor to name himself, at this late hour?'

'Jiritsu of Akatokiyamu,' says the visitor, 'is how I was called . . .'

Otane is surprised to recognise the name of Master Suzaku's acolyte.

Might Maria-sama, she wonders, have a hand in this? have a hand in this?

'We meet at the shrine's gatehouse,' says the voice, 'twice a year.'

She opens the door to a snow-covered figure wrapped in thick mountain clothing and a bamboo hat. He stumbles over her threshold, and snow swirls in. 'Sit by the fire, Acolyte.' Otane barges the door shut. 'It's a bad night.' She guides him to a log-stool.

With effort, he unfastens his hat, hood and mountain boot-bindings.

He is exhausted, his face is taut, and his eyes are not of this world.

Questions can come later, Otane thinks. First, he must be warmed up First, he must be warmed up.