Sano had said gently but adamantly, oHirata-san, I appreciate your loyalty. But I've made my decision.

oWhy must you always push me away and do things alone? Confusion had made Hirata outspoken. oIt's the same with the detective corps. They're supposed to serve you, yet you give them the safest, easiest tasks. It's as if you don't want them hurt, even though you've barely gotten to know them beyond their names and work records. What "

The arrival of the guards had cut short their conversation. oYou have your orders, Sano had said. oI'll see you later.

Now resentment kindled beneath Hirata's fear for his master. Sano was thwarting his fulfillment of Bushido and wasting his detective skills. Hirata couldn't loaf while Sano faced danger; but neither could he violate Bushido's most important tenet: unswerving obedience to his master. Yet Hirata was forced to acknowledge a more personal motive that exacerbated his dilemma. The present situation reminded him of a time when his character had been tried and found inadequate, an experience that had changed his life.

He'd been eighteen, a doshin for three years, with a growing reputation for courage and skill. Craving official recognition, he'd gotten it when Senior Police Commander Terukuni had singled him out of the ranks to help break up a crime gang, and become his mentor. Hirata had been a self-centered young man who had valued the relationship mainly because of what it could do for him. Ambitious for wealth and power, he'd aspired to a position in the shogun's court. When the gangsters had ambushed him and Yoriki Terukuni in a teahouse, Hirata had chosen to escape with his own life, letting his master die.

He'd repaid Terukuni's kind generosity with betrayal, forsaken samurai loyalty for personal gain. After much soul-searching, he'd seen the error of his ways and vowed to embrace the Way of the Warrior. Hence he could not abandon Sano, his present master, to stand or fall alone, regardless of orders to the contrary.

Fierce resolve inspired Hirata. Sano had told him to amuse himself in town, but hadn't specified how. oI don't need anything, Hirata told the waiting servant. oI'm going out for the rest of the day.

When he walked out the door, the two guards followed. oGovernors orders, the paunchy one said.

Hirata realized they meant to spy on him, the last thing he wanted. If Trade Director Spaen had thus far managed to evade capture, someone might be harboring him "perhaps a professional criminal. From his police experience, Hirata knew that the best way to find such a man was by un.o.btrusive means, which he couldn't use with two soldiers in tow.

Reversing his steps, Hirata said to the guards, oI've decided to stay home.

They eyed him skeptically, then stationed themselves beside the gate. Inside the house, Hirata reconsidered his clothes "silk surcoat and kimono printed with the Tokugawa crest, flowing silk trousers, and high clogs "the uniform of an Edo official, and not exactly one to inspire trust in the townspeople. Hurrying to the bedchamber, Hirata found two maids unpacking his baggage.

oGive me those, he said, grabbing a short cotton kimono, sash, leggings, old wicker hat, and straw sandals. Hastily he changed into the ensemble and rehung his swords at his waist. Feeling younger and freer, as if he'd stepped back in time to his police days, he ran out the back door to the stables for a horse. Then the back gate opened, and the paunchy guard appeared. Hirata dashed back into the house. Hearing voices in the corridor, he skidded to a stop.

oWhere is your master? the tall guard demanded.

oHe changed clothes, then left, a maid replied.

Running footsteps came from the direction of the back door. Hirata swerved down another corridor as the paunchy guard called, oI saw him, he went that way.

Hirata bolted through the bustling kitchen and into a courtyard, where he came upon two men. Their furtive manner alerted his police instincts. A familiar warning buzz went off in his head, arresting his flight.

oOne hundred zeni for a barrel of prawns, ten quail eggs, a jar of candied plums, and steamed rice buns? The speaker was a shabbily dressed peasant. oThat's robbery!

The other man, who wore a neat blue kimono, stood beside the basket of provisions. oBut these are the finest quality foods, bought especially for the shogun's envoys. About fifty years of age, he had a long face with protuberant eyes and pursed lips. Wispy gray hair straggled around his bald pate. oWhy should I sell them for less, when they'll fetch twice that from the customers at your food stall?

Forgetting his pursuers, Hirata seized the bald man's arm, demanding, oHow dare you steal from my master? You're under arrest!

The peasant scuttled over the wall, but the captive thief bowed and smiled. oAllow me to introduce myself, master, he said. oOld Carp, kitchen provisioner, at your service. Perhaps you're hungry? He plucked a round bamboo box from the basket and offered it to Hirata.

Hirata laughed in spite of himself. With his bulging eyes and puckered mouth, the man really did resemble a fish. And how quick he was to bribe his way out of trouble "with stolen goods, yet! Then Hirata saw the two guards in the kitchen, coming straight toward him. Releasing Old Carp, he said, oI'll punish you later, and turned to flee.

The wily servant acted quickly. oHave this, master, with my compliments, he said, thrusting the box into Hirata's hands. Then he picked up the basket, ran toward the kitchen door "and collided with the guards as they ran out.

The basket crashed to the ground, spilling its contents. Amid streaming water and broken eggs, live prawns squirmed. The guards cursed as their feet slipped in the mess.

oA thousand apologies, masters! Old Carp bleated.

oGet out of the way!

Old Carp motioned for Hirata to run. The paunchy guard skidded on the eggs and fell flat on his back. The tall man dodged Old Carp, only to trip and sprawl facedown beside his comrade.

Hirata raced across the courtyard to the wall. He would have discarded the box Old Carp had given him, but for the delicious smell emanating from it. Tossing the box over the wall, he scrambled after it. He landed in the next yard, retrieved the box, ran out the gate, and sped down the street, dodging pedestrians. Ducking into an alley, he leaned against the wall and burst out laughing.

What a perfect getaway! Now he was free as the wind, his dinner in hand. He would overlook Old Carp's thievery just this once. With tears of mirth still wet on his cheeks, Hirata opened the box and found ten round white buns. Eagerly he ate them, savoring the prawns, soy sauce, and scallions in the filling. He licked his fingers and dropped the box in a wooden wastebin. Stomach full and humor restored, he cautiously emerged from the alley, looking both ways. No trace of his guards. He started downhill toward the waterfront in search of leads on the Dutch barbarian.

The streets grew narrower and more crowded as the mansions of Nagasaki's affluent merchants gave way to the modest quarters of humbler townsfolk. Keeping an eye out for the guards, Hirata pa.s.sed open storefronts and the red torii gate of a Shinto shrine. As he descended a stone staircase, he looked over the rooftops and saw soldiers storming a pottery workshop. More soldiers rushed up the street. One grabbed Hirata by the front of his kimono.

oHave you seen the barbarian? he shouted. oSpeak up, rnin!

oNo, master, Hirata said.

The soldier released him and turned to question someone else. Hirata continued on his way, pleased that the soldier had mistaken him for a masterless samurai. Where he intended to go, he would blend right in.

The sea's fishy smell grew stronger, the screech of gulls louder. Sentries patrolled the beach. The harbor had been cleared of all craft except for the patrol barges and foreign ships. Wooden shacks cluttered the hills' lowest reaches. Nets covered thatched roofs; buckets and ropes cluttered doorsteps and balconies. Interspersed between the shacks were tiny teahouses. Tattered blue curtains hung from the eaves, partially shielding patrons from streets thronged with fisher-folk. Hirata selected a teahouse at random.

Two patrons sat on the edge of the raised floor. Both were old men with wrinkled, weathered skin. Through eyes permanently narrowed against sun and wind, they peered at pa.s.sersby while clutching sake cups in gnarled hands. oh.e.l.lo, Grandfathers. Hirata bowed. oMay I join you?

They regarded him with lively interest. Heads bobbed on frail necks; grunts arose from scrawny chests as they moved over to make room. Hirata sat in the middle. The proprietor came up behind him.

oA round of sake, Hirata said.

Eagerly the old men raised their cups, cackling, oThank you, master. The proprietor filled their cups, and one for Hirata. They drank. Then the man on Hirata's left peered into his face. oDon't recall seeing you before. He had only three teeth, and his voice was too loud.

oI just arrived in Nagasaki today, Hirata said.

oEh? The man cupped his hand around a hair-filled ear.

Hirata repeated his words, then said loudly, oI just met some soldiers who were looking for a missing barbarian.

The man to Hirata's right snorted. He was so stooped that his chin almost touched his knees. The pipe between his lips shook with the constant tremor of his body. oThey'll never find him.

Hirata asked, oWhy do you say that?

oLet me tell you this, young stranger. Pipe jabbed a bony elbow into Hirata's side. oThere've been some very odd things happening around Deshima. He nodded sagely. oI'm not at all surprised that the barbarian disappeared.

oWhat kind of odd things? Hirata signaled the proprietor for more sake.

Everyone drank, then Pipe, speaking loudly enough for Deaf to hear, said, oEveryone in town knows about the mysterious lights around the island at night. They're purple and green and white, and make a lot of smoke. They float over the water toward Deshima, blinking. He sketched a slow, drifting movement, knotty fist opening and closing to simulate flashes. oAnd then they disappear.

oWhat are these lights? Hirata was intrigued.

oGhosts. Pipe emphasized the word with a large puff of smoke. oSpirits of Dutch barbarians who died on Deshima and have come back to haunt their countrymen.

Superst.i.tious peasant nonsense "or more? oWere the lights seen last night? Hirata said, trying to relate them to the barbarian's escape.

oOh, yes. Puff, puff. oAnd many other times during the past two years.

oHas anyone ever followed the lights? Hirata asked.