The Way of the Traitor Read online

  “It’s good to see you, Junko,” Kiyoshi said, “but you took a big risk coming here. Your father will beat you if he finds out. There are hoodlums in the streets, outlaws in the hills. You could have been hurt. Promise me you’ll be more careful in the future.”

  “I promise,” Junko said happily, taking his hand.

  This was what she loved most about him: the way he cared more for others than for himself. He defended peasants against bullying samurai, though his comrades mocked his compassion. He worked long hours in the watchtower and the harbor patrol, and studied martial arts and the Dutch language, not for personal advancement but to bring honor to his father, Deshima Chief Ohira; his patron, Governor Nagai; and his teacher, Interpreter Iishino. He could lose his position for neglecting his duties to receive a forbidden visitor now. But his first concern was her safety. Couldn’t her father see that his kind consideration had more value than wealth? And couldn’t Chief Ohira see that she would be a more loyal, devoted wife to Kiyoshi than any highborn samurai woman?

  Together they climbed the stairs to the small, square room at the top of the tower. Beneath the window lay Kiyoshi’s spyglass, his folded cloak and wicker hat, an oil lamp, and the Dutch dictionary he studied during his lonely shift. Suddenly shy in his presence, Junko walked to the window. City and sea glowed with the warm, diffuse radiance of late afternoon. Then a drifting cloud mass obscured the sun, rendering the landscape cold and colorless. Junko sensed a difference, a remoteness about Kiyoshi, who showed none of his usual eagerness to share his thoughts and experiences with her. Junko turned to him, anxious to reestablish their connection.

  “Kiyoshi,” she began hesitantly.

  “What?” His brief smile didn’t brighten his somber face. Now he looked away and said, “You can’t stay long, Junko. The lieutenant will be coming by on his rounds soon. We’ll both get in trouble if he finds you here.”

  For the first time, Junko felt insecure in Kiyoshi’s love. Had absence weakened his affection for her? “What’s wrong?” she asked, a tremor of fear playing along her spine. She reached for Kiyoshi, then dropped her outstretched hand. She didn’t want to lose her dignity by pleading or clinging, so she sought another way to reassure herself that he still cared. She remembered what she’d come to tell him.

  “The shogun’s sōsakan talked to my father,” she said. “He’s interested in the mysterious lights. If we’re to catch them before he does, we must hurry. Have you learned anything yet?”

  At first Kiyoshi didn’t speak. Then, still without looking at her, he said reluctantly, “I know what the lights are.”

  Joy burst like a bright fountain in Junko, washing away her doubts. “You mean you’ve seen the ghost? Oh, Kiyoshi, all our problems will be solved!” Gleefully she clapped her hands. Then, to her dismay, she saw sadness and pity in the gaze Kiyoshi turned on her. “What is it?”

  He took her in his arms, holding her head against his chest so she couldn’t see his face. “You must forget about the lights, Junko,” he said. “Especially now that the sōsakan-sama knows about them.”

  Junko pulled away, puzzled. “But why? The fortune teller said they’re the key to our happiness.”

  During their last rendezvous, they’d gone to consult Nagasaki’s best fortune teller. The old crone had told them, “The strange lights in the harbor hold the key to your happiness. They’re the ghosts of Dutch barbarians. Catch one, and it will pay you a fortune in gold to be set free.”

  “Enough gold to make our families agree to our marriage?” Junko had asked eagerly.

  “Enough to make all things possible.”

  Now Junko tried to remind Kiyoshi of the fortune teller’s advice. “The mysterious lights—”

  “I said, forget them!” Kiyoshi shouted, eyes blazing.

  He’d never before raised his voice to her in anger. Silently Junko turned away, blinking back tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Kiyoshi said. The anger had left his voice, and he sounded weary. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But this is what’s best, you have to believe me.”

  The cold draft from the window made Junko shiver. Sniffling, she said, “But what about the money? Our plans?”

  Kiyoshi hovered beside her, his hand clasping her shoulder. With a forced laugh, he said, “That old fortune teller was just repeating town gossip and saying what we wanted to hear. There’s no ghosts or treasure. We were fools to believe it.”

  Disturbed by the forlorn note in Kiyoshi’s voice, Junko glanced sideways at him. He was watching her with concern, but a part of him remained separate, preoccupied.

  “If the lights aren’t Dutch ghosts, then what are they?” Junko asked, loath to relinquish their dream.

  Kiyoshi’s hand dropped from her shoulder, leaving behind a fleeting warmth. “I can’t tell you.”

  His recalcitrance destroyed Junko’s fragile dignity. She whirled to face him. “Please, tell me what’s wrong,” she pleaded, clutching his sleeve. “I want to help!”

  Holding her, Kiyoshi stroked her hair. She felt his hand tremble, his ragged breath on her forehead, his warm strength. But his body stayed rigid. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said hopelessly. “I have to handle it alone.” After a long pause, he continued, though more to himself than her, “I have to decide whether to do what’s right, even if it hurts … someone.”

  Then he released her. He swallowed hard, then said, “I don’t want to say this, Junko. But … I think we should stop seeing each other.”

  “Stop seeing each other? Why?” Junko could no longer hide her insecurity. “Don’t you love me anymore?” she cried. “Is there someone else?”

  “That’s not what I mean!” Kiyoshi seized her hands, crushing them to his chest. “I love you. There will never be anyone else for me. But this is for the best. Please, believe me.”

  “No!”

  A sound paralyzed them both: footsteps on the stairs.

  “It’s the lieutenant,” Kiyoshi said. He pushed Junko toward the window, where a ladder extended to the ground. “Go! Before he sees you.”

  “Wait, Kiyoshi,” Junko pleaded. They couldn’t part like this, with matters left unresolved.

  The footsteps grew louder, closer. Much as Junko wanted to stay, she couldn’t endanger Kiyoshi’s career. She let him help her out the window. Her hands and feet found the ladder’s rungs. As she descended, she peered upward through the rapidly fading daylight for one last glimpse of Kiyoshi.

  After a quick wave and a brief, strained smile, he turned away from the window and vanished from sight.

  “Hello! is anyone up there?” Sano called, ascending the stairs inside the watchtower.

  Encumbered by his horse, he’d lost track of Junko in the forest. Still, the tower seemed the only place where she might have gone. He called out his name and title so the guard on duty wouldn’t mistake him for an attacking enemy. Emerging through the opening in the floor of the room at the top of the tower, he faced a young man who stared at him in speechless dismay.

  “It’s Kiyoshi, isn’t it?” Sano asked, remembering him from the beach yesterday. “Chief Ohira’s son?”

  Kiyoshi gulped. “I … was expecting the lieutenant,” he said, then bowed hastily. “My apologies for this rude greeting, sōsakan-sama. Please allow me to be of service.”

  “I’m looking for a young lady named Junko,” Sano said, wondering why Kiyoshi was so nervous. “She’s the daughter of the merchant Urabe. Have you seen her?”

  “No!” Kiyoshi backed toward the window and picked up a spyglass from the floor. He clutched the long metal tube as if eager for something to hold. “I mean, I haven’t seen anyone.”

  “I heard voices up here,” Sano said.

  “That was me, talking to myself. I’m learning the Dutch language.” Kiyoshi gestured to a book that lay on the floor. “I was just practicing.”

  From below came a muffled thump. Seeing the boy’s worried glance out the window, Sano joined him there. He looked down and saw the ladde
r. A brief, fluttering movement disturbed the forest beneath.

  “Do you know Junko?” Sano asked.

  “No! That is, I may have seen her in town. But I’m not actually acquainted with her, no.”

  He lied bravely, looking straight into Sano’s eyes, yet Sano easily pieced together the truth. Kiyoshi and Junko were illicit lovers who’d just stolen some time together here. Feeling the loss of Aoi, Sano pitied the young couple. He said, “I wanted to ask Junko what she knows about the mysterious lights in the harbor.” Seeing panic flare in Kiyoshi’s eyes, he thought he might learn something after all. “Do you ever work the night watch?”

  “Sometimes.” Kiyoshi’s long-fingered hands toyed with the spyglass. “Not often. I usually work in the harbor patrol then.”

  “Perhaps you’ve seen the lights,” Sano suggested. “Do you know what causes them?”

  Kiyoshi stole a glance out the window. “No. I mean, I’ve never seen the lights. Actually, I don’t believe there are any. I think a drunk must have imagined he saw something, then told his friends. Now everyone in Nagasaki thinks he’s personally seen the lights, and has ideas about what they mean.” His laugh was a sickly croak. “You know how it is.”

  Sano knew how gossip could spread and turn fantasy into apparent reality, but he couldn’t see why Kiyoshi was so eager to deny that the lights existed, or discourage his interest in them. Looking out the window, he saw that the tower was a perfect place from which to monitor the vast panorama of sky, city, and sea.

  “May I look through your spyglass?” Sano asked Kiyoshi.

  “Yes, of course, sōsakan-sama.”

  Obviously glad for a change of subject, Kiyoshi handed over the instrument and explained how to operate it. Sano aimed the long tube out the window, peering through the lens while scanning the landscape. He turned the focusing ring, and blurred scenes leapt into brilliant clarity. In a sky of cool, glowing azure that shaded to gold in the west, clouds drifted, every whorl and puff distinct. Birds soared over trees down the hillside; palanquins and tiny figures filed through the streets. Ships in the harbor appeared so close that Sano instinctively raised his hand to touch them. On open sea floated the Dutch vessel, masts and sails clearly defined. Sano experienced a pang of foreboding even as he admired the technology that had produced the spyglass. The ship’s captain and crew must have received his message by now. What would be their response?

  Sano trained the spyglass on Deshima. He saw guards patrolling the perimeter and main street. He could almost read the warning signs on the poles around the island.

  “You have a wonderful view,” he remarked, handing the spyglass back to Kiyoshi. “Tell me—were you on duty the night Director Spaen disappeared?”

  The young man fumbled and almost dropped the instrument. Holding it across his chest like a shield, he said, “Yes. I guess I was.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual on Deshima then?”

  Eyes wide and alarmed, Kiyoshi shook his head. His Adam’s apple jerked.

  “Any suspicious activity; any strange comings or goings? Any boats around the island?”

  More negative responses. Then Kiyoshi blurted, “Please forgive me, but the harbor is very dark at night. It’s hard to see what’s going on from here, especially when there’s a storm, like there was then. And I—I might have fallen asleep. Or gotten too interested in my studies. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  Unconvinced, Sano probed harder for information, but met with more disclaimers. Finally he took his leave of Kiyoshi. The youth definitely knew something, his denials notwithstanding. Sano recalled how upset he’d seemed while viewing the corpse on the beach. He was beginning to believe that the lights were somehow linked to the murder, if only because the mention of either provoked similar reactions from Kiyoshi.

  If other leads didn’t point to the killer, Sano must question Kiyoshi again, and push him harder.

  When Sano returned to town, the western sky was an intense orange. Framed by masses of lavender and pink clouds, the setting sun cast a lustrous red sheen upon the ocean, where ships floated as if in a sea of blood. In the streets, lamps flared above gates and behind windows. Hills and cliffs lost their definition, becoming lofty but insubstantial barriers against the oncoming night. Sano rode up to the Deshima guardhouse just as ten divers swam ashore.

  “You didn’t find the gun?” he asked, noting with disappointment their empty hands.

  “No, and it’s too dark to see anything now,” said the leader.

  “Resume the search in the morning,” Sano said.

  He’d intended to requestion Chief Ohira and the staff, but before he could dismount and enter the guardhouse, a strange spectacle drew his attention. He rode down the waterfront promenade for a better look.

  In the harbor, a Chinese junk glowed with hundreds of lanterns that hung from its masts, golden sails fluttering like flames. On the deck, musicians played a dissonant melody on flute, drums, and cymbals. Sailors danced, queues waving; their song drifted across the water. Down the hill came a procession of marchers carrying red lanterns and orange-robed priests bearing two litters. The first held the large gold statue of a fat, smiling god, surrounded by flowers and smoking incense burners. Upon the second litter rode a diminutive old man with a shaven head. He wore a multicolored brocade stole over his clerical robes. Other priests carried objects fashioned from gilt paper: houses, boats, furniture; animals; stacks of money. A boisterous crowd of Chinese sailors followed. Japanese guards, armed with bamboo canes, accompanied the marchers down a pier toward the junk.

  Dismounting, Sano joined the crowd that had gathered to watch the procession. “What’s going on?” he asked a soldier.

  “This is a launching ceremony for the Chinese junk. The statue is their sea god. They pray to him for a safe journey.”

  “And the priest on the litter?” Sano asked, already guessing the answer.

  “Liu Yun. Abbot of the Chinese temple.”

  Eager for a better look at this suspect, Sano gave the reins to the soldier, along with orders to mind his horse. He eased his way through the crowd of Chinese on the pier, where priests were helping Abbot Liu Yun off his litter. They handed him a flaming torch. Chanting in a deep, resonant voice, he set fire to an elaborate gilt-paper mansion. Smoke rose to the sky; ashes wafted over the water. From his litter, the golden sea god smiled benignly as the symbolic offering was sent heavenward. The sailors aboard the junk waved and shouted. The music played louder and faster. The audience cheered. Sano approached a guard.

  “Is there anyone here who can translate Chinese and Japanese?” he asked, regretting that while he’d learned to read Chinese, he couldn’t speak it. “I need to talk to Abbot Liu Yun.”

  “An interpreter is not necessary,” interjected an oddly accented voice.

  Turning, Sano saw that the other priests had assumed the task of burning the offerings, and Abbot Liu Yun stood beside him. The abbot’s wrinkled skin had the thin fragility of ancient silk and the yellow color of old ivory. His head, supported by the feeble stalk of his neck, seemed too large for his body, but his features were delicate and precise, with a pointed chin and ears like tiny seashells. He bowed stiffly.

  “You speak Japanese very well, Your Holiness,” Sano said, impressed. Here was the elegant, scholarly refinement he’d expected of the Chinese and found lacking in the merchants. The abbot exuded a distinct air of class, wealth, and education. Sano was awed at actually meeting a citizen of the venerated Middle Kingdom, and curious to know more about him. This was as close as the hateful bakufu would let him get to that land of ancient knowledge and tradition. “How did you learn our language?”

  “In my youth, I was an official in the Ming Imperial Court in Peking,” the abbot said. “This was before your government forbade its subjects to travel abroad.” Sano noticed that he slurred his r sounds and retained the musical cadence of his own tongue. “I studied with a Japanese tutor, and later served as a minister of foreign relations, rece
iving Japanese merchants, priests, and scholars who came to pay homage to the emperor. And I have been in your wonderful country for six years now.”

  Chinese priests, like their Japanese counterparts, often pursued other careers before entering the monastery, yet Sano was surprised to learn that Abbot Liu Yun had done so. He had the ethereal serenity that Sano associated with priests who’d taken their vows early and had limited contact with secular life. His voice carried a faint echo of shadowed worship halls. His tilted eyes, which did not quite focus on the same point, seemed to behold a landscape visible only to him. But Abbot Liu Yun was cognizant of city affairs, as his next words proved.

  “I understand that you are investigating the murder of the barbarian. Is there some way in which I might assist you in this endeavor?”

  Sano moved up the pier, separating himself and Liu Yun from the crowd. It was risky to speak to any foreigner alone, but Sano took the chance to further his investigation and indulge his curiosity. “I’m questioning everyone who had a connection with Jan Spaen and the Dutch. Your name has come up as someone with a grievance against them.”

  Placidly the abbot contemplated the festivities. The priests were setting fire to a paper barn full of paper animals, chanting as it flamed and smoked. The junk’s crew had extended a long platform from the prow over the water. Upon this, an acrobat performed somersaults and handsprings.

  “Ah, yes,” Liu Yun said, nodding slowly. “Nagasaki, the great international port, is really just a small, gossipy town. My personal affairs, like those of everyone else, are grist for the local rumor mill.”

  “And exactly what is this grievance that has inspired the rumors?” Sano asked.

  The priests lit the paper money and cast burning fragments into the sea. Liu Yun watched with benign detachment. “Jan Spaen was the man immediately but not solely responsible for the death of my only brother.”