“Oh?” Nagai’s expression remained impassive.
“Take Kiyoshi, for example,” Sano said. “His testimony links me to the smuggling, but he’s gone mad. The magistrates will doubt anything he says. And it’s not hard to draw the conclusion that he lied to protect someone with whom he has strong professional or personal ties.”
Like you, Governor, Sano let his tone imply. “Then there’s Iishino. He was the only interpreter present when I spoke with the barbarians. His statement about what happened between them and me can’t be confirmed. And because Iishino speaks Dutch fluently, he’s the person most able to conspire with the barbarians, and engage in conflicts strong enough to provoke violence.”
“Yes. Well.” Governor Nagai’s warrior costume lent a menacing edge to his familiar geniality. “Interpreter Iishino and Chief Ohira are witnesses of great fortitude. They also have excellent records.”
This meant that they would stand firm by their statements, thereby upsetting any claim of bias or perjury Sano made against them. Furthermore, their credentials weighed in their favor, while Sano, the accused, must battle the presumption of guilt, from which neither his rank nor accomplishments could shield him.
“Ohira is the most dubious witness of all,” Sano said, fighting desperation. Only moments remained until his confrontation with the Dutch. “Who else is in a better position to move barbarians off Deshima and murder them? And anyone can see why he wants me condemned as a traitor and corrupter of innocent youth: That would excuse his son’s behavior and lessen the family’s disgrace, wouldn’t it?” Sano described the hint of conspiracy he’d observed between Chief Ohira and Nirin. “As far as I’m concerned, Ohira is the prime suspect.”
“But what would be his reason for killing Jan Spaen?” Nagai asked impatiently.
Lack of motive was the only weak point in the case against Ohira. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Sano said. Nagai shrugged, keeping his eyes on the Dutch ship. Sano could now see its crew on deck, ready to attack again. With increasing urgency, he hurried on. “This tribunal convenes at considerable trouble to the magistrates and expense to the bakufu. The magistrates will resent being summoned to hear a fabricated case. The bakufu frowns upon anyone who abuses the law for personal gain. And I have allies in Edo. You could save yourself a lot of trouble by dropping the charges against me before matters go any farther.”
Governor Nagai’s expression turned cautious, but he shook his head. “I realize it’s in your interest for me to discredit the witnesses and dismiss the evidence. But that’s impossible.”
Nagai must have more to lose by freeing him than by mounting a fraudulent treason case, Sano thought. Did this indicate the governor’s complicity in the smuggling or murders? Was he afraid of what Sano’s investigation might reveal about him?
“The law requires that I prosecute traitors without exception or mercy,” continued Nagai. “And the proceedings have been set in motion; no one can halt them now.”
Through the cloud of ambiguities, Sano sensed one awful certainty: The long arm of Chamberlain Yanagisawa, reaching all the way from Edo to Nagasaki. Whatever Nagai’s motives, the chamberlain would support the campaign against Sano—and punish the governor if it failed. Nagai, the canny politician, knew this.
The warship was nearing the ring of patrol barges. Governor Nagai leaned over the rail, shouting commands. The ring opened, allowing the warship to pass through. Sano saw Captain Oss, his red hair swirling like windblown flames, standing on the upper deck. Surrounded by armed troops, he aimed a musket directly at the Japanese warship. Sano knew that behind the rows of jutting black cannon, barbarian gunners waited in the lower decks, flaming torches in hand, poised to fire more deadly mortars. As the only man aboard his craft not wearing armor, Sano felt naked and vulnerable.
“Iishino!” he called. “Get up here!”
Iishino hurried into the bow, his face ghastly white. The warship came within a length of the Dutch vessel, and Oss shouted into the gusting wind. “He says don’t come any closer, or they’ll shoot.” Iishino trembled so hard that his shoulder plates rattled. “Oh, Honorable Governor, I think we should obey!”
Nagai leveled an icy stare at Sano. “You are in charge now.”
“Stop this ship,” Sano told the captain. They could never withstand an assault by the barbarian vessel.
The rowers lifted the oars. The slackened sails flapped in the rainy wind. With a great splash, the anchor hit the water; the ship stopped. Sano offered a mental prayer to the gods, drew a deep breath, waved, and shouted:
“Captain Oss! Do you remember me?”
Iishino crouched on the deck, his head barely clearing the railing. In a quavery yell, he translated Sano’s words.
“You gave me two days to catch Jan Spaen’s killer and provide safe accommodations for your crew,” Sano continued, hoping his voice—and courage—wouldn’t fail. “Why have you changed your mind?”
Oss didn’t lower his gun, but he craned his neck to peer at Sano and rapped out an angry reply.
“He says he’s tired of waiting,” mewled Iishino.
Sano realized that the barbarian had forced this confrontation because he knew Japan didn’t want a war. Oss hoped to extort trade concessions and advance himself. “Captain Oss, please order your men to hold their fire. Go back outside the harbor until we’re ready to escort you ashore.” Sano hated the thought of ever allowing the ambitious barbarian and his wild horde onto land, but what mattered now was removing the immediate threat to national security.
No sooner had Iishino finished translating, than the Dutchman’s gun muzzle flared. An explosion cracked through air, tore across water. The bullet splintered one of the warships yards. Sano dropped to the deck. Cries erupted and armor clattered as Iishino, Governor Nagai, and the crew followed suit. Then the captain was shouting orders, and the Japanese troops were back in position. Along a hundred bows, arrows rested poised to fly. The smell of hot flint and charred cloth rose as gunners lit the wicks that would ignite powder and speed bullets and cannonballs toward the enemy.
“No!” Sano shouted. Merciful gods, the war had begun. He would be among the first casualties. “Don’t shoot!”
Governor Nagai bellowed threats at his captain and crew. Then, when no additional shots came from the Dutch ship, the captain reluctantly signaled to hold fire. Yet bowstrings remained taut, guns aimed, while, from across the waves, came the barbarian’s wild ranting.
“Translate!” Sano ordered, hauling Iishino to his feet.
The interpreter whimpered, “He says there’s a fortune in goods in the ship’s hold, and he wants us to buy them now, for the price he will set. Oh, sōsakan-sama, you must also bring him the corpse of Jan Spaen’s killer and allow them ashore, or they’ll destroy Nagasaki!”
Sano sensed the Japanese troops’ growing restlessness, but Captain Oss’s mention of money gave him an opening. And he saw terror on the faces of the barbarian crew: They didn’t want to die. Only fear of their leader compelled their obedience.
“Ten silver pieces for you if you cease fire and leave the harbor, Captain Oss,” Sano called, “and one for each of your men.”
A collective gasp rose from Sano’s comrades. Diplomatic protocol forbade the practice of bribing barbarians, which could be used to court military allegiance. Sano saw Governor Nagai’s faint smile and knew he’d just compounded the treason charges. Yet after Iishino translated the offer, he watched with jubilation as his ploy achieved the desired effect. Oss shook his head and roared a defiant negative, but his men turned on him, abandoning their posts to argue and gesticulate. Elation burst the iron band of worry around Sano’s chest. His offer to Captain Oss had been a token bribe; it was the crew he’d meant to reach. Dutch seamen earned a pittance; to them, even one silver coin represented a small fortune. For a moment, mutiny seemed likely. At last Captain Oss nodded, conceding defeat. He shouted at Sano. Iishino translated.
“He’ll hold fire for two more d
ays, two more days.”
Murmurs of cautious relief swept the warship’s crew. Sano’s spirits lifted.
“But he refuses to leave the harbor until he’s satisfied that the true killer of Jan Spaen has been punished.”
No amount of negotiation would induce Captain Oss to capitulate. The Japanese warship turned back while barges still surrounded the Dutch ship, the troops remained on the waterfront and cliffs, and Sano prayed that the tentative truce would hold.
“We’ll pay the bribe, but maintain all forces on alert,” Governor Nagai told his men. “When the Dutch ship fires, they are to destroy it; we have no choice now.” Evidently he trusted neither Captain Oss’s promise nor Sano’s abilities. Turning to Sano, he said coldly, “This could be the beginning of the greatest catastrophe our land has ever known. How fortunate for you that you’ll not live to suffer the consequences of your foolhardy actions … traitor.”
The insult enflamed Sano’s anger even as his conscience acknowledged his culpability—after all, hadn’t he promoted Dutch interests above Japanese by leaving the barbarian ship armed? He should never have indulged the curiosity that had drawn him to the barbarians. How much was he compelled by the demands of honor and right; how much by the thrill of adventure?
“We’ll soon see which of us is the traitor,” he retorted, turning his anger at himself on Governor Nagai. “I intend to learn your role in the smuggling, and in Director Spaen’s murder. When I tell the tribunal magistrates, they may decide to remain in Nagasaki for another trial—where I shall give evidence against you, Honorable Governor.”
Nagai’s laugh poured over him like poisonous oil: smooth, rich, corrosive. “You’ll never find any evidence, or anyone willing to testify against me.”
Rain and wind cloaked Sano in chill misery as he beheld the approaching shore with its massed troops, and the red war banners in the hills. Governor Nagai was smart enough to cover his tracks and powerful enough to command unfailing loyalty. Who among his subordinates would dare accuse him?
Nagai added, “In case you still harbor any illusions about your detective talents, let me relieve you of them. Two days before Director Spaen’s disappearance, the Deshima guards reported a violent argument between Spaen and another barbarian—the doctor, Nicolaes Huygens.”
Sano’s stomach recoiled from the shock; his mind went numb. Then, as Nagai continued, hurt outrage flooded him.
“The guards heard angry voices coming from Spaen’s office. They entered and saw Huygens lunge at Spaen and start choking him. When Huygens saw they had an audience, he ran out of the room. The guards didn’t know what the fight was about, but they claimed that Huygens looked angry enough to kill Spaen.” Governor Nagai laughed again. “Yes. Well. If you were a competent investigator, surely you would have discovered the animosity between your Dutch friend and Jan Spaen before you conspired with Huygens.”
The story had the ring of truth. Yet far from doing him a favor by relating it, Sano knew the governor had done so just to torment him because he couldn’t get onto Deshima to confirm it. But Sano’s anger at Nagai paled in comparison to the rage he felt toward Dr. Huygens. If Huygens had lied about his relationship with Spaen, what else had he lied about? Had he pretended to help examine Spaen’s corpse, all the while falsifying the results of the dissection? Bitterly Sano wondered whether their friendship had been a sham, meant to deflect his suspicion.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Governor Nagai said, “I have a city to defend.”
He gathered his aides into the cabin for a strategy session. Iishino had vanished; Sano was alone with his fears and doubts. Had he risked treason and compromised the investigation by unknowingly collaborating with the killer he sought?
In the Dutch traders’ common room on Deshima, Dr. Nicolaes Huygens sat with Assistant Director deGraeff and their three colleagues. They’d been there for six hours, since the East India Company ship had entered the harbor. Now the remains of their noon meal littered the table; the air was foul with tobacco smoke, burning lamp oil, and the stench of a wastebucket in the corner. The guards stationed outside wouldn’t let them leave the room. As Huygens watched deGraeff get up to pace the floor, dread sickened him; sweat drenched his clothing.
“Why must they keep us locked up like this?” the trade secretary whined for what must have been the hundredth time. “When are they going to tell us what’s going on? What was that big bang a while ago? What will become of us?”
DeGraeff snorted. “As I’ve said before, it’s safe to assume that our ship entered the harbor without permission and fired on the Japanese. We can also assume that we’re prisoners of war.”
At times when Huygens couldn’t ease his homesick misery with nature studies, he drew comfort from the past. Now, to calm his fear of what was to happen, he pictured his old laboratory at Leyden University, the world’s greatest institution of learning, with faculty and students from all over Europe. He envisioned walls lined with shelves of books, anatomical models, and preserved specimens; the glassware, lamps, microscopes, and other scientific apparatus; caged animals; his research notes on the pathology and treatment of diseases. The laboratory was always crowded—Huygens’s reputation attracted scientists who came to consult him, and scholars seeking tutorials.
Next Huygens conjured up the great, echoing Anatomical Theater, its tiers packed with doctors, medical students, and curiosity seekers. He recalled lecturing on the physiology of the dissected corpse on the table beside him, answering questions spoken in German, English, French, Swedish, and Hungarian accents.
For last he saved the image of his narrow stone row house beside a tree-shaded canal. On fine summer evenings, he and his wife Judith relaxed on a bench by the door. At their feet played Pieter, aged eight. Tiny-eyed, thick-featured, he acted like a toddler; he couldn’t speak clearly, or dress and feed himself. Huygens, with all his scientific expertise, could find neither explanation nor cure for this malady, and he’d worried about Pieter’s future. But Pieter’s angelic nature had given his parents a joy that compensated for the sorrow.…
Today the happy memories seemed faded and remote. Like a medicine taken too often, they’d lost the power to ease pain. Now Huygens’s thoughts carried him back farther, to the youthful days he kept sealed off in a corner of his mind.
He was the son of a wealthy Amsterdam merchant who’d paid a fortune to send him to Leyden University. But the seventeen-year-old Nicolaes Huygens had cared nothing for studies. He drank in taverns with a gang of rowdy comrades. They ravished maidens and brawled in the streets. When Huygens bothered to attend class, he heckled his teachers. The university threatened expulsion; his father raged. Yet Huygens continued his debauchery, until it culminated in the act that had bound him to Jan Spaen.
This had happened during kermis—the Dutch annual rite of celebration. Beneath colorful tents, vendors sold food and trinkets; acrobats and clowns entertained; gypsies told fortunes. A curiosity show boasted two-headed pigs and limbless men; a theater troupe presented plays. Revelers led a flower-wreathed ox to the marketplace to be slaughtered, roasted, and served at an outdoor banquet. Musicians fiddled; men, women, and children danced. Drinkers filled every tavern.
Through the crowds swaggered Huygens and his friends, drunk and boisterous. In search of a rival student gang, they carried pocketsful of flour and crocks of melted wax to smear on the offenders’ faces in proper kermis tradition.
“Come out, Franz Tulp, you coward,” Huygens called to the rival gang’s leader.
His comrades hooted. “We need another drink!”
They piled into a tavern. And there, among the patrons, sat Franz Tulp, a burly blond lout with a scornful grin, his friends clustered round him.
“Get them!” Huygens shouted to his gang.
They assaulted their rivals, hurling flour and wax. The opposition flung the ale from their cups. Then suddenly, somehow, the fun changed to serious combat. Fists flew; sticks flailed. Laughter turned to cries of pain. Huygens
, mad with rage, chased Tulp outside, cornering him alone in an alley. Drunken bloodlust swept Huygens’s mind clear of reason. He reached for the short clay pipe he always carried in his pocket.…
Suddenly the Deshima common-room door slammed open. Huygens snapped back to the present. The hawkfaced second watch commander burst into the room, breathless and agitated, directing an order to the guards. To Huygens’s dismay, it sounded like, “The doctor’s services are needed.” Had Investigator Sano learned about his argument with Spaen and returned to question him about the murder again?
When the guards protested, citing the governor’s orders to keep the barbarians locked up together, Nirin ignored them and hustled Huygens from the room. This didn’t surprise him; on Deshima, rules were frequently broken, by both staff and residents. He should know, with his learning of the native language, his clandestine work with the Dutch-Japanese underground, his illicit trips off the island.…
Huygens fought panic while Nirin led him through the drizzly twilit street, which was guarded by twice as many sentries as usual. On the mainland, he saw red banners in the hills. Japan and his country must indeed be at war. Silently Huygens rehearsed the statements he must convince Sano to believe: I didn’t kill Jan Spaen. I know nothing about any smuggling. I’m not the enemy; I’m innocent!
They reached the surgery. Lamps burned in the windows. Nirin opened the door and shoved Huygens inside, ordering, “Save him, barbarian!”
Instead of Investigator Sano, four guards and a scared-looking junior interpreter occupied the room. Huygens experienced a rush of relief. Then he saw, lying on the table, the still, blanket-covered body of a young samurai. His face was white, his eyes closed.
Speaking too fast for Huygens to understand, Nirin whipped the blanket off the boy. Huygens’s heart jumped when he saw the deep gash on the naked thigh, still oozing blood despite the tourniquet someone had applied.
“His son,” the interpreter translated. “Hurt when Dutch ship sink barge. Please, honorable doctor, you heal?”
The Way of the Traitor Page 23