Page 38 of Mercy Written in Blood

"The city records show no route through that area before the seventeenth century."

Minamoto joined him.

"The records are incomplete."

"Not that incomplete."

Haruki crossed the chamber.

"What are you looking at?"

Endo hesitated, then shifted aside. The map showed the old city in careful black ink — buildings clustered around temples and markets, defensive walls enclosing the central district, a river crossing the lower edge. Endo indicated a narrow road drawn beyond the city boundary.

"It leads south," he said.

"To where?"

"The coastline, perhaps."

Haruki studied it. The line ended at a symbol shaped like a circle cut by three vertical strokes.

"What is that?"

"We don't know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it is still true."

Minamoto leaned closer to the map.

"The road isn't the problem."

"What is?"

"The date."

Haruki looked at him.

"You said you wouldn't guess."

"I am not guessing."

Minamoto pointed to a notation near the bottom corner of the cloth. The ink was faded, but Haruki could make out several characters.

"Can you read it?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Minamoto said nothing. Takeda answered for him.

"It was drawn more than eight hundred years ago."

The number settled in the chamber. Haruki looked at the map again. Eight hundred years — the city above had changed beyond recognition, districts rising, burning, flooding, rebuilding, names shifting, families disappearing. Yet the cloth remained. The road remained. The journal remained.

Haruki felt no awe. Not yet. Only the growing sense that everyone around him had understood the scale of the discovery before he had.