The city gate stood at the bottom of the slope, its passage wider than most.
The walls were built of stone, with a layer of snow along the top. A few swept tracks marked its surface.
People stood on either side of the gateway. The man in front wore a short jacket and held a rolled list.
As the procession passed through, he unrolled the list, glanced at it, and rolled it up again. The roll was neat, with a pen tucked into its opening.
Kiyoshi walked at the rear of the procession, surveying both sides.
The snow in the street had been swept to the roadside, forming a low ridge with a few broken wooden posts sticking out of it.
Someone had set up a stall at the foot of the wall. A thick cloth covered it, with snow resting on top.
The guesthouse stood slightly north of the street's center, its courtyard gate facing south. The gate was wooden, studded with two rows of rivets.
Frost had formed over them, whitening a row.
The unloaded crates were stacked under the eaves first, one on top of another. The weight had crushed the corners of the bottom ones.
The steward held a ledger and checked them off one by one. The driver took the empty cart over to the wall and tied the end of its rope to a stone post.
The covered wagon stood in the middle of the procession. Snow rested on its canopy, and straw lined its bed.
The film crew gathered around it, passing the cases down and calling out each one.
Labels were pasted onto the cases, the writing fresh.
He gave the clerk the entry from the list and asked for the original record.
The clerk went inside, searched for a while, and