Gai-Jin

  Gornt’s friendliness filled the room. To Malcolm he seemed like a very old comrade. “Champagne?”

  “Thank you, Tai-pan. May I congratulate you?”

  “You may. Health!”

  “And yours, suh.”

  “Sorry, but we have to be quick, tomorrow there’ll be more time, what’s up?”

  “I wanted to tell you, privately, Mr. Greyforth is going to accept your compromise tomorrow. No duel.”

  Struan smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve had … no, the second best news I’ve had all day!”

  “Yes.” Gornt’s face hardened. “If he means it.”

  “Eh?”

  “I think you should be ready for treachery. Sorry to be a cold towel on a great day but I wanted to warn you. I know he’ll change his mind.”

  Malcolm watched him, then nodded, undisturbed. “With Norbert, and all the Brocks, we expect treachery for breakfast.” Their glasses touched. “Health—and wealth—and happiness!”

  The room was warm for both of them, Malcolm noticing a curiousness about him that he could not divine. “You’re still planning on tomorrow, giving me the information I need?”

  “Oh, yes.” Gornt got up. “And my contract?”

  “It’s ready. My signature can be witnessed tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. Until tomorrow, and again congratulations.”

  Again Malcolm sensed more than saw a strange humor in him. “You’re looking forward to it as much as I am.”

  Gornt’s eyes seemed to focus. “Yes. It will be another great day, an ending and a beginning.”

  Upstairs, Angelique was in front of her mirror, seeing nothing, unconsciously tinkering with the signet ring on her finger. She was alone for the first time today, in the privacy of her own room with the door locked, and the moment she sat down, the clamor of truths and paradoxes had abruptly possessed her: everything happening so fast, married but never really expecting it, never that way, not aboard a ship, hoping and praying but not believing it possible, so many barricades between them; married but not in the sight of God, married to a man I set my cap at, actively pursued, and encouraged to pursue me; the man I adore but have cheated—the rape not my fault, the casting out necessary, the earrings the only way, the secrecy the only means to protect my life but still a cheat—this man, who loves me to oblivion, risking, all, I’ve stolen from, cheated, and go to my marriage bed soiled and yet …

  Three times, coming back ashore, I began to tell him.

  That’s not true, I began to tell him part, the part about the earrings, but each time his elation overpowered me and stopped me as he poured out truths about his mother and her letters—and Skye and Father Leo and the English priest, the Admiral and Sir William—how he had been blocked but in the end he had won … “I won, my beloved wife. I won you and now no one can take you from me ….”

  Embracing and rapturous tears in each other’s arms.

  As God is my witness, I know he would have been destroyed had I begun, and once begun I know the rest would have poured out. And then he would have died, poor lovely man. For that’s what he is, truly, the most lovely man in my life. I know now I do love him, equally—no one could have tried so hard, casting so many barriers aside. I love him and yet …

  What must I do?

  She saw her face staring back at her. Not liking to see herself so unguarded, her eyes dropped. She saw her fingers twisting the ring, this way and that, the way André did with his signet ring. Malcolm’s ring was gold, heavy, with the engraved Struan crest: the Lion of Scotland entwined with the Dragon of China. Is that good with evil? she asked herself, and suddenly shivered.

  To divert herself she brushed her hair vigorously but this did not help. Dark thoughts soared back, faster, ever faster, all of them—and him.

  It all became like a foul vomit ready to pour out. She felt faint and pressed her hands against her temples. “Don’t … you must be strong … you must be strong, you’re alone, you must …” Her moaning stopped as another thought cleared the sick away. “But you’re not alone,” she said aloud. “There are two of you now, there’s Malcolm and he needs you … two of you—you and Malcolm, he needs you, Malcolm who is your husband …”

  This image moved around her mind, filling it, and then she heard him calling from downstairs, so joyously, “Angel, hurry, it’s time to leave … hurry!”

  Unhurried she went and knelt in front of the little statue of the Blessed Virgin and gave all of herself: “Mother of God, forgive this sinner. I have sinned grievously, I beg Thy forgiveness. I have sinned grievously, and live a lie, but I swear I will be the best wife I can be, for as long as I am permitted, for I love this man with all my heart as I love Thee…. ”

  “How nice to see you, Raiko-chan,” Meikin said with a smile, kneeling opposite her. “It has been too long.” She was mama-san of the House of Wisteria and Koiko’s mistress and they were in Raiko’s most private sanctuary.

  “Yes, thank you, you honor me,” Raiko said, delighted to see her old friend, though more than a little surprised that Meikin had responded with such alacrity to her invitation for a business discussion. “Please help yourself to some snacks, the eel is particularly delicate. Saké or gai-jin brandy?”

  “First saké, please.” Meikin accepted it from an attentive maid. Business must be good, she thought, noting the expensive trappings of this isolated, secure dwelling within the walls of the Three Carp.

  “Though times are hard, happily gai-jin have little idea of money values and, disgusting as they may be, reapings are high and the cost of hot water and clean towels and perfumes small.” The two women laughed, watched and waited.

  Meikin sampled the sushi—delicious—and began eating hugely for such a small woman. Her travelling kimono was deliberately mediocre. Anyone seeing her would presume she was a minor merchant’s wife, not one of the richest mama-sans in Yedo, owner of the city’s most expensive Pleasure House in the greatest Yoshiwara in the land—recently entirely rebuilt and refurbished after last year’s fire—mama-san to ten of the most gifted geisha, twenty of the loveliest courtesans, as well as contract owner of Koiko the Lily. She looked around Raiko’s most inner sanctum, reserved for special occasions, admiring the unique silks and cushions and tatamis, chatting while she ate, wondering why the request for a meeting.

  When food was finished, the maids dismissed, Raiko poured two cups of her best brandy. “Health and money!”

  “Money and health!” The quality of the liquor was better than any Meikin possessed. “Gai-jin have their good points.”

  “In the world of wines and fortified spirits, yes, not in their appendages,” Raiko said sagely. “Please allow me to give you a bottle. One of my clients is Furansu.”

  “Thank you. I am glad business is so good, Raiko-chan.”

  “It could be better, always.”

  “And Hinodeh?” Meikin asked—she owned half her contract-price. When Hinodeh first came to see her, she had placed the girl with a cousin, the mama-san of another House she owned. Later, by chance, she had heard of Raiko’s curious and highly unorthodox request for a special kind of girl. It was easy to make the arrangements—Raiko was an old friend, known over the years and trusted over the years from the times they were maiko, then courtesans together. “The arrangement continues to be satisfactory?”

  “I have another payment for you though the man is slow.”

  Meikin laughed. “I am not surprised. You are a marvelous negotiator.” She bowed her thanks.

  “He promises a larger amount in a few days. Possibly more earrings.”

  “Ah!” Meikin had disposed of the other set profitably. “This had been a most satisfactory business.” The client’s down payment on Hinodeh’s contract had been more than enough to carry all costs for at least a year. “How is she?”

  Raiko related the first and subsequent meetings to the other woman’s breathless interest.

  “She’s correct to call him the Beast,” Meikin said.

&
nbsp; “He is not a bad man. I think this disease must send him mad from time to time. At least she knows the worst, and accepts that he is her karma.”

  “May I ask, there are no—no signs yet?”

  “No, nothing. But every day she makes me examine the parts she cannot see herself or with a mirror.”

  “Strange, Raiko-chan.” Meikin settled a hair comb more comfortably. “When, and if, anything appears that cannot be hidden—will she seek the knife?”

  Raiko shrugged. “One never knows for certain.”

  “Has she told you why she accepted this karma?”

  “No. Nothing. I like her and can help only a little. Yes, strange she will not tell us, neh?” Raiko sipped her brandy, captivated by the heat that slid inside, and the rare pleasure of entertaining her oldest and most trusted friend. They had been inseparable while maiko, lovers in their youth, and exchanged confidences always—safe confidences. “Tonight he visits her. If you wish you can watch them for a while.”

  Meikin chuckled. “I am long past being interested or excited by the thrashings of others, violent or passionate—even by well-endowed gai-jin.” She was too happy to be with her old friend to tell the sadness of Gekko and Shin Komoda that she had insisted on knowing before sending her here.

  When Hinodeh is dead, Raiko-chan, I will tell you and we can share a tear for the sorrows we women must endure. Until then Hinodeh’s secret is safe as we agreed, the name of her son safe, and where he was sent.

  A glow went through her, loving secrets and the game of life. “So Hinodeh is settled. Good. And now?”

  “Now.” Raiko dropped her voice. “I might have important information about gai-jin battle plans.”

  Color rushed into Meikin’s cheeks and she became as tense as the other woman had become. “Against Yedo?”

  “Yes.”

  “That might be valuable information but, so sorry, it would be dangerous knowledge—perilous.”

  “Yes, and even more dangerous to dispose of, though highly valuable to the correct person.”

  Meikin touched away a droplet of brandy that could have been perspiration. “And once such knowledge is bought, proved correct, or incorrect, heads have a habit of falling.”

  “True.” Raiko understood the danger but she was more excited than she had been in years. She had never been in the mainstream of Yedo politics, but the proximity of Hiraga and learning about the shishi from him—and secrets about him and Ori from the shoya—had given her an appetite. That and her relationship with Furansu-san, through him learning about gai-jin, paradoxically the source of all her wealth at the same time the enemy of their sacred Land of the Gods. That and because of her disgust with the Bakufu and Anjo, who had murdered another old friend, Yuriko, mama-san of the Forty-seven Ronin, for harboring shishi.

  She trembled at the thought of her own head adorning a spike, trembled in fear but in ecstasy. Yuriko was already immortalized in the ukiyo-e prints of the Floating World, her name the new favorite of geishas, and soon there would even be a Noh play with her as heroine.

  “You are right,” she whispered, “but certain information might be worth the risk. And if … if I had important secret knowledge of what … of what high officials were secretly planning against the gai-jin, I might be able to place it also to our mutual advantage.” Sweat had gathered at the edge of her elaborate wig. She brushed it away with a tiny pink paper tissue. “It is hot, neh?”

  “Not so hot as the fire we might put ourselves into.”

  “What would the beginning day of the attack be worth—and the gai-jin battle plan?” This morning Furansu-san had given her more than enough details to tempt even the most skeptical buyer to be lavish.

  Meikin felt her heart thumping. She had hoped that Raiko’s invitation would be for something like this. Over the last two years she had nurtured and obliquely hinted at the potential, prompted by Sensei Katsumata for whom any gai-jin intelligence was of value. And also because, recently, there had been covert instructions to all Bakufu spies with promises of rich rewards to focus on Yokohama, to discover gai-jin secrets, and who was feeding the enemy forbidden information about things Japanese. That Raiko had made the first open move was crucial—in truth the only person she herself would trust in such a gangrenous game. “How soon is the attack to be?”

  “Would it be possible to have some important secret for the gai-jin as part of the trade?”

  Meikin sat back and thought long and hard.

  Yes, Raiko was to be trusted, completely—until her life was threatened. Yes, a channel for intelligence on a continuing basis would be valuable not only in money but also to the cause—sonno-joi—that she supported with all her being. And yes, because it could be used to supply gai-jin with carefully conceived false information as well.

  She said softly, “Raiko, old friend, I have no doubt Tairō Anjo, or Yoshi, would pay dearly to know those dates, amongst other details, but, ah, so sorry, how to place it in either of their hands and the money in ours without compromising either of us, that is the difficulty.”

  “Brandy, Meikin-chan?” Raiko poured, weak with excitement. “If anyone could solve such a riddle it is you.”

  The two women measured each other and smiled. “Perhaps.”

  “Yes. And now perhaps that is enough for the moment. We can continue later, or tomorrow if it pleases you. May I plan your evening’s entertainment, unless you are tired?”

  “Thank you. No, I am not tired. The ferry from Yedo was comfortable and not at all full, the sea fair and my servants made sure the captain granted my slightest wish.” Meikin had arrived at the village jetty just before nightfall. “May I ask what you suggest?”

  “We have geisha, but not up to your standards. There are some youths who might prove adequate.” Raiko’s eyes crinkled with her smile, remembering the good times they had when they were young. “Or perhaps a maiko?”

  Meikin chuckled and sipped her brandy. “That would be a pleasant diversion and would remind me of old times, Raiko-chan. She will help me think, help me see if I can provide you with what we need. Good. I agree we have had enough seriousness for now. Let us talk of olden days and how business is, and how is your son?”

  “He is well, still climbing the Gyokoyama ladder.”

  “May I put in a good word with them—though surely unnecessary. An excellent bank, the best, I get the highest interest and my deposits are spread for safety—famine is coming so I have bought future rice heavily. Your son, he would be twenty-four now, neh?”

  “Twenty-six. And your daughter?”

  “Thank all gods rich and poor, I successfully married her to a goshi so her children are samurai, she already has one son, but eeee, her husband is expensive!” Meikin shook her head from side to side, then laughed. “But I should not complain, I only convert the worthless dribbles of a few rich old men into a heritage we never dreamed possible. Neh?”

  The sound of footsteps mingled with their laughter. A tap on the shoji. “Mistress?”

  “Yes, Tsuki-chan?”

  The maiko slid the door aside a crack and, on her knees, peered up at them with an innocent smile. “So sorry, but Shoya Ryoshi, the village Elder, begs to see you and your guest.”

  Raiko’s eyebrows arced. “My guest?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Meikin frowned. “Does he usually greet visitors?”

  “Only the most important and no doubt you are most important, your presence honors us all. Certainly he would have been told of your arrival. His web of informants is far-reaching, Meikin-chan, he is absolutely to be trusted—and also head of the Gyokoyama in Yokohama. Shall we see him?”

  “Yes, but only for a moment. I will pretend a headache then we can continue our chat until the evening meal.”

  “Little one,” Raiko ordered, “bring the shoya here, but first tell maids to bring fresh tea and hot saké—and to take these glasses away and hide my brandy. Meikin-chan, if he knew I had such a source he would be a daily pest!”
r />   It was quickly done and the table made clean and perfect, their breath cleansed with herbs, before he was bowed in. “Please excuse me, Ladies,” he said with untoward anxiety, kneeling and bowing and being bowed to. “Please excuse my bad manners arriving without an appointment but I wanted to bow to such an august person and welcome her to my village.”

  Both were surprised that he appeared so forbidding, for this was not a serious occasion. Meikin had never met him before but her own Gyokoyama official had mentioned him and that he was a man of integrity, so her reply was as polite and enthusiastic as befitted an eminent person from the biggest city in the world, complimenting him on the state of the Yoshiwara, and the little she had seen of the village. “You are a man of great reputation, shoya.”

  “Thank you, thank you.”

  “Tea, or saké?” Raiko asked.

  He hesitated, began to talk, stopped. The mood in the room changed. Raiko spoke into the silence. “Please excuse me, shoya, but what is the matter?”

  “So sorry …” He turned to Meikin. “So sorry, Lady, you are a most cherished client for our company. I—I …” Shakily he reached into his sleeve and handed her the little piece of paper. She squinted at it. “What is it? What does it say? I cannot read writing so small.”

  “It’s a carr … carrier pigeon message.” The shoya tried to speak again, could not, numbly pointing at the paper.

  Jolted, Raiko took it and moved to the light. Her eyes scanned the tiny writing. She blanched, wavered, almost fainting, and sank to her knees. “It says. An assassination attempt on Lord Yoshi at dawn at Hamamatsu village failed. Lone shishi assassin slain by him. Lady Koiko also dead in skirmish. Inform House of Wisteria our great sadness. More information soon as possible. Namu Amida Butsu …”

  Meikin had gone sallow. She mouthed, Koiko dead?

  “It must be a mistake,” Raiko cried out in anguish. “Must be! Koiko dead? When did it happen? There’s no date! Shoya, how did you … It must be lies, must be lies …”

  “So sorry, the date is in code at the top,” he mumbled. “This happened yesterday, near dawn. The Tokaidō way station, Hamamatsu. No mistake, Lady, oh no, so sorry.”