Gai-Jin

  “You are not thinking clearly. Fishermen always remove the oars when the boat is not in use. No need for that. Buy one.” Katsumata took out a small silk purse and put it carelessly on the table. “Hiraga, concentrate!” he said, his voice hardening. “Has living with gai-jin infected you so much with their evils that you’ve forgotten your oath to sonno-joi? Concentrate, the plan is good, the timing is perfect. Could you buy a boat?”

  “Yes—yes, but—but, Sensei, where do we retreat to?”

  “Retreat is simple. Three of us, you, Takeda and me, we sink the warship. Then we beach the boat as near Yedo as possible and lose ourselves in the city.”

  “What about the other man, the one who fires the church?”

  “He will escape on foot.”

  “We need more shishi in support, this is a major task. This whole area will become lethal.”

  “That makes escape easier. Four men is enough. I will lead the attack on the ship and if tomorrow there’s a wind the burning church may torch all Yokohama, a further gift. Come back tonight, bring Akimoto and I will make final plans.”

  “But—where’s Takeda?”

  “I left him at Hodogaya. He will be here this afternoon. Until dusk, Hiraga.” Curtly Katsumata bowed a dismissal.

  In turmoil Hiraga bowed back, too many years an adoring, awestruck student of the Sensei, master swordsman and tactician, not to accept the dismissal. He went out and stumbled back across the bridge to the Settlement, along the village street, later turned to the promenade and walked back along it, seeing nothing, his head a mess of dark thoughts and impossibilities, his future in tatters all because this Satsuma outsider was determined to shove destiny forward.

  But the Sensei is right, he brooded. Those two acts would drive the gai-jin berserk, the fleet would invest Yedo, Yedo would burn, Yokohama would be decimated in revenge. In a few months fleets would come, this time with armies. By then shishi will not control the Gates, but all Nippon would be up in arms. And it would make no difference to the gai-jin.

  One way or another we will have to open to their world. Gai-jin have decided. So they will have a base at Yokohama and other places—because they have the power to decimate our coasts and close our ports, forever if they wish, and no Divine Wind will help us.

  “’Allo, mate, where you goin’?”

  “Oh.” He was standing in front of the Legation. “’Morning, Sir Sentry. I go Taira-sama.”

  “He’s not ’ere, mate,” the sentry said, yawning. “Mister Tyrer’n the Guv, they’s at Kanagawa.”

  “Oh?” Hiraga looked across the bay. The seascape was wintry. He could just discern Kanagawa. A frigate, he recognized it as the Pearl, was steaming slowly offshore, against the wind, neat and deadly. In the roads the flagship with its forty 60-pounders, was at anchor into the wind. “I come back ’rater,” he muttered.

  Disconsolate, he wandered back to the village. To buy a dinghy. How ever much he disapproved, he was shishi first.

  Early that afternoon in the wardroom aboard H.M.S. Pearl Seratard clinked glasses with Sir William, congratulating the other again on the meeting.

  “A marvelous step forward, Henri, old chap,” Sir William said jovially. He took up the bottle and rechecked the label. “Not bad for a ’48. Excellent repast too.” On the table were leftovers of the picnic lunch provided by Seratard’s chef: cold pigeon pies, quiche, crumbs of the French bread, and a few slivers of a devoured Brie that had arrived on the last merchantman from Shanghai. “Still can’t believe Yoshi offered what he offered.”

  “I agree. Marvelous is the word. We’ll train the navy, you take the army, we’ll take banking and customs and—”

  “Dreamer!” Sir William said with a laugh. “But we’re not going to quarrel about partitions, London and Paris will do that.” He belched contentedly. “It’ll come down to ‘how much’ in the end, for obviously we’ll have to lend the wherewithal to buy our ships, factories or whatever—however much they say they’ll pay.”

  “Yes, but there’ll be the usual safeguards, customs revenues, etc.” Both laughed.

  “There’ll be more than enough for both our countries,” Sir William said, still not quite believing it. “But do me a favor, Henri, please don’t bait the Admiral, I’ve enough trouble as it is.”

  “All right, but he’s so … never mind. What about this Nakama? Astonishing. I think you were lucky he didn’t kill you by night, you are their number one enemy. What possessed you to take such a risk?”

  “He wasn’t armed, he was helping Phillip with his Japanese,” Sir William said. As far as he knew only four of them, Tyrer, McFay, Babcott and himself, knew the man could speak English and there was no reason to share that secret. “He was well watched,” he added matter-of-factly, though another pang went through him at the thought of the danger they had been in.

  “What are you going to do about him?”

  “What I told Yoshi.”

  They had all been shocked at Yoshi’s revelations—Sir William almost as much as Tyrer—particularly that Nakama was wanted for the murder of Utani, one of the Elders, amongst other killings. At once he had said, “Phillip, tell Lord Yoshi as soon I get back to Yokohama I will begin a formal enquiry, and if the facts are as he says I will return him at once to the authorities. Phillip!”

  But Tyrer, speechless with disbelief, was staring blankly at Yoshi. André recovered quickly and translated for him, they jerked as Yoshi snapped at him.

  “He, er, Lord Yoshi says, You question my words?”

  “Say, Not at all, Lord Yoshi.” Sir William had kept his voice level, for he had seen the eyes narrow. “But as you have your laws or customs, for instance your not being able to order this daimyo Sanjiro to obey you, I also have to comply with our laws, which the Treaty specifies clearly is Yokohama’s dominating law.”

  “He says, Sir William, ah yes, the Treaties. In this new spirit of friendship he agrees to … to allow you the duty of giving up the … the assassin. He’ll send men to take custody tomorrow. About the Treaty, sir, he says, he said exactly, some changes are necessary, we can discuss them in twenty days.”

  Tyrer said quietly, “Excuse me, Sir William, about Nakama, may I suggest that—”

  “No, Phillip, you may not. André, say to him exactly: We would be honored to discuss matters that affect our mutual interests at any time.” He had chosen the words very carefully and breathed a sigh of relief when the reply came back, “Lord Yoshi thanks you and says, we meet in twenty days if not before and now will return to Yedo with Dr. Babcott.”

  When the politenesses and bows were done and Yoshi had left the room, Seratard said, “William, I think you slid out of that trap cleverly. He’s cunning, that one. Congratulations.”

  “About the navy,” the Admiral began hotly.

  Sir William said, “First let me get Babcott and Tyrer on their way. Come along, Phillip!” and when he had got him outside he hissed, “What the devil’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Then why is your face around your ankles? Why do you forget your job is just to interpret and not make suggestions?”

  “Sorry, sir, but about Nakama, sir—”

  “I know it’s about him, for God’s sake, you practically shat all over the conference table! Do you think our wily host didn’t notice? Your bloody job is to translate what’s said and be impassive and that’s all. This is the second bloody time I’ve had to caution you!”

  “Sorry, sir, it’s just that Nakama’s important and—”

  “You mean Hiraga, or whatever other name he’s using at the moment? Jesus Christ, he’s accused of murder. I agree he’s been a fund of information but God Almighty, a renegade outlaw? We’re lucky he didn’t kill us in our beds when you think he’s had the run of the Legation and your quarters.”

  “What do you plan to do, sir?”

  “Damn it, what I’ve already said: investigate and if it’s true, as I suspect it is, we are honor bound to turn him over.
”

  “Couldn’t you consider him a political refugee?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake! Have you taken leave of your senses? We demand reparations and the murderers for the murder of our nationals, so how the devil can we refuse to return to them one of theirs who’s accused and probably guilty of murder of one of their rulers? Yoshi promised him a fair trial.”

  “He’s a dead man, that’s all the trial he’ll get.”

  “If he’s guilty that’s all he deserves.” He had held on to his temper, for Tyrer had done a good job today and he had noticed the growing friendship between the two of them that had worked to his advantage: “Phillip, I know he’s been tremendously valuable but he has to be turned over to them—after I’ve seen him. I warned him in the beginning that he would have to go if they asked for him. Now forget Nakama and make sure you learn all you can about Babcott’s patient. With any luck it’ll be the tairō.”

  He led the way to the forecourt where Yoshi was mounting. Babcott waited beside a horse Pallidar had lent him, another for Tyrer. The honor guard was on alert surrounding them. At Yoshi’s order the porters stood away from their poles with the bundles attached, then he beckoned Tyrer who listened, bowed and came back.

  “He said you can, er, count the money at your leisure, Sir William, please give him a receipt tomorrow. That man,” Tyrer pointed at Abeh, “will come for Nakama tomorrow.”

  “Thank him and say it will be done as he wishes.”

  Tyrer obeyed. Yoshi waved Abeh forward. “Ikimasho!” They trotted off, the porters and groom trailing.

  “You all set, George?”

  “Yes, thanks, Sir William.”

  “Off you go then. Phillip, you did well today, a few more conferences like this and I will recommend you be upgraded to full interpreter.”

  “Thank you, sir. May I be present when you see Nakama?”

  He had almost lost his temper. “How the devil can that happen when you’re going to Yedo with George. Use your brains! George, give him an emetic, the poor lad’s witless!”

  Babcott said, “I don’t really need Phillip. I thought it might be important for him to meet this ‘unnamed person.’”

  “You were quite right, this meeting could be very important—Nakama, or Hiraga, whatever his name, isn’t. Phillip, has that got through to you yet?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  Babcott leaned closer. “It might be a good idea not to hand over Nakama until we get back, just in case.”

  Sir William had looked up at him, this thought jumping the medical consultation to a possible new level. “You mean they might try to keep you? As a hostage? Both of you?”

  Babcott shrugged. “Nakama’s important to him. No harm in being wise, eh?”

  Sir William frowned. “I’ll expect you back tomorrow.” He had waited until they were out of sight and then went back to the conference room.

  At once the Admiral exploded. “Never heard so much poppycock in my life! Build them a navy? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “That’s not up to us, my dear Admiral,” he had said calmly, “that would be up to Parliament.”

  “Or much more likely Emperor Napoleon,” Seratard interrupted sharply.

  “I doubt that, my dear sir,” Ketterer said, his face and neck puce. “Foreign naval matters are the prime concern of the Royal Navy and any French interference in areas of British influence will be dealt with right smartly.”

  “Quite right,” Sir William said loudly, overriding both of them as Seratard’s face matched the Admiral’s and he volubly began to disagree. “In any event it would be a political decision. For London and Paris.”

  “Political be damned,” the Admiral said, jowls shaking with rage. “A dozen of our best warships in the hands of those scallywags when you see what they can do with a couple of swords? I’m totally opposed!”

  “So am I,” Sir William said smoothly, “totally, and will so recommend.”

  “What?”

  “I totally agree with you. Such a major decision is entirely up to the Admiralty, assisted by the Foreign Office. Paris likewise. Not a thing we can do but report to our superiors. You should do likewise. Thank God Japanese authorities at long last approve our right to proceed against guilty parties ourselves. Don’t you agree, Admiral?”

  “If you’re talking about your proposed, ill-advised punitive strike, here, there or anywhere, it’s not yet approved by the Admiralty so it’s not approved by me. I suggest we go back aboard Pearl before the rain starts …”

  Sir William sighed and looked out of a wardroom porthole. The rain had stopped temporarily, the sea was still leaden but his spirit wasn’t. He had the indemnity money, there was no immediate need now to flatten Yedo, and through this Yoshi we’ll help modernize Japan, he thought. We’ll make a happy place for it in the family of nations, happy for them as well as us. Far better we do it and instill British virtues than the French implant French ones, though their wines and attitudes to food and fornication are far superior to ours.

  Yes. Except in fornication the Japanese will benefit. In that their attitude is without doubt superior. Pity we can’t import that into our society but the Queen would never stand for it. Dreadful shame, but that’s life. We’ll just have to bless our luck to be living here—once we’ve civilized them. “Henri, let’s get some air.”

  He was glad to be back on deck. The wind was sea-salt heavy, sharp and wholesome, the frigate under sail now, making way nicely. Marlowe was on the bridge—officers and men on deck or in the shrouds, achingly aware of the Admiral who sat in the bridge sea chair, sourly hunched into his greatcoat. “For God’s sake, Marlowe, take her closer to the wind.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Sir William was not an expert but that seemed to be a pedantic and unnecessary order. Bloody man! Still, can’t blame him for wanting confirming orders, it’s his neck if anything goes wrong.

  When the frigate swung onto a new tack his grip tightened on the gunnel. He loved the sea and being on it, particularly on the deck of a British warship, proud that the ships of the Empire possessed the sea as much as any ships could rule the waves. Ketterer’s right about not wanting to create another navy, he thought, not with these men—the French, American and Prussian navies are enough trouble as it is.

  He looked aft.

  Aft, over the horizon, was Yedo. Yedo and Yoshi spell trouble whichever way you look at it, whatever the rosy future he promised. Ahead was Yokohama. More trouble there but never mind, tonight Angelique’s my dinner partner—I’m glad she didn’t leave but still don’t understand why. Doesn’t that play even more into Tess Struan’s hands?

  Strange to think of Angelique without Malcolm Struan. Sorry he had such bad luck but he’s gone and we’re alive and he isn’t. Joss. Who’ll be tai-pan now? Young Duncan’s only ten, last of the Struan boys. Terrible for Tess, more tragedy to bear. Wouldn’t be surprised if this didn’t finish her. Always admired her for her courage, carrying the load of Culum and the Brocks, not to mention Dirk Struan.

  Well, I did my best for Tess, and for Malcolm—alive and dead. And for Angelique. When she leaves there’ll be an emptiness that won’t be filled easily. Hope she regains the youth she’s lost, that’s another sadness but she’s got a whole life in front of her—if she has his child or if she doesn’t. Betting’s still evens.

  Commands on the bridge attracted his attention for a moment but it was nothing urgent, just adding more sail. The wind was humming the shrouds. The frigate picked up speed. Their moorings were under an hour away. Sunset a good two hours. Plenty of time to bring Nakama to heel before dinner.

  Sunset was just a lowering of light, the sun dying behind a blanket of clouds, regretting the loss of the day.

  Hiraga said to the group of fishermen, “That boat will do—no fishing tackle, but oars and sail are included.” He was on the beach near Drunk Town and he paid the owner what had been asked without bargaining, still unwilling to lose face by negotiating
though he knew now—too well hammered into him by Mukfey—that he was being cheated and overcharged and that this man and his compatriots would laugh at him as soon as they were out of sight. He knew he was to blame because he was dressed like a gai-jin and not properly with swords.

  Half of him wanted to scream and lash out at their bad manners and have them crawling on the beach, begging for the privilege of giving him the boat. The other half counselled patience: You have done what you must do, the boat is yours, tomorrow you die with honor in the cause of sonno-joi, these lice have no more value than the barnacles on the filthy little vessel they sell.

  “Leave everything in the boat,” he said. Unctuously the owner bowed and grovelled his way out of range, then, with his comrades, walked away, blessing their luck for a double profit.

  The boat was an ordinary little fishing boat for one to three men with a small sail and single stern oar. Part of samurai training was the use of boats on short distances to traverse rivers or to reach offshore coastal ships or galleys, so they could all handle it. The news that he had bought one would fly around the village but that did not matter. By the time the shoya and others had worked out its probable use, the revelation would be too late.

  Satisfied the boat was safe, he began to walk through Drunk Town, through the crowded alleys, stepping over drunks and garbage, disgusted with the filth. Taira says his London is the cleanest, biggest, wealthiest city in the world but I do not believe him—not if so many of his kind live like this, with the rest of the Settlement not much better. Taking a shortcut he crossed into a smaller alley. Men passed by, beggars held their hands out, eyes peered suspiciously from doorways but no one bothered him.

  No Man’s Land was as always, weed-covered and stinking, the main ref use dump of the Settlement. A few ragged scavengers raked through the latest pile of trash. They glanced at him briefly. His eyes went to the rickety well head. The broken wooden cover that hid the secret passage to the Yoshiwara seemed untouched. Ori’s face fleetingly came from his memory and the time they were below, when he was ready to kill him and Ori had thrown, pretended to throw, the golden cross into the depths. Ori was baka to waste his life over that woman. We could use him tomorrow. He shoved Ori out of his mind.