Gai-Jin (194 page)

The correct and only proper way to deal with André’s file is to seal it, to write a private report that relates what occurred and when, what was said and by whom, then to seal that and send it all to London and let them decide. Lots of secrets in their vaults and archives. If they want it to be secret, that’s up to them.

Good, that’s the correct, right and only course.

Confident he was making the right decision, he gathered the pages and, one by one, fed them to the fire, humming to himself, watching them curl and blacken and burn. This isn’t ill-advised. They’re not positive proof and anyway the poor girl was a victim, André was a dangerous and active undercover agent for an enemy power and if half the evils listed in his secret dossier are correct, he deserved to go over the moon a dozen times. Truth or lies, in this instance dust is going to dust.

When it was done he raised his glass to the miniature, feeling very good. “For you, my darling,” he said.

It was getting towards midnight when Tyrer finally hurried out of the Legation and headed for the Struan jetty. His head ached like never before, he had had no time for supper, no time to think about Hiraga or Fujiko, no time to do anything but work. He carried an official H.M. Government dispatch satchel and in his pocket was the translation that he had done last and wished he had done first. His pace quickened.

The jetty was thronged. A few people were there seeing off the last of the passengers, but most of the men noisily surrounded the
Belle’s
Purser, who was accepting last-minute mail for Hong Kong and Shanghai Head Offices—insurance agents, suppliers, shippers, banks—anyone and everyone who needed to know about the fire and damage. He saw Angelique chatting with Gornt. On the other side of the crowd Pallidar was talking to some officers who were boarding as passengers, and near the head of the jetty he spotted Sir William in conversation with Maureen Ross. Seeing her immediately reminded him of Jamie and Hiraga, and of his promise to Jamie to clear the “students” with his superior. He eased through the crowd.

“’Evening, Miss Maureen, excuse me, Sir William, but you might want to see this.” He handed him the translation. “I’ll make sure the dispatches get safely aboard.” Quickly he turned away from the Purser, not wanting to stay close at hand for the inevitable explosion. The Purser was a short, dyspeptic man and the haphazard queue of men jostling for position around him was still long. Tyrer pushed his way to the head, disregarding the “Wait your bloody turn,” saying, “Sorry, Sir William’s orders, H.M.’s business. A receipt, please.”

“All right, all right, wot’s the bloody rush, eh?” While the Purser laboriously entered the shipment in his ledger, Tyrer peeked at Sir William who had moved under the oil lamp and was squinting at the paper. While he
watched, the face contorted, the lips began to mouth profanities, men nearby backed off in shock, not because of the language but merely because it was so unexpected. He groaned and turned his back.

The document was from the
roju
, signed
Tairō
Nori, curt, without the usual flowery phrases, and addressed impudently
To the Leader of the Gai-jin
, so he had translated it as best he could in the same fashion, interpolating it where necessary:

“Tyrer!”

He pretended not to hear, kept his back to Sir William and accepted the receipt from the Purser, the impatient men in the line calling out with degrees of rudeness, “Hurry up, for God’s sake, do you want all night … hurry, there she is!”

The empty cutter, returning from the
Belle
, was docking. Tyrer noticed Jamie was not aboard. The Bosun leaned out of his cabin and bellowed, “All aboard wot’s going aboard!”

In the heightened bustle Maureen joined him. “Phillip, when will Jamie be back?”

“Certainly with the last ferry, if not before,” he said, not sure if Jamie had told her of their scheme. “There’s an hour or more yet.”

“Tyrer!”

“Sorry, got to go. Yessir?” he called out, took a deep breath, mentally girding his loins, and hurried off.

“In half an hour, Phillip,” Sir William began, almost cross-eyed with rage, “in half an hour I’ll need you to translate a reply for me, extremely bloody accurately indeed.”

“Yes, sir, by the way, s—”

“Go and find … ah, there he is, thought I saw him.” One look at Sir William’s face was enough to cause the crowd to fall silent and part for him instantly, all ears. “Pallidar, get the Dragoons, I want you to deliver
a cordial communication
to the Kanagawa Governor—at once.”

“Tonight, sir?” Pallidar gaped at him, saw the expression on his face and added hastily, “Oh! Yessir. Sorry, sir. Right away, sir.”

“’Scuse me, Sir William,” Tyrer said in a rush before Sir William could leave. “No time to tell you before but I helped two Japanese students aboard who wanted to travel, to visit England, they saved my life last night, hope that’s all right.”

“That they saved your life? I wonder.” The eyes bored into him. “If you’ve turned travel agent on Her Majesty’s time, I suppose there will be a satisfactory answer should I require one. Pallidar, arrive in strength in an hour and deliver my message rather rudely, by God!” He stalked off.

Pallidar blew his nose, his cold still bad. “What the hell’s up with him?” Tyrer leaned closer and told him about the ultimatum. “My God, no wonder. What bloody cheek! Actually it’s bloody good, now there’ll be some action, all this hanging around inflames the General’s neck along with his piles.” He laughed, more from nervousness than the old chestnut.

At that moment, Hoag arrived puffing, still wearing his operating frock coat, the sleeves and chest stiff with ancient blood, and burdened with top hat, suitcases and packages. “I thought I was going to be late. What’s the joke?”

“You’ve plenty of time,” Tyrer said, and, with Pallidar, wondered what was in Angelique’s letter that Sir William had witnessed, and Hoag carried to Hong Kong in reply to
the letter
, also still a mystery, given to Angelique when Hoag was sure she was not bearing Malcolm’s child. Since the first day Hoag had arrived back, the outlines of Tess’s ultimatum were common knowledge and the subject of heated, private debate. “Hope you have a safe trip. It’s India next, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’ll be there next month.” The ugly face split with a smile. “Can’t wait. Come and visit me, you’ll love it.”

Pallidar said, “India’s my next posting, in fact I’ve just been told, the Frontier, Hindu Kush, Khyber Pass.”

Though he spoke lightly Pallidar secretly hated the idea. Too many deaths in that special hell, too many killings, a bullet from nowhere, a dagger out of the night, wells poisoned, no glory there, only slog and kill and try to stay alive in that barren, festering rock landscape where nothing grew but death. And yet vital to the Empire, for there lay the historic invasion route to British India, for Mongol, Persian, or Russian hordes. A sick premonition swept through him and he could not resist adding, “No sea burials there, Doc.”

“No, none, not at all,” Hoag replied, and, misreading him, put a warm, friendly arm on him. “You’re a good fellow, Settry. If I can help in India I’m easy to find. You’ll love it, good luck!” He strode off to greet Angelique and Gornt.

“What was that about?” Tyrer asked. He had noticed the sudden change in Pallidar.

Pallidar shrugged, cursing his anxiety and lapse and abrupt envy of Hoag. “Doc Hoag told me he doesn’t like sea burials, said he was glad to miss Malcolm’s in Hong Kong.” He smiled crookedly. After he had reported to Sir William about Hoag’s curious behavior over the coffins at Kanagawa that the Sergeant had witnessed, on instructions and sworn to secrecy, unobserved he had switched the coffins after checking them. No difference between them that he could see. So the coffin sent by
Prancing Cloud
to Hong Kong had contained Malcolm Struan and the one Hoag, Angelique, Jamie and Skye had buried was that of the villager, as Sir William had ordered.

“Pity Malcolm got chopped,” he said, his voice raw. “Life’s curious, eh? You never know when it’ll happen.”

Tyrer nodded, Pallidar’s depression unusual. Liking him, his own guard slid away. “What’s up, old man?”

“Nothing. You were bloody lucky last night, weren’t you, getting out of—”

Shadows rushed over Tyrer’s face and Pallidar swore at himself for his stupidity. “Sorry, Phillip. Didn’t mean to upset you, don’t know what’s got into me tonight.”

“You heard about … about …”

For the life of him Tyrer could not say Fujiko’s name, his grief scalding, driving him down in quantum depths where he had never been before. His mouth said, trying to sound brave, “When something like that, something awful happens, my old man used to … I had a sister who got measles and died when she was seven, such a pretty little girl we all loved … my old man always used to say, ‘These things are sent to try us. You cry and cry and … and you pick yourself up and say it was God’s Will and try not to hate Him.’”

He felt the tears running down his cheeks and did not care. His feet took him away down to the shore and there, alone with the surf and the sky and the night, he thought about Fujiko truly, remembering her with all his passion, then put her into a little box and put the box safe beside his heart.

Aboard
Atlanta Belle
Captain Twomast was saying, “All right, Jamie, I’ll give them passage, whatever Mrs. Struan decides, but you know her, she’s not given to largess.”

“Just give her my letter when you arrive in Hong Kong.” Jamie had told Twomast the truth about Otami and his cousin, not wanting to get his friend into trouble, and had gone surety for their passage money, there and back, if Tess did not agree to his proposal: to advance it to them, with
prudent introductions in England and Scotland—against a fifty-fifty joint venture he would form and run to take advantage of anything he could create from them on their return.

He had written:

“This is going to be expensive, Jamie,” Twomast said. He was a lean, short, hard-faced seaman, with dark hair and brown eyes and leathery skin. “At least a hundred pounds. Is it worth the risk?”

“It’s her ship, passage costs her nothing.”

“It’s still expensive and she looks after the pence as well as the pounds. Never mind, it’s up to her. I’ll cash your sight draft in London town if she doesn’t foot the bill. You’re sure your Jappos understand they’re to obey me?”

“Yes. I’ve told them that on board you’re king, a daimyo. They’re to obey you and stay aboard until you disembark them in London. But Johnny, treat them like nobs. You’ll be rewarded.”

Twomast laughed. “Yes, but in Heaven. Never mind, I owe you one or two over the years past so I’ll do it.”

“Thanks.” Jamie looked around the cabin. Small, a bunk, chart table, table to seat four, neat, tough, seaworthy—like Johnny Twomast, originally Norwegian, and a cousin of Sven Orlov, the Hunchback, who was Master of the Struan fleet after Dirk Struan.
Atlanta Belle
, a thousand-ton merchant steamer, could sleep four first-class passengers, ten second, fifty steerage with room for substantial cargo. “Where will they bunk?”

“With the crew, where else?”

“Can you give them a cabin? I don’t mind how small.”

“We’ve a full house and they’ll learn fast with the crew, learn our ways, have to.”

“Give them a cabin at least until after Hong Kong, I don’t want either recognized.”

Johnny Twomast said, “They can have the Third Mate’s cabin, it’s got two bunks. Are they armed, Jamie?”

“Sure they’re armed, they’re samurai.”

“No arms, not samurai, by God.”

Jamie shrugged. “Tell them, but please treat them as nobs, not natives, strange but nobs, important Japanese, they are, you know.”

“Mister!” the Captain called out. “Send them in!”

Hiraga and Akimoto came in, well briefed by Jamie.

“Which one of you speaks English?”

“I do, Anjin-sama. I Otami-sama.”

“Mr. McFay here is guarantor for you, Otami-sama, for your good behavior all the way to London. You agree to obey me, to stay aboard if I say so, to go ashore and come back as I say, until London town, obey me as if I was your chief, your daimyo?”

“We agree do what Anjin-sama say,” Hiraga said carefully.

“Good, but no arms while aboard. I want all swords, guns, knives. They’ll be returned to you.” Twomast saw the flash of anger and marked it. “You agree?”

“But if men attack us?”

“If my men attack you, use your fists till I arrive. They’ll be warned, fifty lashes for each man if they start it. You don’t start it, understand?”

“No, so sorry.” Jamie explained how the seamen would be tied to the rigging and flogged for disobeying. Appalled by the cruelty, Hiraga passed this on to Akimoto, then said, “But, Anjin-sama, you no fear? If man free on ship, after such insu’rt, no afraid this man assassin you?”

Johnny Twomast laughed. “He’d hang, sure as God made little green apples. Mutiny’s punishable by death. I’ll order the crew not to pick on you, you don’t pick on them—that’s important too, understand?”