Gai-Jin (89 page)

Yesterday an openly hostile letter arrived from the Victoria Bank, Hong Kong’s central bank and Brock-dominated, a copy of one sent to Tess Struan, Managing Director, Struan’s, his copy addressed, M. Struan, Esq., Yokohama, For Information Only:

Never mind those poxy bastards, he thought with certitude, I’ll find a way to outsmart them and all the Brocks. Killing Norbert will be a good beginning. Our managers and staff are excellent, our fleet’s still the best and our captains loyal.

“Never mind the Brocks and the rumors, Angel, we can deal with them, we always have. The American civil war has boosted our profits enormously. We’re helping the South to run cotton through the Northern blockade for our Lancashire mills and bringing back all the powder, shot, guns and cannon that Birmingham can make, half for the South, half for the North—with everything else our factories can invent and provide, machinery, presses, and shoes and ships and sealing wax. British output is gigantic, Angelique, more than fifty percent of the world’s industrial goods. Then we’ve our tea trade and Bengali opium to China, a bumper crop this year—I’ve an idea how to buy Indian cotton to boost the American lack—and together with all our usual cargoes … England is the richest and most prosperous country on earth and you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you, kind sir!
Je t’aime—I
really do love you, Malcolm, I know I’m very difficult, but I do, and I’ll make you a wonderful wife, I promise, an—”

He had heaved himself out of his chair and stopped her with a kiss—his strong cigar smell and pomade manly and pleasant. His arms embracing her were muscular and strong, one hand straying to her breast and she felt its heavy roughness, his lips hard with the faintest taste of brandy. Just the opposite to
him
.

Forget
him
, the voices whispered.

I can’t, not yet.

Bending over her like this was a dreadful strain on his wounded back and stomach muscles so he straightened with an effort though he would have gladly taken her now—had he her acquiescence—whatever the pain. “The sooner we’re married, the better,” he said, sure that he had felt her lips and breast and body respond.

“Oh yes, please, yes.”

“Christmas. That’s only next month.”

“Do you think … sit down, my darling, and rest a moment. Should we discuss … when should we return to Hong Kong?”

“I—I haven’t decided.” Much of his bonhomie went at the thought of having to face his mother.

“Perhaps we should go back next week an—”

“Not till I’m fit.” And off the painkiller, he thought, his insides grinding, then I can deal with her and Brock and the bloody bank. Just before coming here he had had the second dose of the day, earlier than usual.

I’ll have a last one before sleeping, then tomorrow start fresh. Once a day from now on. Couldn’t start today—last night and the problem with Norbert and … well, yesterday was especially rotten. “Don’t trouble your lovely head.”

“But I worry over you very much. Malcolm, I’d never want to interfere with anything, but I do worry about you. And there is something that I feel I must mention,” she said carefully. “The trouble between you and Jamie. Isn’t there anything I—”

His sudden smile stopped her. “Jamie’s all right now, my darling. That’s today’s good news. This evening I sent for him and he apologized for being difficult. He even renewed his oath to support me in everything. Every thing.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, I’m so pleased.”

Just before coming here Jamie McFay had asked to see him. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I wanted to clear the air and try to make a peace and try, a last time, to dissuade you from the duel: Norbert will surely try to kill you.”

“Sorry, but it’s none of your affair, and I’ll certainly try to kill him. I agree it’s a good idea to clear the air, once and for all: Jamie, will you obey me as tai-pan or are you going back on your holy oath?”

“Yes, I will obey the tai-pan as I swore.”

“Good. After we see Sir William tomorrow, secretly ask Norbert if next Wednesday suits him—yes, Jamie, I know it’s his birthday. The racecourse, behind the stands, first light. On your head keep it secret, don’t even tell Dmitri.”

“If you kill him you’ll have to leave Japan quickly.”

“I’ve thought about that. Our clipper
Storming Cloud
will be in the roads. We’ll board her and go to Hong Kong. There I can, well, arrange matters whatever happens.”

“I hate this whole idea.”

“Yes, but never mind. You remember your oath and will stick by it?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Jamie. Let’s be friends again …”

Through his haze of excitement, he heard Angelique saying, “Oh, how happy that makes me,” and had to make an effort not to burst out with the news that he had set a date for the duel, when his own revenge on the House of Brocks, at long last, would begin. Angel will know soon enough and be proud of me, he thought confidently. “No need to worry about Jamie, my darling, or about Hong Kong. Or anything.”

“Malcolm, dear, may I please write to your mama?” she asked, knowing that she must begin to bring the enemy to battle. André had warned her that Tess Struan’s power within the company was immense, and influence over Malcolm, his brother and sisters, equally vast—reminding her that he
was a minor, therefore without Tess’s approval the marriage could not take place for months, and without her benevolence might never happen. As if I needed reminding, she thought. “I want to assure her of my undying affection and my promise to become the best daughter-in-law in the whole wide world.”

He beamed at the idea. “Excellent! I’ll write one too and we’ll send them off together.” He took her hand. “No woman so stunning as you should also be so thoughtful and kind. I know she’s going to love you as much as I do.”

Again Hiraga said, “When gai-jin run away, shoya say me to go quick’ry—he very ’fraid of the samurai, very ’fraid.”

“I can believe that.” Tyrer shifted in his chair, Hiraga opposite him, uncomfortable too. The sitting room of the small bungalow in the Legation grounds that Tyrer shared with Dr. Babcott was sparsely furnished, with a few chairs, two desks and the smell of ointments and salves from pots of medicaments on shelves lining one wall. Windows were open to the night and though it was not cold Hiraga shivered, still unsettled by his near capture. The moment the rioters had rushed away and he could escape the back way he had told the shoya and ashigaru, “You know what’ll happen if I’m caught here! Better silence … better silence and a quick beating that will soon be forgotten than a trek to prison which none of us—or your wife and children—will survive.
Sonno-joi!”

Tyrer was saying, “But I don’t understand why one moment that officer was sane, the next a brute, and the next sane again with everyone pretending nothing had happened.”

Hiraga sighed. “All so simp’re, Taira-san. The captain sure ashigaru ’ried … sure not say truth, and shoya not say truth, and men not say truth so he beat them to save face—not say truth to samurai is very bad, against ’raw, so very bad. Punishment correct so everyone happy, no more prob’rem.”

“Maybe for them,” Tyrer said gloomily, “but we have lots of problems. Sir William isn’t at all happy, either with the rotter who was killed—or with you.”

“I no prob’rem, I not attack, men attack me.”

“Sorry, Nakama, that’s not the point. He says you are an irritant, an unnecessary complication. Sorry. But he’s right. The authorities will soon know you’re here, if they don’t already. Then they’ll demand that we hand you over—we can’t avoid that and eventually we’ll have to comply.”

“P’rease? Not understand.”

It took Tyrer several attempts with simpler words to make his meaning
clear, then he added, “Sir William told me to tell you it’s best you sneak off, disappear while you can.”

Hiraga’s heart almost stopped. Ever since he had escaped the trap in the village he had been frantically trying to devise a way to negate the inevitable results of the riot, and of being seen—the samurai officer would surely realize a shishi was loose in the Settlement. No solution had occurred except that he must remain in hiding here. To attempt flight now was even more dangerous. Samurai vigilance would be vastly increased, and if they realized he was Hiraga of the poster …

He wanted to scream aloud, his mind disarrayed by the rushing events and the depths of the panic and fear he had endured since Ori’s betrayal. Then his ears focused and he heard a key word in Tyrer’s rambling on about “how sorry he was to lose such a valuable ally in his search for Japanese knowledge but there seems to be no way of avoiding it …”

His head cleared. “Have idea, Taira-san,” he said softly. “Bad for me go now, I sure die. Want he’rp Ing’erish friends, want to be
va’ru’ber a’rry
, very va’ru’ber friend. I know about Satsuma daimyo, know Satsuma secrets. Shoya give me mandy … sorry, give me many informations. I can exp’rain how make Satsuma obey, perhaps even Bakufu obey. I want to he’rp. Ask Sir Wrum: I give informations to keep gai-jin safe, you keep me safe and give me informations, fair exchange. Friends,
neh?”

Excitedly Tyrer thought through the offer: Sir William will surely agree, but only if the information is truly valuable, and only if it comes direct from questioning Nakama himself. That means … oh God, I can’t! “I’d have to let Willie in on the secret that you speak English. No way to avoid that, and I just can’t blurt out that I’ve been hiding such vital info, I’d get sacked for certain. Can’t risk that, not when Willie’s in such a foul mood!” Better Nakama leaves before my head’s on the block and he’s an international incident. “Sorry,” he said, in despair. “It’s not possible.”

“Ah, so sorry, perhaps have way,” Hiraga said, and made a final gambit to give himself time. “Have message from Fujiko—eeee, Taira-san, you make great mark on her, now she thinks you very best friend. Mama-san say, so sorry, but Fujiko yesterday begin woman’s sick, month’ry sick, so cannot receive you for one, two days.” He had seen Tyrer’s immediate disappointment, followed by resignation and anticipation in quick order.

Weak with relief, he relaxed slightly, at the same time once again astounded that any man, let alone an important official like Taira would allow himself to show his inner feelings so openly to anyone, let alone to an enemy. These barbarians are beyond belief.

“Here,” he continued, offering him the fan with the calligraphy on it he had had prepared. “It poem, Fujiko writes: ‘Counting hours, very sad. Hurry hours when your sun shine on me, then no sad, stop time.’” He
watched Tyrer take the fan reverently, pleased with his choice of words though disgusted with her inadequate writing skill. Still, he thought, the effect seems to be perfect. “About Chief Gai-jin, have p’ran but first, meeting with Shōgun, Tairasan, the meeting was good, yes?”

A gust of laughter took Akimoto, so infectious that Hiraga joined in. “Eeee, Hiraga-san, brilliant to manipulate the gai-jin like that! Brilliant! Saké, bring more saké!”

They were lolling in their isolated room in the grounds of the Three Carp, shoji windows closed against the night insects. Sprigs of autumn maple in a green vase decorated the alcove. Oil lamps. Their swords on racks beside them, and when the maid had left and they had refilled their cups and quaffed them, Akimoto said, “What happened next?”

“After little fish Taira swallowed the bait, we went to bow before the Great Grouper who gorged on both. I told him that unbeknownst to Taira I spoke some English that I had learned from Dutchmen from Deshima …”

“And that’s no lie,” Akimoto said, and replenished their cups. He had gone to the same school for gifted Choshu samurai at Shimonoseki but had not been selected for the language classes, instead he had been ordered to specialize in Western naval affairs, taught by a retired Dutch sea captain.
“Baka
that I never learned Dutch or English. What did the gai-jin leader say?”

“Not too much. Taira pretended to be equally astonished as we had agreed. It was easy to divert the man with unimportant information about Satsuma, about Sanjiro and his fortress at Kagoshima, some of their history and so on,” Hiraga said easily, although the meeting had not been easy at all. The questions had been probing and he had found it difficult to convince the leader his pretended sincerity was genuine. In his anxiety to get permission to stay he had told more than he wished, both about the political situation of the outside lords of Satsuma and Tosa but also about his own fief of Choshu, and even about the shishi.

He felt a new heaving in his stomach, remembering the cold blue, fishlike eyes staring at him that somehow had squeezed knowledge out of him, and the final, curt: “I will consider allowing you to stay a few more days. We will talk again tomorrow. Meanwhile you will move back into the Legation for safety.”

“Better I to stay shoya, Sir W’rum-sama.”

“You will move into the Legation tonight and stay with Mr. Tyrer, leaving only with his permission or mine. When you are on the streets you will be most careful to avoid inflaming any of our people. You will obey without question or you will be marched to the North Gate … at once!”

Again he had feigned a meekness and most abject thanks but inside he
had seethed at the man’s lack of manners and was still seething, and more determined than ever to implement Ori’s plan to burn the Settlement—at a time of his own choosing. All gods, if there are any, curse all gai-jin.

“Saké?” Akimoto asked, a dribble sliding down his chin.

“Yes, thank you.” His face twisted with anger. “Ori!
Baka
that he’s dead before I could kill him.”

“Yes, but dead, so is Shorin. Nothing but trouble, both of them, like all Satsumas. The men,” he added hastily, remembering Shorin’s sister, Sumomo, “not the women.”