by Gai-Jin(Lit)
"Evening sir, Ma'am," the Grenadier said, saluting the officer. "This here's Lun, he's a
Legation assistant."
Lun gawked at the girl. "Ev'nin, sah, you cumalong plenty quick quick, heya? Missy cumalong never mind."
Angelique was nervous and anxious and wore a bonnet and a blue silk hooped dress with a shawl to match that set off her paleness and fair hair to perfection. "Mr. Struan, how is he?"
The soldier said kindly, "Don't know,
Ma'am, Miss. Doc Babcott he's the best in these waters so the poor man will be all right if it's God's will. He'll be proper pleased to see you--been asking for you. We didn't expect you till morning."
"And Mr. Tyrer?"
"He's fine, Miss, just a flesh wound. We best be going."
"How far is it?"
Lun said irritably, "Ayeeyah no far chop chop never mind." He lifted the lamp and set off into the night, muttering busily in
Cantonese.
Insolent bastard, the officer thought. He was tall, Lieutenant R.n., his name John
Marlowe. They began to follow. At once the marines moved into a protective screen, scouts ahead. "Are you all right, Miss
Angelique?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you." She pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders, picking her way carefully. "What an awful smell!"
"'fraid it's the manure they use for fertilizers, that and low tide." Marlowe was twenty-eight, sandy-haired and grey-blue-eyed, normally Captain of H.m.s. Pearl, a
21-gun steam-driven frigate, but now acting
Flag Lieutenant to the ranking naval officer,
Admiral Ketterer. "Would you like a litter?"
"Thank you, no, I'm fine."
Lun was ahead slightly, lighting their way through the narrow, empty village streets. Most of
Kanagawa was silent, though occasionally they could hear boisterous and drunken laughter of men and women behind high walls that were pierced from time to time by small barred doorways. A multitude of decorative Japanese signs.
"These are inns, hotels?" she asked.
"I would imagine so," Marlowe said delicately.
Lun chuckled quietly, hearing this exchange.
His English was fluent--learned in a missionary school in Hong Kong. On instructions he carefully hid the fact and always used pidgin and pretended to be stupid so he knew many secrets that had great value to him, and to his tong superiors, and to their leader, Illustrious Chen,
Gordon Chen, compradore of Struan's. A compradore, usually a well born Eurasian, was the indispensable go-between betwixt European and
Chinese traders, who could speak fluent English and Chinese dialects, and to whose hands at least ten percent of all transactions stuck.
Ah, haughty young Missy who feeds on unrequited lust, Lun thought with vast amusement, knowing lots about her, I wonder which of these smelly Round Eyes will be the first to spread you wide and enter your equally smelly Jade
Gate? Are you as untouched as you pretend, or has the grandson of Green-eyed Devil Struan already enjoyed the Clouds and the Rain? By all gods great and small, I shall know soon enough because your maid is my sister's third cousin's daughter. I already know your short hairs need plucking, are as fair as your hair and much too abundant to please a civilized person but I suppose all right for a barbarian. Ugh!
Ayeeyah, but life is interesting. I'll wager this murder attack will cause both foreign devils and the Filth Eaters of these islands much trouble. Wonderful! May they all drown in their own feces!
Interesting that the grandson of Green-eyed
Devil was wounded badly, and so continues the bad joss of all males of his line, interesting that the news is already rushing secretly to Hong Kong by our fastest courier. How wise I am! But then
I am a person of the Middle Kingdom and of course superior.
But a bad wind for one is good for another. This news will surely depress the share price of the
Noble House mightily. With advanced information I and my friends will make a great profit. By all the gods, I will put ten percent of my profit on the next horse at Happy Valley races with the number fourteen, today's date by barbarian counting.
"Ho!" he called out, pointing. The central turrets of the temple loomed over the alleys and lanes of the tiny, single-story houses, all separate though clustered in honeycombs.
Two Grenadiers and their Sergeant were on guard at the temple gates, well lit with oil lamps, Babcott beside them. "Hello,
Marlowe," he said with a smile. "This is an unexpected pleasure, evening,
Mademoiselle. What's--"
"Pardon, Doctor," Angelique interrupted, peering up at him, astounded at his size, "but Malcolm, Mr. Struan, we heard he was badly wounded."
"He has had quite a bad sword cut, but he's been sewn up and now he's fast asleep," Babcott said easily. "I gave him a sedative. I'll take you to him in a second. What's up, Marlowe, why--"
"And Phillip Tyrer?" she interrupted again.
"Is he, was he badly wounded too?"
"Just a flesh wound, Mademoiselle, there's nothing you can do at the moment, both are sedated.
Why the marines, Marlowe?"
"The Admiral thought you'd better have some extra protection--in case of an evacuation."
Babcott whistled. "It's that serious?"
"There's a meeting going on right now. The
Admiral, the General, Sir William together with the French, German, Russian and American representatives and the, er, the trading fraternity." Marlowe added dryly, "I gather it's rather heated." He turned to the Royal Marine
Sergeant. "Secure the Legation, Sar'nt
Crimp, I'll inspect your posts later."
To the Grenadier Sergeant he added, "Please give Sar'nt Crimp the help he needs, where to billet his men, etc. Your name please?"
"Towery, sir."
"Thank you, Sar'nt Towery."
Babcott said, "Perhaps you'd both follow me?
A cup of tea?"
"Thank you, no," she said, trying to be polite but consumed with impatience, disliking the way the English brewed tea and offered it at the slightest provocation. "But I would like to see
Mr. Struan and Mr. Tyrer."
"Of course, right away." The doctor had already judged that she was near to tears at any moment, decided she really did need a cup of tea, perhaps laced with a little brandy, a sedative and then to bed. "Young Phillip, poor chap had quite a shock I'm afraid--must have been dreadful for you too."
"Is he all right?"
"Yes, quite all right," he repeated patiently. "Come along, see for yourself." He led the way through the courtyard. The clatter of hooves and harness stopped them. To their surprise they saw a Dragoon patrol arriving. "Good
God, it's Pallidar," Marlowe said.
"What's he doing here?"
They watched the Dragoon officer return the salutes of the marines and grenadiers and dismount.
"Carry on," Pallidar said, not noticing
Marlowe, Babcott and Angelique.
"Bloody bastard Japanners tried to bloody bar the road against us, by God!
Unfortunately the sons of whores changed their bloody, God-cursed minds or they'd be pushing up bloody daisies and..." He saw
Angelique and stopped, appalled. "Jesus
Christ! Oh, I say, I am... I am most terrible sorry, Mademoiselle, I, er,
I didn't realize there were any ladies... er, hello John, Doctor."
Marlowe said, "Hello Settry.
Mademoiselle Angelique, may I introduce plainspoken Captain Settry
Pallidar, of Her Majesty's Eighth
Dragoons. Mademoiselle Angelique
Richaud."
She nodded coolly and he bowed stiffly.
"I'm, er, most awfully sorry,
Mademoiselle. Doc, I was sent to secure the Legation, in case of an evacuation."
"The Admiral already sent us here to do that,"
Marlowe said crisply. "With marines."
"You can dismiss them, we're here now."
"Get... I suggest you ask for new orders. Tomorrow. Meanwhile I'm senior officer and in command. Senior service. Doctor, perhaps you'd take the lady to see Mr. Struan."
Babcott had watched the two young men square up to one another with concern, liking them both.
Friendly on the surface, deadly underneath. These two young bulls will have at each other one day--
God help them if it's over a woman. "See you both later." Taking her arm he walked off.
The two men watched them go. Then Pallidar's chin jutted. "This isn't a ship's quarterdeck," he hissed, "it's a job for the army, by God."
"Bullshit."
"Are your brains lost with your manners? Why the hell bring a woman here when Christ knows what may happen?"
"Because the important Mr. Struan asked to see her, medically it's a good idea, she persuaded the Admiral to allow her to come tonight against my advice, he ordered me to escort her here and send her back safely. Sar'nt Towery!"
"Yessir!"
"I'm in overall command until further orders
--show the dragoons to quarters and make them comfortable. Can you stable their horses? Do you have enough rations?"
"Yessir, we've plenty of room.
Grub's a bit short."
"Has it ever been plentiful in this godforsaken place?" Marlowe beckoned him closer.
"Spread the word," he said dangerously. "No fighting and if there is, it's a hundred lashes for any bastard involved--whoever he is!"
The bar of the Yokohama Club, the biggest room in the Settlement and thus the meeting place, was in uproar and packed with almost the entire, acceptable population of the Settlement-- only those too drunk to stand or the very sick were missing--all shouting in various languages, many armed, many waving their fists and cursing the small group of well-dressed men who sat at a raised table at the far end, most of whom were shouting back, the Admiral and General beside them apoplectic.
"Say that again, by God, and I'll call you outside..."
"Go to hell you bastard..."
"It's war, Wullem's got to..."
"Turn out the bloody army an' navy and bombard Yedo..."
"Flatten the f'ing capital, by God..."
"Canterbury's gotta be revenged,
Wullum's got to..."
"Right! Willum's responsible, John the
Cant's me mate..."
"Listen you lot..." One of the seated men began pounding the table top with a gavel for silence.
This only incensed the crowd further--merchants, tradesmen, innkeepers, gamblers, horse handlers, butchers, jockeys, seamen, remittance men, sail makers, and port riffraff. Top hats, multicolored waistcoats, woolen clothes and underwear, leather boots, from rich to poor, the air hot, stale, smoky and heavy with the odor of unwashed bodies, stale beer, whisky, gin, rum and spilt wine.
"Quiet for Christ's sake, let Wullum speak...."
The man with the gavel shouted, "It's
William, for God's sake! William, not
Wullum or Willum or Willam!
William Aylesbury, how many times do I have to tell you? William!"
"That's right, let Willum speak, for
Christ's sake!"
The three barmen serving drinks behind the vast counter laughed. "Proper thirsty bloody work this 'ere meeting, i'nit, guv?" one called out breezily, wiping the counter with a filthy rag.
The bar was the pride of the Settlement, deliberately a foot bigger than the one in the
Shanghai Jockey Club, previously the biggest in Asia, and twice as big as the Hong
Kong Club's. The wall was lined with bottles of spirits, wine and beer kegs. "Let the bugger speak, for crissake!"
Sir William Aylesbury, the man with the gavel, sighed. He was British Minister in
Japan, senior member of the Diplomatic
Corps. The other men represented France,
Russia, Prussia, and America. His temper snapped and he motioned to a young officer standing behind the table. At once, clearly prepared--as were those at the table--the officer took out a revolver and fired into the ceiling. Plaster speckled down in the sudden silence.
"Thank you. Now," Sir William began, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "if you gentlemen will all be quiet for a moment we can proceed." He was a tall, well-covered man in his late forties, with a bent face and prominent ears. "I repeat, as you will all be affected by what we decide, my colleagues and I wish to discuss how to respond to this incident--in public. If you lot don't want to listen, or if you're asked for an opinion and don't give it with the minimum of expletives--we will ponder the matter in private and then, when we've decided what WILL HAPPEN, we will be glad to inform you."
A muttering resentment, but no open hostility.
"Good. Mr. McFay, you were saying?"
Jamie McFay was near the front,
Dmitri beside him--because he was head of Struan's, the largest house in Asia, he was the usual spokesman for the merchant-traders, the most important of whom had their own fleets of armed clippers and merchantmen. "Well, sir, we know the Satsumas are bedding down at Hodogaya in easy reach north and that their king's with them," he said, greatly concerned over Malcolm Struan.
"His name's Sajirro, some name like that, and I think we sh--"
Someone shouted, "I vote we surround the bastards tonight and string the bugger up!" A roar of applause that soon trickled away amidst a few muffled curses and, "For God's sake get on with it..."
"Please carry on Mr. McFay," Sir
William said wearily.
"The attack was unprovoked as usual,
John Canterbury foully brutalized, God only knows how long it will take Mr. Struan to recover. But this is the first time we can identify the murderers--or at least the king can and as sure as
God made little apples he has the power to catch the buggers and hand them over and pay damages.
..." More applause. "They're within reach, andwiththe troops we have we can peg them."
Strong cheers and cries for vengeance.
Henri Bonaparte Seratard, the French
Minister in Japan said loudly, "I would like to ask Monsieur the General and Monsieur the
Admiral what is their opinion?"
The Admiral said at once: "I have five hundred marines in the fleet..."
General Thomas Ogilvy interrupted, firmly but politely, "The question applies to a land operation, my dear Admiral. Mr.
Ceraturd..." The greying, red-faced man of fifty carefully mispronounced the Frenchman's name and used "Mr." to compound the insult, "we have a thousand British troops in tent encampments, two cavalry units, three batteries of the most modern cannon and artillery, and can call up another eight or nine thousand British and
Indian infantrymen with support troops within two months from our Hong Kong bastion." He toyed with his gold braid. "There is no conceivable problem that Her Majesty's forces under my command cannot conclude expeditiously."
"I agree," the Admiral said under the roars of approval. When they had died down, Seratard said smoothly, "Then you advocate a declaration of war?"
"No such thing, sir," the General said, their dislike mutual, "I merely said we can do what is necessary, when necessary and when we are obliged to do it.
I would have thought this "incident" is a matter for
Her Majesty's Minister to decide in conjunction with the Admiral and myself without an unseemly debate."
Some shouted approval, most disapproved and someone called out, "It's our silver and taxes wot pays for all you buggers, we've the right to say wot's wot. Ever heard of Parliament by God?"
"A French national was involved," Seratard said heatedly above the noise, "therefore the honor of
France is involved." Catcalls and sly remarks about the girl.
Again Sir William used the gavel and that allowed the acting American Minister, Isiah
