by Gai-Jin(Lit)
Raiko-san?"
"Yes. Fujiko not possib're tomorrow."
"Oh. Well never mind." Tyrer shrugged, dying inside.
But Hiraga saw the vast disappointment and savored it. Sonno-joi, he thought grimly.
He had had to buy Fujiko's services himself but he did not mind. Raiko had said: "Since you pay well, though not gai-jin prices, I agree. But he should bed her the day after. I wouldn't want him to find another..."
Tyrer was saying, "Nakama-san, the only real way you can be safe here is to never go out. I won't send you to the Yoshiwara anymore. You must stay here, inside the Legation."
"Better, Taira-san, I stay in vi'rrage, find safe house. Inside fence safer. Each day I come at sunup, or when you want, teach and to 'rearn. You very good Sensei.
This so'rve prob'rem, yes?"
Tyrer hesitated, not wanting him off the leash but no longer caring to have him too close. "Yes, if first you show me where exactly and do not move without telling me."
In a moment Hiraga nodded and said, "I agree. P'rease, you say so'diers good me stay here and in vi'rrage?"
"Yes, I'll do that. I'm sure Sir
William will agree."
"Thank you, Taira-san. Say so'diers also, if attack again I get katana."
"You will do no such thing! I forbid it, Sir
William has forbidden it! No weapons, no swords!"
"P'rease you say so'dier, no attack p'rease."
"Yes, I'll do that but if you wear swords here you will be killed, they'll shoot you!"
Hiraga shrugged. "P'rease, no attack.
Wakatta?"
Tyrer did not reply. Wakatta was the imperious form of wakarimasu ka: Do you understand?
"Domo." With a contained violence that Tyrer could almost smell, Nakama thanked him again and said that he would return at dawn to guide him to the safe house, and would be ready then to answer any questions that he wanted to ask. He bowed stiffly.
Tyrer did the same. He walked out. It was only then that Tyrer saw the extent of the bruises over all his back and legs.
That night the wind became changeable, the sea choppy.
Out in the roads the fleet was snug at anchor and ready for sleep, the first night watch that came on duty at 8:00 P.m. already at their stations. Upwards of fifty men were in various cells for various offenses and with varying degrees of fear six were diligently making their own cat-o'-nine-tails for the fifty lashes they were due at dawn for conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline: one for threatening to break the neck of a sodomite Bosun, three for fighting, one for stealing a rum ration, and another for swearing at an officer.
Nine sea burials were scheduled for sunup.
All ship's sick bays were overloaded with sufferers of dysentery, diarrhea, the croup, whooping cough, scarlet fever, measles, venereal diseases, broken limbs, hernias and the like, routine except for a dangerous fourteen with smallpox aboard the flagship. Bleeding and violent purges were the recommended cures for most illnesses--the majority of doctors also being barbers--except for the lucky few patients who were given Dr. Collis's Tincture, one he had invented during the Crimea that cut dysentery deaths by three quarters: six drops of the dark, opium-based liquid and your bowels began to quieten.
Throughout the Settlement everyone was preparing for dinner and the most eagerly anticipated part of the day: after-dinner conversation, discussing the day's rumors or news--thank God the mail ship's due tomorrow--enjoying the warm camaraderie and laughter over spicy scandals, the ball, tension over business problems and if war would begin, or about the latest book someone had read, a new funny story or poem another had thought up, or telling tales of storms or ice lands or desert, or journeys made to strange places throughout the
Empire--New Zealand, Africa and
Australia hardly explored but for coastal areas
--or the Wild West of America and Canada, stories of the California gold rush of '48, or visits to Spanish or French or
Russian America--Dmitri had once sailed the mostly uncharted western seaboard from
San Francisco north to Russian Alaska
--each man telling of strange sights he had seen, girls sampled or wars witnessed.
Good wine and drinks and pipes and tobacco from
Virginia, a few nightcaps at the Club, then prayers and bed.
A normal night in the Empire.
Some hosts specialized in chorals or poetry readings or excerpts from a coveted novel, and tonight at Norbert Greyforth's extremely private party, all guests sworn to secrecy, a special reading of the last chapter from the bootlegged copy he had had produced in his allotted hour by putting all his fifty clerks on to it. "If this leaks, the whole lot of you are dismissed," he had threatened.
In the Club they were still discussing the previous night's ball and trying to work out how to have another.
"Why not make it a bloody weekly bash, eh?
Angel Tits can kick up her heels and show her knickers for me every day of the week along with
Naughty Nellie Fortheringill--"
"Stop calling her Angel Tits for chrissake or else!"
"Angel tits she has, and Angel Tits she is!"
To jeers and catcalls the fight started, bets were taken and the two contenders, Lunkchurch and
Grimm, another trader, toed the line and tried to smash each other senseless.
Almost directly across the road, on the sea side, was the large brick bungalow of the
British Legation, flagpole in the courtyard, gardens, and surrounded like most important dwellings with a defendable fence. Sir William was already dressed for dinner and so was his main guest, the Admiral, both were furious.
"The bloody bastards!" the Admiral said, his flushed face more flushed than usual, going to the sideboard to pour another large whisky.
"They're beyond comprehension."
"Totally." Sir William tossed the scroll aside and glared at Johann and Tyrer who stood in front of him. An hour ago the scroll had arrived by messenger from the Japanese
Governor who had sent it on behalf of the
Bakufu, "Very urgent so sorry." Instead of being in Dutch as was normal, it was in characters. With
Seratard's agreement, Johann had co-opted one of the visiting French Jesuit missionaries and had produced a rough copy that Tyrer at once put into correct English. The message was from the Council of Elders, and signed by Anjo:
I communicate with you by dispatch. By orders of the
Sh@ogun, received from Ky@oto, the provisional date of the meeting in nineteen days with the roju, and meeting the same day with the Sh@ogun, is to be postponed for three months as His Majesty will not return until then. I therefore send you this first, before holding a Conference as to the details. The second installment of the gift is to be delayed for thirty days. Respectful and humble communication.
"Johann," Sir William said, his voice icy, "would you say this is unusually rude, impolite and altogether vile?"
The Swiss said cautiously, "I think that's about right, Sir William."
"For Christ sake, I've spent days negotiating, threatening, losing sleep, renegotiating until they swore on the
Sh@ogun's head to meet in Yedo on November
5th, the Sh@ogun on November 6th and now this!" Sir William gulped his drink, choked and swore for almost five minutes in English,
French and Russian, the others staring with admiration at the gorgeously descriptive vulgarities.
"Quite right," the Admiral said. "Tyrer, pour
Sir William another gin."
Instantly Tyrer obeyed. Sir William found his handkerchief, blew his nose, took some snuff, sneezed and blew his nose again. "The pox on all of them!"
"What do you propose, Sir William?" the
Admiral asked, keeping the delight off his face at this further humbling of his adversary.
"Naturally I'll reply at once.
Please order the fleet to Yedo tomorrow to bombard port facilities of my choosin
g."
The Admiral's blue eyes narrowed. "I think we will discuss this in private. Gentlemen!"
Tyrer and Johann at once began to leave.
"No," Sir William said tightly.
"Johann, you can go, please wait outside.
Tyrer's my personal staff, he stays."
The Admiral's neck reddened but he said nothing until the door had closed. "You know my views on bombardment very well. Until the order from England arrives,
I-will-not-order-it unless I am attacked."
"Your position makes negotiations impossible. Power comes from the barrels of our cannon, nothing else!"
"I agree, we only disagree on timing."
"Timing is my decision. Good. Then kindly just order a small cannonade, twenty shells on targets of my choosing."
"Dammit, no! Am I not clear? When the order arrives I will conflagrate Japan if necessary, not before."
Sir William flushed. "Your reluctance to assist Her Majesty's policy in the most minor way is beyond belief."
"Personal aggrandizement seems to be the real problem. What do a few months matter? Nothing
--except prudence!"
"Prudence be damned," Sir William said angrily. "Of course we will get instructions to proceed as I, I repeat I advise! It is imprudent to delay. By tomorrow's mail I will request you are replaced by an officer who is more tuned to Her Majesty's interests--and battle trained!"
The Admiral went purple. Only a few knew that in all his career he had never participated in a sea or land engagement. When he could talk he said, "That, sir, is your privilege. Meanwhile until my replacement, or yours arrives, I command Her
Majesty's Forces in Japan. Good night sir." The door slammed.
"Rude bugger," Sir William muttered, then to his surprise saw Tyrer who had been standing behind him, out of his eye line, paralyzed by the salvos. "You'd best keep your mouth shut.
Did they teach you that?"
"Yessir, yes indeed."
"Good," Sir William said and took his agitated mind off the Gordian knot of the
Bakufu, roju and intransigence of the
Admiral for later. "Tyrer, get yourself a sherry, you look as though you need one, and you'd better join us for dinner as the Admiral has declined my invitation. You play backgammon?"
"Yes sir, thank you sir," Tyrer said meekly.
"While I think of it, what's this I hear about a skirmish, your pet samurai versus the
British Army?"
Tyrer gave him the details and his solution, but not about his Sensei's threat to get swords, feeling ever more guilty about hiding facts from the
Minister. "I'd like to retain him, of course with your approval, sir, but he is a very good teacher and I think will be most useful to us."
"I doubt that and it's more important to have no more trouble here. No telling what the fellow will do, he could become a viper in our nest. He's ordered out tomorrow."
"But sir, he's already given me some very valuable information." Tyrer held on to his sudden distress and blurted out, "For instance he told me the Sh@ogun's only a boy, barely sixteen, he's only the puppet of the Bakufu, the real power belongs to their Emperor--he used the title
Mikado several times--who lives in
Ky@oto."
"God Almighty!" Sir William exploded, "is this true?"
It was on the tip of Tyrer's tongue to tell about the English speaking, but he managed to stop himself. "I don't know yet sir, I haven't had time to really question him, he's difficult to bring out, but yes, I think he told me the truth."
Sir William stared at him, his mind agog with the implications of the information. "What else has he told you?"
"I've only just started and it all takes time as you'll appreciate." Tyrer's excitement picked up. "But he's told me about ronin. The word means "wave," sir, they're called ronin because they're as free as the waves. They're all samurai, but outlawed for different reasons.
Most of them are adversaries of the Bakufu, like
Nakama, who believe they've usurped power from the Midako, sorry, Mikado as I said."
"Wait a moment, slow down, slow down,
Tyrer. There's plenty of time. Now, what is a ronin, exactly?"
Tyrer told him.
"Good God!" Sir William thought a moment. "So ronin are samurai who are either outlawed because their king has lost favor, or outlawed by their kings for crimes real or imagined, or voluntary outlaws who are banding together to overthrow the central government of the puppet
Sh@ogun?"
"Yes sir. He says illegal government."
Sir William sipped the last of his gin, nodding to himself, astonished and elated as he ran this all around in his mind. "Then Nakama's a ronin, and what you call a dissident, and what
I'd call a revolutionary?"
"Yes sir. Excuse me, sir, can I sit down?" Tyrer asked shakily, desperate to blurt out the real truth about the man and afraid to do so.
"Of course, of course, Tyrer, so sorry, but first get another sherry and bring me a tot of gin," Sir William watched him, delighted with him yet somehow perturbed. Years of dealing with diplomats, spies, half-truths, lies and blatant disinformation were calling up warning signals that something was being hidden from him. He accepted the drink. "Thanks. Take that chair, it's the most comfortable. Cheers! You must be speaking very good
Japanese to get all this in such a short time," he said easily.
"No sir, sorry, I don't, but I spend all my time at it. With Nakama, it's, well, mostly patience, gestures, a few English words and Japanese words and phrases Andr`e
Poncin has given me, he's been tremendously helpful, sir."
"Does Andr`e know what this man has told you?"
"No sir."
"Tell him nothing. Nothing at all. Anyone else?"
"No sir, except Jamie McFay."
Tyrer gulped his sherry. "He knew a little already and, well, he's very persuasive and he, well, pried it out about the Sh@ogun."
Sir William sighed. "Yes, Jamie's persuasive, to say the least, and always knows far more than he tells."
He sat back in the comfortable old leather swivel chair and sipped his drink, his mind roving over all this priceless new knowledge, already redesigning his reply to tonight's rude missive, wondering how far he dare gamble and how far he could trust
Tyrer's information. As always in these circumstances, queasily he remembered the Permanent Under
Secretary's parting salvos about failure.
"About Nakama," he said. "I'll agree to your plan, Phillip... may I call you
Phillip?"
Tyrer flushed with pleasure at the sudden and unexpected compliment. "Of course sir, thank you sir."
"Good, thank you. For the moment I'll agree to your plan, but for God's sake be careful of him, don't forget ronin have committed all the murders, except poor Canterbury."
"I'll be careful, Sir William.
Don't worry."
"Get all you can out of him but tell no one else and give me the information at once. For
God's sake be careful, always have a revolver on hand and if he shows the slightest indication of violence, scream bloody murder, shoot him or clap him in irons."
Next door to the British Legation was the
American, then the Dutch, Russian, German and last, the French, and there, in her suite that evening, Angelique was dressing for dinner, helped by Ah Soh. In an hour, the dinner
Seratard was giving her and Malcolm to celebrate their engagement, was due to begin. Then later there would be music. "But don't play too long, Andr`e, say you're tired," she had cautioned him earlier. "Leave plenty of time for your mission, no? Men are so lucky."
She was glad and sad that she had moved. It's wiser, better, she thought. In three days I can move back. A new life, a new...
"Wat wrong, Miss'ee?"
"Nothing, Ah Soh." Angelique forced her mind away from what must soon be endured, and buried her fear deeper.
Just down
the street in the best location on the waterfront, the Struan Building was well lit, as was Brock and Sons, next door, both with many clerks and shroffs still at their work. Today
Malcolm Struan had moved into the tai-pan suite that was much bigger and more comfortable than the one he had been using and now he was fighting his way into his dinner clothes. "What's your advice,
