Gai-Jin (152 page)

“With me, nothing, except this lousy cold and cough. Plenty’s up in the Settlement.”

“What now?”

“Last few days lots of enemy movement all around us, samurai patrols, most of them covert—just for safety we’ve been patrolling to the Tokaidō and Settlement limits, so we spotted them. Coming here samurai were stacked ten-deep in places. They didn’t interfere with us except for the usual gibbering. I counted almost four hundred armed bastards.”

“Tairō
Anjo trying to harass us, scare us?”

“Probably.” Pallidar coughed, took another gulp of the medicine. “This is dreadful, I feel worse already. Ugh! I’m recommending we withdraw all personnel from here for a while.”

Hoag whistled. “We wouldn’t want to close the clinic.”

“I wouldn’t want to have you dead without a coffin. These bastards love surprise attacks. Like poor bloody Malcolm. Someone’s going to pay for him.”

Hoag nodded. “I agree.” Idly he was looking out towards Yokohama, the countryside flat and uninteresting in winter—hate the cold, always have, always will. His eyes took him to
Prancing Cloud
, the steamer mail ship, the merchantmen, warships and tenders all busy, preparing for the coming storm or preparing to leave. Warships had smoke trickling from their funnels—fleet orders, well publicized, so that the Bakufu and their spies would be aware that the whole fleet could sail on a war footing within an hour.

Stupid, all the killing, but then what can we do? Those responsible must pay. Then he saw the smoke from the Struan steam cutter chugging this way, bobbing through the troughs, spray from the bow wave drenching the glass of the bridge and main cabin. His anxiety crested.

“Settry, don’t you think—” He aborted another fervent plea, suddenly realizing that even if tonight was out for the actual burial, with luck he could still keep the first part of the plan and have the wrong coffin put aboard
Prancing Cloud
.

I’m the only one who knows which coffin is which, except perhaps the Sergeant and I’ve a hunch he won’t notice the difference. No one can, unless a coffin is opened. “Don’t you think life in Yokohama is weirder than other places, living on a powder keg as we do?”

“It’s the same everywhere. Just the same,” Pallidar said thoughtfully, watching him.

Jamie, Angelique and Skye were grouped around the bay window in the tai-pan’s office. Rain splattered the glass. It was near midday. “Tonight will be too dangerous.”

“Then it will storm, Jamie?”

“Yes, Angelique. Enough to stop us.”

“Will
Cloud
sail tonight as planned?”

“Yes, no storm will stop her. The cutter’s gone to Kanagawa to collect the other coffin. You still want it put aboard her and not the mail ship?”

“That’s Sir William’s order, not mine,” she said firmly. “He wants to send my husband against his wishes and mine, he says it should go as quickly as possible and that’s by clipper. A coffin will go as he wishes. Jamie, our ruse, I think our ruse is fair. As to the storm, it will be a little storm. If we can’t bury my husband tonight, then we’ll try tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“The mail ship will sail tomorrow around noon.”

“Could you delay her, in case?”

“I think so. I’ll try.” Jamie thought a moment. “I’ll talk to the captain. What else?”

Angelique smiled sadly. “First we have to see if Dr. Hoag was successful. If not … perhaps I must go with the clipper after all.”

“More than likely Hoag will come back with the cutter, then we can decide.” Jamie added, not believing it, “Somehow it’ll all work out. Don’t worry.”

“What about asking Edward Gornt to join us?” she asked.

“No,” Jamie said. “The three of us are enough with Hoag. I’ve arranged berths on the mail ship, for Hoag, you and me.”

Skye said, “Angelique, it’s much wiser for you to stay here. Everyone here knows Wee Willie made the decision against your wishes, and that takes some of the heat from you.”

“If we cannot bury Malcolm, then I will go. I must be at his funeral, have to.” She sighed. “We should have a captain for our venture. Jamie, it should be you.”

“I agree,” Skye said. “Meanwhile, we wait for Hoag.”

Jamie began to speak, stopped, then nodded and went to his own office. A big pile of mail waited for action. He began to deal with it, working diligently but his concentration was disturbed by his drawer. In it was Maureen’s letter. At length he threw down his pen and took the letter out and reread it. There was no need, for he had read it twenty times before.

The key sentence was:
As there has been no reply to my fervent requests and prayers that you return and take up a normal life at home, I have decided to put my trust in our Maker and venture to Hong Kong, or the Japans, wherever you are. My beloved father has advanced us the money which he borrowed against a mortgage on
our home in Glasgow—please leave word for me with Cook’s in Hong Kong for I sail tomorrow, a second-class berth, on the Cunard
Eastern Mail …

The letter was dated over two and a half months ago.

He groaned. She’ll be in Hong Kong any day. My letter arrived too late. Now what do I do? Grin? Hide? Flee to Macao like old Aristotle Quance? Not on your life. It’s my life and there’s no way I can support a wife, want a wife…I can’t just write the same letter again and have it meet her there. I’ll have to—

A knock interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?” he bellowed.

Tentatively Vargas poked his head around the door. “Can I see you a moment, senhor?”

“Yes, what is it?” Jamie asked.

Vargas said distastefully, “There’s a man here to see you, a Mr. Corniman—some name like that, I think he said.”

The name meant nothing to Jamie. Vargas opened the door a crack. The short, ferretlike man was strangely dressed, part in European clothes, part Japanese. Shirt, trousers and thick padded overcoat, clean-shaven, hair clean and tied in a queue, a knife at his belt and well-worn boots. Jamie did not recognize him but here strangers were often not what they seemed. On an impulse he said, “Come in, please sit down.” Then he remembered the mail ship. “Vargas, ask Captain Biddy to stop by a moment, will you? He should be in the Club. Sit down, Mr. Corniman, is it?”

“You’s grog, mate?”

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“Johnny Cornishman, remember I seed you wiv’ the tai-pan, me and my mate, Charlie Yank, we’s prospectors, right?”

“Prospectors? Oh, yes, I remember you.” Now the man was clean and tidy where before he had been a hairy, filthy, foul-smelling beachcomber. His malevolent, furtive little eyes had not changed. “We made you a deal but you went with Brock’s,” he said sharply, “you sold us out.”

“Ay, that we did. We’s biznessmen. Norbert give us’n more brass, didn’t he? Forget him, he’s dead. First, some grog, eh? Then talks.”

Jamie kept his interest hidden. A man like this did not come without pay dirt. He unlocked his sideboard and poured half a tumbler of rum. “You’ve made a strike?”

The little man quaffed half the glass, choked and bared his gums, toothless but for two twisted brown teeth. “Grog’s better’n saké, by God, but never mind, the little sheilas is making up for th’ lack o’ grog.” He belched and grinned. “Just so long as you barf. Jesus they’s pekulier about water and barfing, more’n in our Yoshiwara, but when you’s barfed then they’s waggles theys bums till Kingdom come!” He roared at his own joke, then said toughly, “We’s got best quality steamer coal, tons, mate, ’nuff to coal our whole eff’ing fleet. At half Hong Kong price, th’ ton.”

“Where? Delivered where?” Jamie said, brightening. Steamer coal was extremely valuable and in short supply, especially for the fleet, and a local supplier would be a godsend as well as a constant source of revenue. At even twice Hong Kong price he could sell all he could get, let alone half. “Delivered where?”

“’Ere in Yokopoko, for Christ’s sake, but sixpence a ton you’s puts in’t bank for Johnny Cornishman.” He gulped the rum down. “You’s to pay in gold or silver Mex an’ you’s pay this bugger.” He handed over a piece of paper. The bad printing read:
Yokohama Village, Shoya Ryoshi, Gyokoyama merchant
. “This sod know wot’s wot, the ropes, knows wot to do. You’s knows the bugger?”

“Yes, he’s the village headman.”

“Good. Me Guv sayed you’d know him.”

“Who’s your Guv?”

Cornishman grinned. “Lord ’igh Muck hisself. You’s doan’ need names. Doan’ waste time. We’s a deal, yes or no?”

After a moment Jamie said, “Where’s the seam?”

“Me strike’s me own, mate, not yorn.” The little man laughed nastily. “It be close but in enemy lands. Listen, me first seam’s open, wiv a mountain of coal nearby an’ a thousand of the yeller buggers to dig’n carry, ’nuff for twenty fleet for twenty year, by God.”

“Why me? Why ask me to deal with you?”

“’Cause Norbert’s bloody dead an’ you’s bloody kingpin now the tai-pan’s dead. Yokopoko’s proper bloody dangerous, eh?” Cornishman held out the glass. “I’s enjoy more grog, if you please, Mister godalmighty Struan’s.”

Again Jamie poured and sat down again. Cornishman noticed half the last measure and grunted. “Wot’s this?”

“We’ll pay a fifth of Hong Kong price, less customs, delivered here, first delivery in thirty days. No side deal.”

The little man’s eyes darted around the room like a rat’s. “Any customs you’s pay, mate. Me side deal stays. Tell you wot: day after tomorrer you’s send a coaling barge near Yedo, where I says. Day after termorrer. We fills her up, you’s to pay a fifth when full and brings her here to Yoko, you pays that geezer the rest, th’ one of the paper. Sixpence a ton in bank in me name, Johnny Cornishman. Can’t be fairer, eh? You get coal before you pay an’ at half price Hong Kong.”

“A fifth of Hong Kong price overall.”

The little man’s face twisted with anger. “At harf Hong Kong price you’s making a big profit, for Christ’s sake, the coal’s here, not in eff’ing Honkers. You’s saves shipping, ’surance, and Christ knows what—we ain’t chicken-shit bushwhackers, this’s spectible trade!”

Jamie laughed. “Tell you what: first barge I’ll pay a third Hong Kong
price. If the quality’s what you say and you guarantee delivery a barge a week or whatever you can do, I’ll up it over the year to half Hong Kong less fifteen percent. Threepence a ton on the side to you. What about your partner, what was his name, Charlie Yank?”

“Sixpence or nuffink.” Again the glance darted around the room and came back to rest on him, glittering. “He’s dead like yor tai-pan but he didn’t die like that lucky bugger.”

“You’d better watch your tongue about our tai-pan.”

“Go stuff yourself, mate. That were no disrespekt, we’s all like to meet old Boney with a doxy chomping on our dingle.” He finished his drink and got up. “Two days, at high noon. Pick up be here.” He offered a small hand-drawn map. The X was on the coast a few miles north of Kanagawa, south of Yedo proper. “You’s brings tenders, we gives labor.”

“Can’t do two days, that’s a Sunday. Make it Monday.”

“’Course, Lord’s day’s the Lord’s day. Three days.”

Jamie studied the map. An unprotected coal barge, with tenders and crew, might be a tempting bushwhack. “As the barge would be naval, and the coal for the Navy, I imagine they’ll send a frigate to stand offshore.”

“They’s can send the whole eff’ing fleet for all I cares.” Cornishman tried to be dignified. “I’s made a bonzer strike an’ we’s proper, by God, very proper.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“It be sixpence a ton or nuffink!”

“Fourpence.”

Cornishman spat. “Sixpence, by God, I’s knows worth of coal, and worth to eff’ing fleet, an’ wot you’s can make off ’em. Maybe I’s deal direct.”

“You could try,” Jamie said, gambling. “Tell you what, fourpence first ten barges, rest sixpence.”

The little man glowered at him. “Now I’s knows why you’s Noble bloody House.” He stuck out his hand, rough and horny. “Yor word as Struan’s gent.” They shook. Then he said, “Oh yus, you’s any mercury?”

Jamie’s attention soared back. Mercury would be used in the extraction of gold. “Yes. How much do you need?”

“Not a lot for starters. You’s put it on the tab?”

“All right. You’re staying at the Yokohama Arms?”

“Not eff’ing likely—no Drunk Town for me,” Cornishman said with a sneer. “I’s on me way back right smartly, an’ you’s to keep supply secret, deal secret, no names, no pack drill—I’s wanting no bleeding bushwhackers jumping me claim.” He started to leave.

“Wait! Where are you going? How do I contact you?”

“I’s going back to me claim, mate.” Again he bared his gums in his evil smile. “Me samurais and me palanquin’s outside th’ North Gate, I snuck in private-like. Next time I’s come back, I’s come back as gent, no eff’ing Drunk
Town no more. An’ you’s doan’ contact me no more, you go’s to the geezer. I’s ’spektible trader now and doan’ you’s forget it. Put mercury on’t barge.” He walked out.

For a long time Jamie stared at the walls, sifting what had been said. A reliable coal supply would be wonderful but bound to vanish when the fleet flattened Yedo. And why mercury? Has that rotten bugger hit real pay dirt? And who’s the real boss? Come to think of it, who’s mine?

Tess until the end of the month. How much loyalty do I owe her? All of it. Till the end of the month.

Rain battered the window. He got up and looked around the bay critically. The sea was a dirtier grey than before, the sky lowering. No doubt the storm would be bad for the cutter but not for a ship. Ah, there she is!

Their cutter was a couple of hundred yards or so off their wharf, making way carefully against the waves, shipping some water but not badly, spray from the bow wave substantial, the Struan flag at half-mast—as the flag above their building had been since the death of the tai-pan. His binoculars were on the window ledge. Now he could see Hoag and Pallidar clearly in the cabin, the flag-draped coffin lashed securely to one of the benches as he had ordered. A twinge went through him seeing the entwined Lion and Dragon around Malcolm’s coffin—a sight he had never expected to see. Then he remembered that it was not his friend’s coffin but some unknown native, at least he hoped so.