Gai-Jin (181 page)

The swirling black pit was an eternity of torment with red and green flashes behind his eyes, no sight there, no hearing but for a gigantic hammering, chest afire, heart pulsating, all openings out of control. Icy water drenched him and he gasped. Another deluge in his face and another. Coughing and heaving, he came out of the dark. Agony from his broken arm, the bone splintered and protruding, soared into his head and blew his sight back. He found himself spread-eagled on the ground, helpless, a ninja standing on each wrist and each ankle but they were not ninja. Now their
masks were off. He recognized Abeh who stood over him. Then he saw Yoshi nearby, dark clad, but not as the fighters. Twenty or thirty others all around. Silent as the night and the area.

“So, Katsumata! Katsumata the Raven, Katsumata the shishi and leader of shishi and patron of women,” Yoshi said, his voice so kind. “What a shame you are alive. Please, the truth. Koiko, she was part of your plot,
neh
?”

Katsumata was frantically trying to collect his wits and when he did not answer immediately, the samurai standing on his fractured arm twisted the protruding bone viciously and he screamed, the iron will he always presumed he possessed lost with his freedom. “Please, oh please …”

“Koiko, she was part of your plot?”

“Not my plot, Sire, hers and the mama-san’s, hers, Sire.” The broken man babbled, his head on fire like his arm, the pain intolerable. “Not … she was … it was her, her and the mama-san, not me, Lord, nothing to do with me. It was her and Meikin her mama-san, not me, it was them, not me …”

“So ka?
And Sumomo, the shishi who escaped with you through the tunnel, the Kyōto tunnel, remember? You remember Sumomo? You blackmailed Koiko and without her knowledge secretly ordered Sumomo to murder me,
neh?”

“Sum … momo, Sire? I don’t know, who is—is she … nothing to do with me, noth—” The words trailed into another scream as the man standing on his arm shifted his stance.

Yoshi sighed, his face a mask. He motioned to Meikin who was standing to one side, out of Katsumata’s eye line, Inejin beside her. “You heard your accuser, Meikin?”

“Yes, Sire.” She came forward weakly, her voice small and shuddering. “So sorry, he is a liar. We were never part of any plot against you, never, he is a liar. We are blameless.” She looked down at Katsumata, loathing him, glad she had betrayed him and that she was revenged—his cowardice and being caught alive better than anything she had dared hope for.

“Liar!” she hissed and backed off as he began raving, trying impotently to get at her until another of the men smashed him senseless and he lay back moaning fitfully, not one of them with any sympathy.

Her head was pounding like never before, her mouth tasted vile. “But, Sire, so sorry, it is also true I knew him, so did my treasure but only as an ancient client, only that. He was an ancient client and I did not know then who he was or what this”—she hesitated, trying to find a word that fit her loathing—“this thing really did.”

“I believe you, Meikin. Good, at last the truth. Good. And because he is the liar you may have him, as I agreed.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

“Obey her,” he said to Abeh, “then bring her outside.”

He strode off. All the men went with him, surrounding him, shielding him, except for Abeh and the men restraining the spread-eagled man, now moaning into consciousness again. She waited, savoring the moment, for herself, for Koiko and all the Floating World, so rare to have revenge, so very rare.

“Please strip him,” she said, quite calm. They obeyed her. She knelt and showed Katsumata the knife. It was small but sufficient for her purposes. “Traitor, you won’t fornicate in hell, if there is a hell.”

When at length the shrieks subsided into unconsciousness, she dealt with him as with a pig. “That’s what you are,” she murmured, and wiped the knife clean and slipped it into her obi, blood still on her hands and sleeves.

“I will take that, please,” Abeh said, nauseated by her vengeance. Silently she gave him the knife and followed to the courtyard, men surrounding her. Yoshi was waiting. She knelt in the dirt. “Thank you, Lord. I believe he regretted he betrayed you, betrayed us before leaving. Thank you.”

“And you, Meikin?”

“I never betrayed you. I told the truth. I have told you all I know and gave you the traitor tonight.”

“So?”

Unafraid, she looked at him directly, not many eyes so unrelenting as his, and dismissed that, preferring to see him as a man, one of a thousand clients or officials she had had to brave in her lifetime, for money or favors, for herself or her House. “It is time to go onwards, Sire.” She put her hand into her sleeve and brought out the small phial. “I can do it here if you wish, my death poem is written, the Gyokoyama possess the House of Wisteria. But I am of the Floating World,” she said proudly. “It is not seemly to depart befouled, with unclean blood speckling me and on my hands. I would like to go onwards clean. I would like to go back to my House. A death wish, Sire: a bath and clean clothes. Please?”

TUESDAY, 13TH JANUARY
:

Angelique was among the riders exercising their ponies in the early morning light at the Yokohama racetrack, cantering alone, by choice, hardly noticing the others. The circuit was busy and all the riders watched her. A lot of money was riding with her that morning. She was overdue. At least a day.

“Edward, she is, isn’t she?” Pallidar asked, riding alongside Gornt on the other side of the field. “Er, overdue?”

“Yes, suh, the figures add up that way.” Gornt looked across at her and pondered what he was going to do. She was mounted on a black pony that Malcolm had given her, and wore a black riding habit, very snug, black boots and hat with a half veil. “Her tailor’s good, never seen that outfit before.”

“Yes, and she’s got a good seat too,” Pallidar said dryly.

Both laughed. “But she does ride like a dream, no doubt about it, pretty as any Southern belle.”

“Seriously, what do you think? I mean, there are all sorts of rumors about dates, not many of us have ever had, I mean, not many of us know about the Curse, the intervals, and all that. Have you money on it?”

So much you’d never believe, Gornt thought. “Yesterday I asked Hoag point-blank.”

“Good God, just like that? I’d never have had the balls, old boy.” Pallidar leaned closer, his mount a dragoon gelding grey, and a hand bigger than Gornt’s pony. “What did he say?”

“He says he doesn’t know any more than we do. You know what he’s like, so I believe him.” Gornt hid his impatience, missing her company. They had agreed to keep up the pretense of avoiding each other until she was sure if she wasn’t … nothing could begin until then—or until the second month. “The 11th or 12th are right though he did say she could be late but not much later to … start. If she doesn’t, she’s bearing.”

“Christ! Makes you think, what? Tough for her if she is, poor lady, more than tough when you think of Hong Kong Tess and the problems. And tougher if she isn’t, if you believe the rumors—don’t know which is tougher.” Bugles began sounding on the bluff above the racecourse where the soldiers’ tented encampment lay—a thousand soldiers there. “Bloody hell,” Pallidar muttered.

“What?”

“It’s a ‘Return to base.’ The General’s probably just got a hangover and wants to snarl at everyone.”

“You going with Sir William tomorrow?”

“The Kanagawa-Yoshi conference? Suppose so. Generally I’m the dogsbody. I’d better go. Dinner in the Mess?”

“Thanks, I’d like that.” Gornt watched Pallidar pirouette his horse impeccably to gallop off and mingle with other army officers streaming away. He noticed Hoag coming up from the Settlement to join the circuit. The Doctor rode well, easy in the saddle for such a heavy man. Deciding to intercept him he heeled his pony—a brown stallion, the best in the Brock stable—into a canter, then changed his mind. He had ridden enough for
today. They would hear soon enough, Hoag would never be able to keep that news to himself once it was fact.

Before leaving the track he waved to Angelique and called out, “’Morning, Ma’am, you’re a joy to see on a chill day.”

She looked up, pulled from her own private world. “Oh. Thank you, Mr. Gornt.”

He saw her melancholy, but she smiled at him. Reassured, he trotted on, content, no need to rush her. First, is she or isn’t she? Either way is fine with me.

Angelique had been pleased to see him, enjoying his open admiration and elegance and masculinity. The strain of the waiting, remaining alone, holding to her regimen of mourning, bottling up secrets, was beginning to tell—her early morning ride, occasional promenades, reading as many new books as she could find, talking to Vargas about silk and silkworms, trying to work up an enthusiasm, were the only luxuries she allowed herself. Then she saw Hoag.

Hoag! If she continued her canter she would catch up with him. A trot would avoid him, and even easier to turn and go home. “Good morning,
Monsieur le docteur
, how are you?”

“Oh, hello, you’re looking well.”

“I’m not,” she said, “I’m piqued. But thank you anyway.” A slight hesitation and she added casually, “A woman never feels well during that time of the month.”

Startled, he jerked his reins and his mare bridled, neighed and shook her head, frightening Angelique’s mount. In moments both were in tight control again. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, “I’d … I’d expected the opposite.” The suddenness and her nonchalance was so unsettling that he almost said, Are you sure? Must be getting old, he thought, irritated with himself for not seeing the obvious—obvious now that he looked at her. “Well, at least you know.”

“I’m terribly disappointed, for Malcolm’s sake, but somehow it doesn’t seem to—to skewer me anymore. Of course I cried my heart out but now …” Her guilelessness made him want to reach out and comfort her.

“With all the rest, that’s understandable, Angelique. Better that way. I told you before, so long as you can cry, none of it will damage you. May I ask when you started?”

There were more bugles from the bluff. “What’s going on? I saw Settry and other officers rush off.”

“The bugles are just recalling officers, routine, nothing to worry about.” Hoag looked around to make sure no one was near. “Thanks for telling me,” he laughed nervously, “if a little abruptly. Can we talk as we ride?”

“Certainly,” she said, knowing full well why she had told him. It was seeing Gornt today and Hoag convenient. And because she wanted the fight to begin. “It began Sunday.”

“I don’t know whether to say you’re lucky or unlucky.”

“It’s neither,” she said. “It was the will of God, I accept that. I’m sorry for Malcolm, not for me. For me, it’s the will of God. What do you do now, inform her?”

“Yes, but first I have to give you a letter.”

It was her turn to be startled. “You had a letter all this time but didn’t give it to me?”

“She asked me to give it to you if you were not bearing Malcolm’s child.”

“Oh.” She thought about that, feeling slightly sick. “And if I were, what then?”

“That’s a hypothetical question now, isn’t it?” he said gently, her sudden pallor worrisome. This young lady’s not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot.

“I want to know.”

“I was asked to give you this letter if your period began, Angelique. Would you like to go back now? I’ll bring it to your suite.”

“Thank you, but I’ll … I’ll wait while you collect it, I’ll wait outside Struan’s.” She spurred ahead, finished this circuit, oblivious of the others—every one of them watching her. On a whim she wheeled to take the path for a short gallop to clear her head of fear. Spurs and knees and hands and the pony was smoothly flat out.

Ahead were two church spires and the perimeter fence, the Yoshiwara nestling outside but inside its own walls, the bridge and guard house. For a moment her mind took her back in time and it was as if she were galloping towards them panic-stricken, the bloody Tokaidō behind her, hat gone, clothes torn, frightened nearly to death. The vision evaporated as she reined in—how long ago that all seemed. A different kind of fear remained. She had cast the die.

Tess’s letter read: