Gai-Jin (189 page)

An hour or so ago he had tried to peer out of the Drunk Town well head to see for himself but the heat was too much and had driven him back. Perhaps the bricks had cooled enough for him to see the extent of the devastation there. He held in his hope. Tyrer still had to be dealt with.

The success of his story depended on whether or not Takeda had been caught alive. It was a good gamble that Takeda had not been and then his version, mostly true, would be logical: “Bad man want destroy all gai-jin, drive away from Nippon. Man from Bakufu. Bakufu want all gai-jin away,
Yoshi want all gai-jin gone. Pay spy to start fire, blame shishi, but man from Bakufu.”

“You know this man?”

Hiraga shook his head. “A Satsuma man, mama-san say me.”

“Raiko-san?”

“No, Wakiko, another Teahouse,” Hiraga said, inventing a name. They had reached the water. “Best take off c’rothes. Safe.” They stripped and, with the oil lamp held up, forded the barrier. And on the other side, while Tyrer painfully retied the loincloth and put on the kimono, Hiraga elaborated on the theme that the Bakufu were evil, they would cast the blame elsewhere, on ronin, the shishi, but they had planned and precipitated it, Anjo, the Elders and especially Yoshi.

To Tyrer it was very plausible. Very. Again a Satsuma, one of Sanjiro’s devils.

At the lip of the well, Hiraga pointed upwards. “Same as other. First I see.” He handed Tyrer the lamp and climbed to the top, the bricks still hot. Warily he peered out. What he saw made his head reel. Where once No Man’s Land was hemmed in, now he could see clear to the sea, past the space that was once Drunk Town, past the other space that was once the village, right up to the north end. Many gai-jin buildings there were untouched but that did not worry him. All in all, Yokohama had ceased to be. He returned below.

“What’s happened, Hiraga-sama?”

“You go see. I stay. You go now, friend. Hiraga not go, cannot—samurai still search,
neh?”

Tyrer saw the brown eyes watching him, this strange alien who had certainly risked his life to save him. And had saved him for the second time. What more can a friend do than risk his life for his friend? “Without you, I know I’d be dead. I owe you a life. To thank you is not enough.”

Hiraga shrugged, silently.

“What will you do?”

“P’rease?”

“If I want to see you, to contact you.”

“I here. Taira-sama, not forget Yoshi price my head,
neh?
P’rease, not say about tunn’er. Bakufu and Yoshi want me bad. If Taira-sama say, soon dead, can nowhere to run.”

“I won’t tell anyone. How can I get you a message?”

Hiraga thought about that. “Sunset time, come here, speak down. I here sunset time. Understand?”

“Yes.” Tyrer stuck out his hand. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t tell and I’ll try to help.” Hiraga’s grip was as firm.

* * *

“Phillip! Phillip, my boy, thank God you’re safe!” Sir William’s face was alight with relief and he hurried towards him to grip him on both shoulders. “The rumor said you’d been swallowed up in the Yoshiwara, come and sit down, you poor chap.” He helped him to the best chair in his office by the fire. “Good God, you look terrible, what on earth happened, you need a drink! Brandy coming up!”

Tyrer relaxed into the tall chair, feeling much better. After the initial horror of the damage and meeting a few people on the waterfront, seeing bandages and burns—no one spoke of deaths—seeing the Legations, Struan’s and Brock’s and important parts untouched—along with the army encampment and the fleet—all this took away most of his tension. No one seemed to know who was lost, or how many, so he had hurried here. He took a large swallow of the drink. “I was caught in the Yoshiwara all right. I was with, er, with my girl and, well, she died.” His unhappiness rushed in again like a tidal wave.

“My God, sorry about that. Strange, your other friend, Nakama, Hiraga, whatever his real name is, he’s dead too.”

“Sir?”

“Yes,” Sir William said, and sat in the chair opposite and ran on happily. “Definite identification. A patrol spotted him in No Man’s Land at the beginning of the fire in Drunk Town, at first they thought he was a looter and gave chase but recognized him, shot the bugger, wounding him, to stop him, but can you imagine, the madman got up and hurled himself into a blazing building—the old oil depot. A few moments later the Sergeant said there was a terrific explosion and the place seemed to blow up.”

“That’s not possible be—”

“I agree it’s unlikely, throwing yourself into an inferno, ridiculous, no one would do that. Sorry to say two of the lads were killed trying to catch him—caught by the explosions. Damned shame! Nakama certainly could have been the arsonist, if there was one, rather far-fetched if you ask me. In any event, oil barrels were exploding all over.” He saw Tyrer’s agitation and pallor and felt bad for him. “Sorry for you, Phillip, sorry that he’s dead, because I know you liked him, but not sorry otherwise—he was an assassin and it gets us out of a dreadful hole with Yoshi, doesn’t it?” He waited expectantly for him to agree but there was only a hollow face in front of him. “Sorry, must be a shock on top of the … the other—it must have been awful.”

Tyrer was unbalanced, difficult to assimilate Hiraga’s mistaken death. “The Yoshiwara, yes—yes, it was,” and just as he was about to correct Sir William he was overridden again.

“Have to tell you, Phillip, we’ve been incredibly lucky. Army’s intact, Navy, only one of our community was lost so far, though we’re still checking. Did you see any of our chaps last night in the Yoshiwara?”

“No, sir, not one of ours, no.” Tyrer could not get his mind working properly. “Not a soul. You see I w—”

“Damn! Difficult trying to track everyone down, can’t get an accurate count. Drunk Town’s hopeless, but even there they say only half a dozen vagrants, no one with any name but Charlie or Tom or George. Glad to say Mrs. Fortheringill’s young ladies are all safe. Astounding we all escaped—if the wind hadn’t dropped … but then it did and thank God for that … Did you see Holy Titties escaped too? Of course, damages will run into hundreds of thousands of pounds. Thank God for insurance, what? Well, drink up and take a nap. When you think about it, you’ll see how fortunate we were with Nakama, he was developing into a major diplomatic disaster. I’m off, just going to discuss a plan with the community. Why don’t you lie down until I’m back an—”

A knock. Bertram said, “The shoya’s here, Sir William.”

“Perfect timing, show him in. Phillip, before you go you can translate for me. Come in, come in, Mr. Shoya.”

The shoya bowed deferentially, on guard.

“My Master greet you, Shoya,” Tyrer translated, still dazed, his mind elsewhere, desperate to lie down and think this all through. “Please to say how many lose in fire?”

“Please thank him for his kindness in asking but please do not be concerned about our problems.” The shoya found the question astonishing for it was no business of the gai-jin. What trap are they setting for me? he wondered.

“My Master says want know how many lost?”

“Oh, so sorry, I am not sure of a final count, but five fishermen and two families have gone onwards,” the shoya said politely, making up a figure as the gai-jin leader had asked pointedly, “how many
lost,”
thus expecting figures. Actually they had lost none of their people or children or boats, having had plenty of warning.

“My Master say, so sorry. Can he help village?”

“Ah! Ah, yes—yes, please thank the Great Lord, the families could use some bags of rice and a little money, any help with food or …” The shoya left it hanging to allow them to make up their own minds. Is this another trap?

“My Master says that he send foods for village. Please say how fire start.”

The shoya was thinking how totally mad of them to expect an answer to that. Dangerous to be involved in politics, even worse between shishi and Bakufu. While he greatly regretted the loss of all the profit when the gai-jin left their shores tomorrow or the next day, all was not lost because all his books and receipts and bullion were safe, and because of his agreement with the Jami gai-jin, which had become even more important now. I’m sure my
stoku kompeni
won’t suffer.

At the same time he was pleased with shishi daring to drive them out, blaming the vile Bakufu.
Sonno-joi
. We’re better off without gai-jin here. Better they are locked up in Nagasaki’s little Deshima as in the past. I will open a branch in Nagasaki and be ready for their return. If ever.

“So sorry, but probably oil in a kitchen,” he said with a humble bow. “Only the Yoshiwara cooks at night, we do not, please excuse me, that is all I know.”

“My Master say, this man Nakama, or Hiraga, the shishi Lord Yoshi want, he seen by soldiers who try catch him. He run away and dead in fire. You know him?”

The shoya’s foreboding tripled, though the death, to his delight, had also been reported. “Please excuse me,” he croaked, “I only know him as client, never shishi. Dead? How wonderful the assassin’s dead. Wonderful!”

Sir William sighed, tired of the questions and answers. “Thank him and dismiss him, Phillip.”

Thankfully the old man left. Sir William said, “Off you go, be ready to leave at noon.”

“Sir?”

“For Kanagawa, the Yoshi meeting. You didn’t forget?”

Tyrer was flabbergasted. “Surely he won’t be expecting us now,” he said weakly, the idea of a lengthy meeting translating the Treaty’s nuances filling him with nausea. “Surely not!”

“That’s why we’re going.” Sir William beamed. “Keep him off balance, eh? We’re British, not a bunch of lily-white twits. We’ve just had a minor contretemps, a slight hitch.” He put on his coat. “See you at noon, in best bib and tucker.”

“But he won’t turn up, not after this.”

“Yes. If he doesn’t, then he loses face, we don’t.”

“I can’t, Sir William, not as interpreter. I’m…I’m just exhausted and just can’t, not today, sorry.”

“’Fraid you’ll have to. Stiff upper lip and all that.”

Tyrer saw the thin smile, the coldness returning. And inflexibility. “Sorry, I can’t, sir. I’ve had it. Please let André do it, he’s better than I am.”

“You have to do it,” Sir William said, no humor in him now. “André Poncin’s dead.”

Tyrer almost fell. “He can’t be … How?”

“In the Yoshiwara. I heard just before you came in, that’s why I was so relieved to see you safe.” Saying that suddenly reminded Sir William of the sealed envelope André had left with him in the Legation safe, to be opened in the event of his death. “Henri identified him, as much as one could identify such a corpse. His signet ring was still on…. Well,” he said, sickened at the thought, “poor fellow was burnt to a cinder in his
garçonière
. I understand it’s
only a few yards from yours in the same Teahouse. I’d say you were extremely lucky, Phillip. Be ready at noon.”

He walked out and down the street, heading for the Club. Men were streaming from all directions. Passing Struan’s he glanced at the building, thankful it was safe, with Brock’s—a good omen, he thought, one of them’s certainly the Noble House and Brock’s is a bloody sight better with Gornt than with Norbert. He noticed Angelique at her window and waved. She waved back. Poor Angelique, wonder if Henri’s told her about André. Then, hearing the tumult from inside the Club even this far away, the usual shouting, cursing and clinking glasses, he sighed and put his mind to the business of the Settlement.

Silence fell as he entered. The Club was crammed, an overflow on the steps outside. A narrow path opened up for him through the packed, sweating ranks and he walked to his usual place near the bar to greet the other Ministers, Seratard, Erlicher and Zergeyev, who had part of his face bandaged from burns and his arm in a sling. Anyone of importance was present, and many who were not, many bandaged, some with broken bones but all faces flushed. Already a few drunks were laid out.

“’Morning. I’m happy to report we’ve been tremendously lucky—”

Catcalls interrupted him, shouts of “Balls, I’m ruined” … “Wot’re you talking about, for God’s sake” … “Let him talk” … “He’s full of wind, hasn’t he seen” … “Oh, for God’s sake, shut up … !”

He waited and then continued, tougher in tone: “We really have been lucky, only André Poncin’s been confirmed dead”—an audible murmur of grief, for his music was greatly appreciated—“no one else of the community. Mr. Seratard identified the body and the funeral will be tomorrow. Unfortunately we lost two soldiers, their funeral’s tomorrow also. In Drunk Town a few are still unaccounted for but no one we know by name. Our Army’s intact, all firearms, shells, munitions intact, Navy’s intact—we are very lucky indeed and I propose we should give thanks to God.” In the dead silence he added, “I’m asking the padre to hold a special evensong at dusk, all are invited. Any questions so far?”

“What about our firms?” Lunkchurch said. “I’m burnt out.”

“That’s what we all have fire insurance for, Mr. Lunkchurch.” A bellow of laughter stopped him. “What?”

Heavenly Skye, Yokohama’s forwarding insurance agent to Hong Kong, where all policies were accepted, said, “Sorry to say, Sir William, Barnaby’s policy lapsed last week and, to save money, he refused to renew until the first of the month.” The rest of what he said was again drowned in laughter and jeers.

“I’m sorry to hear that. In any event, by tonight’s packet, to the Governor of Hong Kong, I’m formally declaring the Settlement a disaster
area for all …” Roars of agreement and “Good Old Willie” greeted that, for such a pronouncement made sure all claims would be dealt with expeditiously. “… a disaster area for all
legitimate claims, all of which must be substantiated, requiring my signature to be valid and …”

Another roar, this time of fury, for he was known to be punctilious, unlike certain officials in the Hong Kong Government, and the fire had automatically been considered by many to be a Heaven-sent opportunity to inflate inventories.

When there was sufficient quiet, he added sweetly, “No exceptions will be considered and the sooner claims are on my desk the sooner they’ll be approved, signed and dispatched …” A general movement for the door began and he bellowed with a voice huge for such a thin man, “I haven’t finished, by God! Next, certain ill-advised, foolish people believe the wisest course is to abandon our foothold here. Her Majesty’s Government has no intention of leaving. None-what-so-ever.” Arguments to the contrary began but he overrode them coldly. “Next, you are required to assist each other like British gentlemen and …”