Gai-Jin (31 page)

With great care Vargas kept the excitement out of his own voice. “They want to buy a thousand breech-loaders with a thousand bronze cartridges per gun. We are to name a fair price and deliver within three months. If within two months, they will pay a bonus—twenty percent.”

Outwardly, McFay was equally calm. “Is that all they wish to buy at the moment?”

Vargas asked them. “Yes, senhor, but they require a thousand rounds per rifle. And a steamship of small size.”

McFay was counting the huge potential profit, but more so he was remembering his conversation with Greyforth, and the well-known hostility of the Admiral and General, supported by Sir William, to any sale of any armaments. Remembering the various murders. And Canterbury hacked to pieces. And that he himself did not approve of the sale of armaments, not until it was safe. Would it ever be safe with such a warlike people? “Please tell them I can give them an answer in three weeks.” He saw the pleasant smile vanish from the younger man’s face.

“Answer … now. No three week.”

“Not have guns here,” McFay said slowly, directly to him. “Must write Hong Kong, Head Office, nine days there, nine days back. Some breechloaders there. All rest in America. Four or five months minimum.”

“No unner’stand.”

Vargas interpreted. Then there was a conversation between the two samurai, the merchant answering their questions with fervent humility. More questions to Vargas, politely responded to. “He says very well, he or a Choshu official will return in twenty-nine days. This transaction is to be secret.”

“Of course.” McFay looked at the youth. “Secret.”

“Hai!
Sek’ret.”

“Ask him how the other samurai, Saito, is.” He saw them frown, but could read nothing from their faces.

“They don’t know him personally, Senhor.”

More bows and then Jamie was alone. Lost in thought, he put the gun belt back into the case. If I don’t sell them the guns, Norbert will—whatever the morality.

Vargas returned, very pleased. “An excellent possibility, senhor, but a big responsibility.”

“Yes. I wonder what Head Office will say this time.”

“Easy to find out, senhor, quickly. You don’t have to wait eighteen days, isn’t Head Office upstairs?”

McFay stared at him. “I’ll be damned, I’d forgotten! Difficult to think of young Malcolm as tai-pan, our ultimate decider. You’re right.”

Running feet approached, the door opened. “Sorry to butt in,” Nettlesmith said, puffing from his exertion, his grubby top hat askew. “Thought you’d better know, just got word the blue signal flag went up the Legation mast a few minutes ago … then came down and went up again, then came down to
half mast
and stayed there.”

Jamie gaped at him. “What the devil does that mean?”

“Don’t know, ’cepting that half mast usually means a death, doesn’t it?”

Greatly perturbed, the Admiral again trained his binoculars on the Legation flagpole, the other men on the quarterdeck, his Captains from the rest of the fleet, Marlowe, the General, French Admiral, and von Heimrich equally concerned, Seratard and André Poncin pretending to be. When the lookout had given the alarm half an hour ago, they had all hurried on deck from the lunch table. Except the Russian Minister: “If you want to wait in the cold, very well, damned if I am. When word comes from the shore, yes, no or war, please wake me. If you start shelling I’ll join you…. ”

Marlowe was watching the roll over the Admiral’s collar, despising him, wishing he were ashore with Tyrer, or aboard his own ship, the
Pearl
. At noon the Admiral had replaced the temporary captain with a stranger, a Lieutenant Dornfild, disregarding his advice. Bloody old bastard, look at the way he fiddles so bloody pompously with his binoculars—we all know they are highly expensive and issued to Flag Rank only. Bloody old—

“Marlowe!”

“Yessir.”

“We’d better find out what the devil’s going on. You go ashore … no, I
need you here! Thomas, would you please be good enough to send an officer to the Legation? Marlowe, detail a signalman to go with the detachment.”

At once the General jerked his thumb at his aide who hurried off, closely followed by Marlowe. Seratard pulled his heavy great coat closer against the chill of the wind. “I’m afraid Sir William has boxed himself in.”

“I remember you giving your opinion this morning,” the Admiral said curtly.

The meeting he had called with the Ministers had been noisy and had brought forth no solution, except Count Zergeyev’s: immediate and massive force. “Which, my dear Count,” he had pointed out sourly at once, “we don’t have now if it’s necessary to follow up a simple bombardment to seize the city and surrounds.”

Ketterer pursed his lips and glared at Seratard, the dislike mutual. “I’m sure Sir William will find an answer, but I tell you frankly, by God, if I see our colors struck, Yedo goes up in smoke!”

“I agree,” Seratard said. “A matter of national honor!”

Von Heimrich’s face hardened. “Japanners are not stupid—like some people. I cannot believe they will disregard the force we have now.”

The wind picked up suddenly, crackling some of the spars aloft, sea greyer, clouds greying. All eyes went to a black squall line on the eastern horizon. The squall was heading shorewards, threatening their exposed anchorage.

“Marlowe, send a…
Marlowe
!” the Admiral bellowed.

“Yessir?” Marlowe came running.

“For God’s sake, stay within hailing distance! Signal all ships: ‘Prepare to stand out to sea. Should conditions deteriorate rapidly, on my command take individual action and rejoin at Kanagawa as soon as conditions permit.’ You Captains get back to your ships while you’ve the weather.” They rushed off, glad to be away.

“I will get back to my ship too,” the French Admiral said.
“Bonjour
, messieurs.”

“We’ll come with you, Monsieur Admiral,” Seratard said. “Thank you for your hospitality, Admiral Ketterer.”

“What about Count Alexi? He came with you, didn’t he?”

“Let him sleep. Better for the Russian bear to sleep,
n’est-ce pas?”
Seratard said coldly to von Heimrich, both of them knowing full well Prussia’s secret overtures to the Tsar to remain neutral in any confrontation, to allow Prussia to expand in Europe to satisfy an open state policy: the creation of a German nation of German-speaking peoples with Prussia its spearhead.

Marlowe, hurrying for the signalman, saw his ship, the
Pearl
, neatly at anchor and was worried about her, loathing not being aboard and in
command. Uneasily he glanced seaward again, gauging the squall line, the weight of blackening clouds, the smell and the taste of the salt on the wind. “That bugger’s going to be a sod.”

In the Legation audience room Sir William, flanked by a Scots officer, Phillip Tyrer and guards sat coldly facing three Japanese officials who were leisurely seating themselves, their guards behind them: the grey-haired Elder, Adachi, daimyo of Mito, the mock samurai, Misamoto the fisherman, and last, a short, big-bellied, Bakufu official, secretly fluent in Dutch, whose covert assignment was to report in private to Yoshi on the meeting and the behavior of the other two. As usual, none had used their correct names.

Five palanquins had arrived yesterday, with the same ceremony though an increased number of guards. Only three were occupied, which Sir William had found curiously disturbing. This, added to heightened samurai activity during the night around the temple and Legation, prompted him to send a partial alarm signal to the fleet by half-masting the pennant that he hoped Ketterer would understand.

Outside in the forecourt, Hiraga, again disguised as a gardener, had been equally perturbed—even more so that Toranaga Yoshi was not amongst the officials. This meant the attack plan so carefully poised to ambush Yoshi near the castle gates on his return had to be called off. At once he had tried to melt away, but samurai irritably ordered him back to work. Seething, he obeyed, waiting his chance to escape.

“You’re two and a half hours late,” Sir William said icily as an opening salvo. “In civilized countries diplomatic meetings are on time, not late!”

Immediate and flowery apologies of no consequence. Then the usual obligatory introductions and sugary compliments and aggravating politenesses, and over an hour of back and forth, of demands calmly deflected, ponderous arguments, delays requested, astonishment where none was merited, questions needing to be repeated, facts dismissed, the truth disregarded—alibis, explanations, rationalizations, excuses, all courteously delivered.

Sir William was about to explode when, with great formality, the Elder, Adachi, produced a sealed scroll, handed it to their interpreter who handed it to Johann.

Johann’s own weariness dropped away.
“Gott im Himmel!
It’s under the seal of the
roju.”

“Eh?”

“The Council of Elders. I’d recognize the seal anywhere—it’s the same as Ambassador Harris got. You better accept it, formally, Sir William, then
I’ll read it aloud if it’s in Dutch, which I doubt.” He stifled a nervous yawn. “Probably just another delaying tactic.”

Sir William did as Johann suggested, hating to be so confined and having to rely on foreign mercenary interpreters.

Johann broke the seal and scanned the document. His astonishment was open: “It’s in Dutch, by God! Skipping all the titles, formal language, etc., it says:
The Council of Elders, having received what appears to be a just complaint, apologizes for the dereliction of its subjects and wishes to invite the honored Minister of the British, and other accredited Ministers to meet the Council thirty days from now, in Yedo, when the formal complaint will be presented, the matter discussed, acted upon, and an indemnity for said just complaint agreed. Signed … Nori Anjo, Chief Minister.”

With a supreme effort, Sir William kept his erupting relief bottled. This unbelievable reprieve gave him the face-saver he desperately needed, and now if he could finesse them just a little further … To his sudden fury, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tyrer smiling broadly. Without looking at him he hissed, “Stop smiling, you bloody idiot,” and in the same breath added harshly, “Johann, tell them they will have my reply in three days. Meanwhile I want an immediate indemnity, in gold, in three days, for ten thousand pounds sterling for the families of the Sergeant and Corporal murdered in this Legation, last year, and already demanded four times!”

When this was translated, he saw consternation on the face of the elderly man. Another lengthy conversation between him and the Bakufu official.

Johann reported wearily, “The old fellow dismisses this with their usual: that that ‘unfortunate occurrence’ was by a Legation staff employee who then committed seppuku—suicide. It’s not the Bakufu’s fault at all.”

Equally tiredly, Sir William said, “Give them back the usual, by God: that they appointed him, they insisted we employ him, so they are responsible—and he only committed suicide because he was badly wounded in the murder attempt on my predecessor and liable for immediate capture!” Trying to push away his tiredness, he watched the two officials talking with their interpreter, and the third man listening as he had done all afternoon. Perhaps he’s the one with real power. What happened to the other men from yesterday, particularly the younger man—the one André Poncin accosted as he left. What is that devious bastard Seratard up to?

The freshening wind caught a loose shutter and jolted it against the window. One of the sentries leaned over the lintel and hooked it back in place. Not far offshore was the fleet, the ocean a deep grey now and white-capped. Sir William noticed the looming squall line. His anxiety for the ships increased.

Johann said, “The old fellow asks, will you accept three thousand?”

Sir William’s face went red. “Ten thousand in gold!”

More talk, then Johann mopped his brow.
“Mein Gott
, ten it is, to be paid in two installments at Yokohama, ten days from now, the balance the day before the Yedo meeting.”

After a deliberately dramatic pause, Sir William said, “I will give them my answer in three days if it’s acceptable.”

Much sucking in of breath, a few more wily attempts to change the three days to thirty, to ten, to eight, all of which were stonewalled and refused. “Three.”

Polite bows and the Delegation was gone.

Once they were alone, Johann beamed. “That’s the first time we made any progress, Sir William, the very first time!”

“Yes, well, we’ll see. Just don’t understand them at all. Obviously they were trying to wear us down. But why? What’s the good of that? They already had the scroll so why the devil didn’t they hand it over in the beginning and have done with all their cursed time wasting? Bunch of bloody idiots! And why send two empty palanquins?”

Phillip Tyrer said brightly, “Seems to me, sir, that’s just one of their characteristics. To be devious.”

“Yes, well, Tyrer, come with me, please.” He led the way to his private office and when the door was closed he said angrily, “Didn’t the F.O. teach you anything? Are you totally without brains? Don’t you have enough sense to have a poker face at diplomatic meetings? Are your brains addled?”

Tyrer was in shock at the venom. “Sorry, sir, very sorry, sir, I was just so pleased at your victory I cou—”

“It wasn’t a victory, you idiot! It was just a delay, albeit heaven sent!” Sir William’s relief that the meeting was over and had, against his expectations, achieved much more than he could have wished for, fuelled his irritability. “Are your ears filled with mildew? Didn’t you hear the ‘what appears to be a just complaint’—that’s the biggest hole they could ever leave, by God! We achieved a delay, that’s all, but it happens to suit me perfectly and if the Yedo meeting takes place in thirty days I’ll be astounded. The next time don’t let your feelings show, for God’s sake, and if you ever become an interpreter…you just better learn Japanese quickly or you’ll be on the next boat home with a note on your record that will get you a posting to Esquimoland for the rest of your life!”

“Yes, sir.”