Gai-Jin (49 page)

During a writing lesson yesterday, he checked rumors he had heard, he asked him with signs and words Poncin had given him, to write the characters for “war,”
senso
, and “soon,”
jiki-ni
. Then he combined his crudely written attempts as “War, in Nippon, soon. Please?”

He had seen a sudden change and surprise.
“Gai-jin toh nihon-jin ka?”
Foreigners and Japanese?

“Iyé, Ukiya. Nihon-jin toh nihon-jin.”
No, Ukiya. Japanese and Japanese.

The man had laughed suddenly and Tyrer had seen how good-looking he was and how different from the other gardeners, wondering why he was seemingly so much more intelligent than the others, though, unlike the British equivalent worker, most Japanese could read and write.
“Nihon-jin tsuneni senso nihon-jin!
Japanese are always fighting Japanese,” Ukiya had said with another laugh, and Tyrer laughed with him, liking him even more.

Tyrer grinned at Pallidar. “Come on, what’s new? Not business, for goodness’ sake—Angelique.”

Pallidar grunted. “Oh, are you interested in her?” he asked flatly, greatly savoring the joke inside himself.

“Not at all.” Tyrer was equally flat, equally teasing, and they chuckled together.

“Tomorrow’s the engagement party.”

“Lucky Malcolm! Thank God I’m released, marvelous! I’d hate to miss that party. How is she?”

“As pretty as ever. We had her as guest of honor at the mess. She arrived looking like a goddess, escorted by the frog Minister, pompous ass, and that André Poncin chap—don’t like either of them. It was—”

“André’s rather nice actually—he’s helping me a lot with my Japanese.”

“Perhaps he is but I don’t trust him. There’s a long article in the
Times
about the coming European conflict: France and probably Russia against Germany. We’ll be dragged in again.”

“That’s one war we can do without. You were saying?”

An immense grin. “It was a terrific evening. Had one dance with her. It was smashing. A polka—danced my heart out. Close up, her—well, without being disrespectful, I have to say her bosoms are like milk and honey and her perfume …” For a moment Pallidar was reliving that heady moment, the center of attention on the hastily constructed dance floor, gorgeous sparkling uniforms, she the only woman present, candles and oil lamps and the Guards Band playing lustily, dancing on and on, the perfect couple, everyone else consumed with jealousy. “Don’t mind admitting I envy Struan.”

“How is he?”

“Eh? Oh, Struan? Slightly better so the story goes. I haven’t seen him but they say he’s out of bed. I asked Angelique and she only said he’s much better.” Another beam. “The new doctor, Dr. Hoag, their family doctor, has taken over. I hear he’s pretty damn good.” Pallidar finished his beer. Another appeared from the ever attentive Chen, smiling and round and a pattern of Lim, equally a plant, and also a distant cousin of the Struan compradore. “Thanks.” Pallidar sipped it appreciatively. “Damn good beer.”

“It’s local. Ukiya says Japanese’ve brewed it for years, the best from
Nagasaki. I imagine they copied some Portuguese beer centuries ago. What else’s new?”

Pallidar looked at Tyrer thoughtfully. “What do you make of Hoag’s assassin story? The operation and mysterious girl?”

“Don’t know what to think. I thought I recognized one of them, remember? The fellow was wounded in exactly the same place. Everything adds up. Pity you and Marlowe didn’t catch him. Ironic if one of our side cured him, so that he can murder more of us.” Tyrer dropped his voice, always servants nearby and soldiers. “Between you and me, old boy, Sir William’s sending for more troops and ships from Hong Kong.”

“I’d heard the same. It’ll be war soon, or we’ll have to intervene if they start fighting amongst themselves …”

Hiraga was listening carefully as he weeded and hoed, and though he missed many words he caught the marrow and their news confirmed his own, increasing his worries.

After setting the Utani mansion on fire, he and his friends had reached their nearby safe house without incident. Todo and others wanted to return to Kanagawa as soon as the barriers opened at dawn, and left. He, Joun, and Akimoto decided to remain in hiding at separate dwellings, to await an opportunity to attack the Legation.

That same dawn with eerie, unprecedented speed the Bakufu doubled the barriers on the Tokaidō, and extended their grasp on all four main trunk roads as well as all roads, paths and even tracks leading out of Yedo. With stepped-up surveillance, this effectively locked them in, along with all shishi and other antagonists throughout the capital.

Four days ago the mama-san Noriko sent a letter from Kanagawa, saying that with all the increased, hostile activity, this was her first opportunity, relating about Ori and Sumomo and the gai-jin doctor, and ended:

He began to write a reply but her messenger was very afraid. “Getting here was terrible, Hiraga-san. Barrier guards are ordering everyone to strip completely—men, women, even children—in case messages are hidden in loincloths. It happened to me, Sire.”

“Then how did you escape?”

The messenger pointed to his bottom. “I enclosed the letter in a small metal tube, Hiraga-san. I do not want to risk that again, some guards are very wise in the ways of smugglers. Please trust me with a spoken message.”

“Then give your mistress my thanks and hopes and tell Sumomo-san to report to Shinsaku at once.” Hiraga had used his father’s private name that only she would know, and would therefore be sure the order to return home had come from him. He paid the man. “Be careful.”

“Karma.”

Yes, karma, Hiraga thought, and began to concentrate again on the foreign words, glad that Ori was alive, enjoying the joke that indeed a gai-jin had saved Ori to kill more gai-jin, as he himself would kill these two. During their retreat, during the confusion of leaving I could do it, if not both then one of them, whoever is the first target. Eeee, all gods, if you exist, watch and guard Sumomo. Good that she resisted her parents, good she journeyed to my parents’ home in Choshu, good she came to Kanagawa, more than good that she dares to join me in battle—she will be a worthy mother to my generations, if that is my karma. Therefore much better she goes home to safety. Better she is in Choshu far from danger …

His ears caught the word “Shimonoseki.” The gai-jin officer was talking volubly and seemed quite excited, and though most of the words were lost, Hiraga gleaned that cannon had fired on some ships in the Straits, had killed some sailors, and that all gai-jin were furious because the Straits were essential to their shipping.

Yes, it is, Hiraga thought with grim amusement, which is exactly why you will never have
our
Straits. With the cannon we have even now we can close them and keep them closed to any barbarian fleet—and soon our Dutch built and designed armament factory will be casting sixty-pounders, completing three a month, with gun carriages!

The tide has turned in our favor at long last: Lord Ogama of Choshu, alone of all daimyo, obeys the Emperor’s wish to attack and expel the gai-jin; correctly he and Choshu troops firmly hold the palace gates; Katsumata is gathering all shishi to ambush and destroy the Shōgun, unbelievably winkled out of his lair, on the way to Kyōto; and now our grip tightens on the gai-jin’s citadel, Yokohama …

Abruptly all attention in the forecourt went to the barred and guarded gates as shouting erupted. Hiraga’s stomach turned over. A samurai officer at the head of a patrol under the banners of the Bakufu, and personal insignia of Toranaga Yoshi, was loudly demanding entrance, the redcoated soldiers telling him, as loudly, to go away. Just behind him, bound and battered and cowed, was Joun—his shishi comrade.

A bugler sounded the alarm. All troops inside the walls rushed to action
stations, some with half-buttoned uniforms and hatless but all with rifles, full magazines and bayonets, all gardeners were on their knees, heads into the earth—Hiraga, caught off guard, remained standing for a moment then hastily followed suit feeling totally naked. Warriors, massed in the square, began collecting ominously.

Shakily Tyrer got to his feet. “What the devil’s up?”

With studied slowness Pallidar said, “I suppose we’d better find out.” He got up leisurely, saw the Captain in charge of the Legation guards at the doorway queasily opening his holster. “’Morning, I’m Captain Pallidar.”

“Captain McGregor. Glad you’re here, yes, very glad.”

“Shall we?”

“Yes.”

“How many troops do you have here?”

“Fifty.”

“Good, more than enough. Phillip, nothing to worry about,” Pallidar said to reassure him, outwardly calm but his adrenaline circulating strongly. “You’re ranking official, perhaps you should ask him what he wants. We’ll escort you.”

“Yes, yes, very good.” Striving to appear calm, Tyrer put on his top hat, straightened his frock coat and walked down the steps, all eyes on him. The dragoons watched only Pallidar, awaiting his orders. Five yards from the gate Tyrer stopped, the two officers just behind him. For the moment all that he could think of was that he wanted to urinate. In the silence he said haltingly,
“Ohayo, watashi wa Taira-san. Nan desu ka?”
Good morning, I am Mr. Tyrer, what you want please?

The officer, Uraga, the big bearlike man who was at the shishi ambush of Anjo outside the castle, glared at him, then bowed and held the bow. Tyrer bowed back but not quite as low—as André Poncin had advised—and said again,
“Good morning, what you want please?”

The officer had noted the less than respectful bow and exploded in a rush of Japanese that totally swamped Tyrer, whose dismay mushroomed. So did Hiraga’s, because the officer was asking for immediate permission to search the Legation and grounds, and to interview all Japanese there at once because it was probable shishi assassins and revolutionaries were amongst them:
“Like this one,”
he finished angrily, pointing at Joun.

Tyrer searched for the words.
“Wakarimasen. Dozo, hanashi wo suru noroku.”
I don’t understand, please to speak slowly.

“Wakarimasen ka?”
You don’t understand? the officer said with exasperation, then raised his voice, believing like most people when talking to a foreigner that loudness made his words clearer and more understandable, and repeated what he had said, the guttural language sounding even more threatening, and ended with,
“It won’t take much time and please understand it is for your own protection!”

“So sorry, not understand. Please you to speak English or Dutch?”

“No, of course not. It should be clear to you. I only want to come in for a little while. Please open the gates! It’s for your protection! Look, your gates! Here, I will show you!”
He stepped forward, grasped one of the bars and rattled the gates loudly. Everyone inside shifted nervously, many safety catches came off and Pallidar ordered loudly, “Safety catches on! No firing without my order!”

“I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Tyrer said, a chill sweat running down his back. “Except it’s obvious he wants us to open the gates.”

“Well, we’re not bloody doing that, not to that armed rabble! Tell him to go away, that this is British property.”

“This …”
Tyrer thought a moment, then pointed at the flagstaff and Union Jack,
“this English place…no to enter. Please to go!”

“Go? Are you mad. I have just explained, this is for your own protection. We have just caught this dog and we are sure another is here or hiding near here
.
OPEN THE GATES
!”

“So sorry, not understand …”
Helplessly Tyrer looked around as more Japanese words surrounded him. Then his eyes focused on Hiraga not far away.
“Ukiya, come here,”
he called out in Japanese.
“Ukiya!”

Hiraga’s heart almost stopped. Tyrer shouted at him again. With pretended terror, after a stumbling, grovelling run, Hiraga put his head in the dirt at Tyrer’s feet, his rump towards the gate, his coolie hat covering most of him.

“What man say?”
Tyrer asked.

With much feigned shaking, all senses razor-edged, Hiraga replied softly,
“He’s a bad man … he wants to come in, to … to steal your guns.”

“Ah, yes, come in. Why?”

“He … he wants to search.”

“No understand. What mean ‘ser’ch’?”

“Search. He wants to look at your house, everywhere.”

“Yes, understand come in. Why?”

“I told you, to search—”

“You, gardener,”
the officer shouted, and Hiraga jerked as anger flowed over him. For the first time in his life, out there at the center of attention, on his knees in front of a gai-jin, knowing that under his hat he wore a rough turban, if that was taken off it would reveal the shaven pate and topknot of a samurai, he was suddenly sick with fear.

“You, gardener,”
the man shouted again, rattling the gates,
“tell the fool I only want to search for assassins—shishi assassins!”

Desperately Hiraga said softly,
“Taira-sama, the samurai wants to come in, to look at everyone. Tell him you are leaving, then he can come in.”

“No understand. Ukiya, go there!”
Tyrer pointed at the gates.
“Say go away, nice go away!”

“I cannot. I cannot,”
Hiraga whispered, trying to get his mind working and overcome his nausea.