Gai-Jin (50 page)

“Phillip,” Pallidar said, the sweat staining the back of his uniform. “What the devil’s he trying to tell you?”

“I don’t know.”

Tension soared as the officer battered the gates again, once more demanding entrance, his men began to surge forward and grip the bars to assist him. Goaded into action, Pallidar went closer. Coldly he saluted. Equally coldly the man bowed. Then, slowly Pallidar said, “This is British property. You are ordered to leave in peace or accept the consequences.”

The officer stared at him blankly then, again, with words and actions, told him to open the door—and quickly.

“Go away!” Without turning his back Pallidar called out, “Dragoons only! Prepare volley!”

Instantly the ten dragoons rushed forward in unison, formed two ranks just in front of the gates, in unison the front rank knelt, all ten safety catches came off, shells went into the breech and they aimed. In the sudden silence Pallidar slowly unbuckled his holster. “Go away!”

Abruptly the officer laughed and his laugh was taken up in the square. There were hundreds of samurai there and he knew thousands were nearby and tens of thousands within reach. But none of them had seen the carnage that a few stalwart, disciplined British soldiers could cause with their fast and easy-to-fire breech-loaders.

As quickly as the laughter arose, it died. Both sides waited for the inevitable first move. Frantic expectation swept everyone: This’ll be to the death,
shikaru-beki
, Christ Almighty,
Namu Amida Butsu
…

Hiraga sneaked a quick look up at Tyrer, saw the blank helplessness and cursed, knowing that any second the officer must order the attack to save face amidst the rumbling animosity outside. Before Hiraga could stop himself, his self-survival mechanism decided to gamble and he heard himself whisper in English—never once before had he made any indication to Tyrer he could speak the language, “P’rease to trust—p’rease say words:
Shusho … doz—”

Tyrer gaped. “Eh? Did you say ‘trust’? Eh?”

Committed now, heart thundering and hoping that the two officers nearby were so concentrated on the outside they would not overhear him, Hiraga whispered haltingly, his pronunciation only fair, “I’s” impossible for him. “P’rease quiet. Danger! Pre’tend words yours. Say
Shusho, dozo shizuka ni
… say words!” Sick with fear he waited then, sensing that samurai tension outside was at the breaking point, hissed in English again, as an order: “Say-words-now! Now!
Shusho … dozo shizuka ni
… quick!”

Almost out of himself Tyrer obeyed.
“Shusho, dozo shizuka ni
…” parroting the words exactly and those following, not knowing what he was saying
and endeavoring to put into perspective that this gardener could speak English and that this was not a dream. Within seconds he saw that the words were having an effect. The officer shouted for quiet. Tension was lessening in the square. Now the officer listened intently to him, occasionally saying,
“Hai, wakatta
”—Yes, I understand. Tyrer’s courage flooded back and he concentrated on Hiraga and the Japanese. The words ended quickly with
“domo.”

At once the officer launched into a reply. Hiraga waited until it had ended. “Shake head,” he whispered. “Say
Iyé, domo
, bow quick-quick, back house. Order me go too.”

More controlled now, Tyrer firmly shook his head.
“Iyé, domo!”
he said importantly, and in awed silence, the center of the world, he stomped back towards the house, stopped in sudden confusion, turned and called out in English, “Ukiya! come along … oh, Christ,” searched frantically for the Japanese word, found it and beckoned him:
“Ukiya, isogi!”

With the same grovelling run Hiraga obeyed. At the top of the steps so that only Tyrer could hear, stooping abjectly, his back to all eyes he said, “P’rease order o’rr men, now safe. Inside house quick p’rease.”

Obediently Tyrer called out, “Captain Pallidar, order the men to stand down, it’s, er, it’s quite safe now!”

Once inside the Legation, out of sight, Tyrer’s ashen relief turned to anger. “Who are you, what the devil did I say, eh?”

“Exp’rain ’rater, Taira-san. Samurai want search, you, o’rr men, want take guns,” Hiraga said, stumbling over the words, not yet recovered from his own fear. He stood erect now, looking him straight in the eyes, not as tall but as sweat-stained, knowing he was not yet out of the trap. “Captain very anger, want guns, taking guns, want searching for … for Bakufu enemy. You say him, ‘No, Captain,
kinjiru
, forbidden searching. Today I and men ’reave here, then you search. Not now,
kinjiru
. We keep weapons when ’reave.
Kinjiru
forbidden stop us. Thank you. I now prepare go Yokohama.’”

“That’s what I said?”

“Yes. P’rease now outside again, order me, gardeners back to work an-gri’ry. Word
hatarake,”
Hiraga said queasily. “We speak ’rater, in secret, you me, yes?”

“Yes, but not alone, with an officer present.”

“Then no speak, so sorry.” Hiraga assumed his grovelling posture and backed out of the room, the exchange having taken only a few seconds, and once more dropped to his knees before Tyrer, rump towards the forecourt.

Unsettled, Tyrer stepped out into the light. He saw that everyone was still waiting. “Captain Pallidar, and, er, Captain McGregor, stand the men down, then please join me for a conference.
Hatarake! Ikimasho!
Get to work! Hurry up!” he shouted at the gardeners who obeyed at once. Thankfully Hiraga fled to the safety of the garden, muttering to the gardeners to cover
him, officers and sergeants started shouting orders and the world began again.

Oblivious of everything, Tyrer stood on the veranda watching Hiraga, undecided, aghast that obviously he was a spy at the same time blessing him for saving them.

“You wanted us?” Pallidar said, breaking his reverie.

“Oh! Oh, yes … please follow me.” He led them into his office, closed the door, and told them what he had said.

Both congratulated him. “Damned impressive, Phillip,” Pallidar said. “For a moment I was sure we were going to have a showdown and Christ knows what would have happened then. Too many of the buggers really—eventually they would have overrun us. Eventually. Of course the fleet would have revenged us but we would have been pushing up daisies and that’s a pretty bloody boring thought.”

“More than a bit boring,” Captain McGregor muttered then glanced at Tyrer. “What do you want us to do now, sir?”

Tyrer hesitated, astonished that neither had heard Hiraga’s English, but pleased with his newfound stature—it was the first time McGregor had called him “sir.” “We’d best obey Sir William. Order everyone to pack up and … but without making it look like an ignominious retreat, can’t let them have our guns—what cheek!—or let them think we’re running away. We’ll march out with, er, with bands and pomp.”

“Perfect, after we’ve ceremoniously run down the flag.”

“Fine! Well, I’d better … I’d better make sure all dispatches are boxed, etc.”

Captain McGregor said, “May I suggest, sir … I really think you’ve earned a large glass of champagne—I do believe we’ve a few bottles left.”

“Thank you.” Tyrer beamed. “Perhaps we … let’s Splice the Mainbrace.” This was the traditional naval phrase for issuing a ration of rum to all hands. “Also we should all have tiffin first—show them we’re not going to be hurried.”

“I’ll get it organized right away,” McGregor said. “Damn clever to think of getting that gardener to help with the words, some of them sounded quite English. But why did they want to search the Legation?”

“To find … to search for Bakufu enemies.”

Both men stared at him. “But there aren’t any Jappos here, except gardeners, if that’s what they meant.”

Tyrer’s heart surged as this at once pegged Ukiya but Pallidar was saying, “You’re not really going to allow them to search our Legation, are you? Surely that would create a dangerous precedent.”

At once his bonhomie vanished, for of course Pallidar was right. “Damn, didn’t think of that at the time!”

McGregor broke the silence. “Perhaps … perhaps before we leave, sir,
you could invite the samurai officer to walk around with us, inspect the Legation, nothing wrong with inviting him. He can inspect the gardeners at the same time or we could just send them off before we all leave and we lock our gates.”

“A perfect compromise,” Pallidar said happily.

Hiraga was weeding near a side door of the Legation, an open window nearby, dirty and sweaty, the late afternoon sun still hot. Baggage being piled in carts in the forecourt, horses groomed, some soldiers already drawn up in marching order. Sentries patrolled the circumference walls. Outside the walls massed samurai squatted under sunshades or lolled around, malevolently.

“Now!” It was Tyrer’s voice from inside the room. Hiraga made sure he was not observed, ducked down into the undergrowth and quickly opened the door. Hastily, Tyrer led the way down the corridor into a room that overlooked the forecourt and bolted the door. Curtains over the closed windows filtered the sunlight. A desk and a few chairs, rolls of documents, files, and a revolver on the desk. Tyrer sat behind it and motioned to a chair. “Please sit down. Now tell me who you are.”

“First, sek’ret I speak Ingerish, yes?” Hiraga remained standing, at his full height and somehow menacing.

“First tell me who you are and then I will decide.”

“No, so sorry, Taira-san. I use to you, a’ready save men. Big use. True,
neh?”

“Yes, true. Why should I keep this secret?”

“Safe me…you also.”

“Why me?”

“Perhaps not wise have…. how you say, ah yes, sek’ret other gai-jin not know. I very he’rp you. He’rp ’rearn ’ranguage, he’rp about Nippon. I say you truth, you say me truth too, you he’rp me I he’rp you. What age p’rease?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

Hiraga hid his surprise and smiled from under the brim of his hat, so hard to tell the age of gai-jin who all looked alike. As to the gun his enemy had placed on the table it was laughable. He could kill this fool with his hands before he could touch it. Such a simple kill, so tempting, and this a perfect place, so easy to escape from but, once outside, not so simple to escape the samurai. “Keep se’kret?”

“Who are you? Your name’s not Ukiya, is it?”

“Promise se’kret?”

Tyrer took a deep breath, weighed the consequences and came up with
disaster on all counts. “I agree.” His heart skipped several beats as Hiraga slid the blade out of the hat brim, and cursed himself for being so reckless to put himself at so much risk. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He watched Hiraga prick his finger, then hand him the knife.

“Now you p’rease.” Tyrer hesitated, knowing what was coming, but having decided, he shrugged and obeyed. Solemnly Hiraga touched his finger to Tyrer’s, mixing their blood. “I swear by gods keep sek’ret about you. You say same p’rease by Christian god, Taira-san.”

“I swear by God to keep it secret about you as long as I can,” Tyrer said gravely, wondering where the binding oath would take him. “Where did you learn English? A missionary school?”

“Hai
, but I not Christian.” Not safe to tell about our Choshu schools, Hiraga thought, or about Mr. Great Smell, the Dutchman, our Ingerish teacher who said he had been a priest before becoming a pirate. Truth or lie to this Taira matters not at all, he is gai-jin, a minor leader of our most powerful outside enemy and therefore to be used, distrusted, hated and killed at whim. “You he’rp es’kape?”

“Who are you? Where do you come from? Your name’s not Ukiya.”

Hiraga smiled and sat in one of the chairs. “Ukiya mean gardener, Taira-san. Fami’ry name Ikeda.” He said the lie easily. “Nakama Ikeda, I who officer want. I twenty-two year.”

“Why?”

“Because I and fami’ry, of Choshu, we fight Bakufu. Bakufu take power from Emperor an—”

“You mean the Shōgun?”

Hiraga shook his head. “Shōgun is Bakufu, head of Bakufu. He …” He thought a moment, then mimed a puppet on a string. “Unn’erstan’?”

“Puppet?”

“Yes, puppet.”

Tyrer blinked. “The Shōgun’s a puppet?”

Hiraga nodded, more confident now he was communicating, having to work hard to remember the words. “Shōgun Nobusada, boy, sixteen year, Bakufu puppet. He ’rive Yedo. Emperor ’rive Kyōto. Now Emperor no power. More two hundred year, Shōgun Toranaga take power. We fight take power from Shōgun and Bakufu, give back Emperor.”

Tyrer’s mind, aching with so much concentration—hard to understand this man’s speech—instantly realized the far-reaching implications. “This boy Shōgun. How old please?”

“Sixteen year Shōgun Nobusada. Bakufu say what do,” Hiraga said
again, curbing his irritation, knowing he must be patient. “Emperor much power but no …” He searched for the word, could not find it so explained another way, “Emperor not ’rike daimyo. Daimyo has samurai, weapon, many. Emperor no samurai, no weapon. Can no make Bakufu obey. Bakufu have armies, Emperor not,
wakatta?”

“Hai, Nakama, wakatta.”
A thousand questions were jostling to be asked and Tyrer knew this man could be a well to be emptied, but it must be done cautiously and this was not the place. He saw the intense concentration on the man’s face and wondered how much of what he said Nakama actually understood, reminding himself to speak slowly and as simply as possible. “How many of you fight against the Bakufu?”

“Many.” Hiraga slapped at a vagrant mosquito.

“Hundreds, thousands? What sort of people, ordinary people, gardeners, workmen, merchants?”

Hiraga looked at him, bewildered. “They nothing. On’ry serve samurai. On’ry samurai fight. On’ry samurai hav weapon.
Kinjiru
other have weapons.”

Tyrer blinked again. “You’re samurai?”

More bewilderment. “Samurai fight. I say fight Bakufu, yes? Nakama samurai!” Hiraga took off his hat and pulled away the soiled, sweat-stained cloth that served as a turban to reveal his characteristic shaven pate and topknot. Now that Tyrer could see his face clearly, for the first time without the low-brimmed coolie hat and the first time he had really looked at him, he saw the same hard, slanting eyes of a two-sworder, and the vast difference in bone structure from villagers. “When
Shusho
, captain samurai, see me so, I dead.”