Gai-Jin (66 page)

He nodded absently. Then he said, his voice acid, “You will increase taxes by a tenth part, all samurai will get a tenth part less. Talk to the moneylenders. They can increase our loans. The money will be spent on armaments.”

“Of course.” Then added carefully, “We are better off than most, only next year’s harvest is pledged. But it will be difficult to get ordinary interest rates.”

He said irritably, “What do I know or care of interest rates? Make the best arrangement you can.” His face tightened. “Perhaps the time has come to propose to the Council we adjust ‘interest rates’ like my greatgrandfather.”

Sixty-odd years ago the Shōgun, crushed under the weight of his father’s debts, with years of future harvests mortgaged like those of all daimyos, and goaded by the ever-increasing arrogance and disdain of the merchant class, had abruptly decreed that all debts were cancelled and all future harvests debt free.

In the two and a half centuries since Sekigahara this extreme act had
been promulgated four times. It caused chaos throughout the land. Suffering amongst all classes was huge, especially samurai. There was little the rice merchants, the main moneylenders, could do. Many went bankrupt. A few committed seppuku. The rest slid under cover as best they could and suffered in the general lake of pain.

Until the next harvest. Then farmers needed merchants, and all people needed rice, and so, carefully, sales were consummated and scarce—therefore highly expensive—money was loaned to them for seed and tools against the next harvest, and once more, but very humbly, money and credit was advanced to samurai, against their expected income, for living and entertainment, and silks and swords. Soon samurai overspending became endemic. With greater care moneylenders slipped back into business. Soon inducements had to be offered to them, samurai status was reluctantly proffered and gratefully purchased for some sons and everything was soon as before, with fiefs in pawn.

“Perhaps you should, Sire.” She was as disgusted as he with moneylenders. “I have secret stocks of rice against famine, your men would be hungry but they will not starve.”

“Good. Barter these for the guns.”

“So sorry, the amount would not be significant,” she told him gently, appalled with his naiveté and added quickly to divert him, “Meanwhile taxes will not produce the cash gai-jin will require.”

“Then it will have to be the moneylenders,” he said sharply. “Do whatever is necessary. I must have guns.”

“Yes.” She allowed the silence to gather, then slowly put forward a long-pondered plan: “Something you said before you left home gave me an idea, Sire. The small gold mine in our north mountains. I propose we increase the work force.”

“But you have told me many times the mine is already scavenged to capacity and produces less revenue every year.”

“True, but you made me realize our miners are not experts and my thought is that where there is one vein, there may be others if we had expert prospectors to seek them out. Perhaps our methods are old-fashioned. Amongst the gai-jin there may be experts.”

He looked at her. “How so?”

“I was talking to Old Smelly”—this was the nickname of an old Dutchman who years ago had been a merchant at Deshima and had been enticed to become one of Yoshi’s tutors and who, with the gift of maids, a youthful consort and much saké had been induced to stay until it was too late to leave. “He told me about a huge gold rush in the Land of the Golden Mountain you mentioned, only thirteen years ago, where gai-jin of all nations went to steal a fortune from the earth. Also, a few years ago there was
another such gold rush in a land far to our south—he called it Van Diemen’s Land. In Yokohama there must be men who took part in one or the other. Experts.”

“And if they exist?” Yoshi wondered about Misamoto.

“I suggest you offer them safe passage and half the gold they discover within one year. There are many Americans and adventurers in the Settlement, so I am told.”

“You would want gai-jin wandering about our lands, spying on our lands?” he asked slowly.

She shook her head then leaned forward, knowing she had his complete attention. “Once again you provided the solution, Yoshi-chan. Say you approached the most important Yokohama trader, in secret, the one you told me you thought was going to supply Choshu with rifles—I agree we must get rifles and modern cannon at all costs and prevent enemies from acquiring them. Say you offer him your gold concession, an exclusive. In return he arranges all aspects of the search and mining. You would accept only one or two unarmed prospectors, and of course they would be closely monitored. In return you are supplied immediately with so many cannon and rifles in advance, against your half of the gold found, and this merchant agrees to sell guns and cannon only to you. Never to Choshu, Tosa or Satsumas. You smile, Sire?”

“And our go-between is Misamoto?”

“Without your cleverness in discovering and training him this would not be possible.” She said it with perfect deference, and sat back, secretly content, listening to his comments and her replies, knowing that he would put her plan into operation quickly, that they would somehow get some guns and never never never barter her secret rice away. Then, shortly, she could pretend to be tired and beg his permission to rest: “You should rest also, Sire, after such a marvelous though strenuous practice session…. ”

Of course he should, a fine man like him, she thought. And once there, many judicious compliments, asking permission to massage his tired shoulder muscles, cautiously becoming more intimate, a sigh or two and quickly he would be as close as she could ever desire. As close as Koiko.

Earlier Koiko had correctly begged permission to visit her and had bowed and thanked her and said that she hoped her services had pleased the Great Lord, that she was honored to be allowed into his household for even a brief time. They had chatted for a while and then she had gone away.

Such a beauty, Hosaki thought without jealousy, or envy. Yoshi is entitled to a toy, however expensive, from time to time. Their beauty is so fragile, so transient, their life so sad, truly cherry blossoms from the Tree of Life. A man’s world is so much more physically exciting than ours. Eeee, to be able to go from flower to flower without hurt or thought.

If the punishment for even a little philandering on our side was not so immediate and severe, women would consider it much more frequently. Wouldn’t we? Why not? If it were safe.

Sometimes, when Yoshi is away, the thought of such enormous danger and immediate death is an almost overwhelming aphrodisiac. Foolish, for such a fleeting pleasure. Is it?

She waited, watching him, a warm glow within, adoring the game of life while his mind was abuzz with variations of the plan and how to use his creation, Misamoto.

I will start at once, he was thinking. Hosaki has a good mind and is clever at putting my ideas together. But, eeee, to articulate that about the boy was
baka
in the extreme, however correct an Act of State such an action might be. Women have no finesse.

In the Settlement this morning, just before dawn, Jamie McFay had given Nemi a final kiss and then together they walked down the corridor to Malcolm Struan’s suite. He knocked gently. At once the door opened and the young girl, Shizuka, came out, eased the door closed, smiled curiously and began whispering to Nemi who took McFay by the arm and hurried him to the landing.

“What? Bad news, heya?” McFay asked nervously—he had caught a glimpse of Struan fast sleep in the huge four-poster before the door closed but all had seemed well. Nemi paid no attention to him and continued to cross-question the girl.

Exasperated, McFay said, “Nemi, what? What bad?”

She hesitated, then with an initial flood of singsong apologetic Japanese, caught herself and beamed. “No bad, Jami-san, you-ah cum Yoshiwara t’morrow, yes no?” She put on her cloak and began to go down the stairs but he stopped her.

“What bad, Nemi?” he asked suspiciously.

She stared up at him a moment, then more Japanese and pidgin that did not make sense. Finally she shrugged. “S’kr’t,
wakarimasu ka?”

“S’kr’t? Iyé
, for God’s sake. What skre’t, heya?”

“S’krit, Jami-san,
hai?”

“Ah, secret, for God’s sake!
Wakarimasu!
Secret what?”

She sighed with relief and beamed. “S’kret, gud! S’kret, Jami-san, Shizuka, Nemi.
Hai? Hai?”

“Hai
. Us keep secret. Now what?”

More incomprehensible Japanese and more pidgin as they put on their outer robes and then, frustrated because she could not explain properly or that she had to explain at all, Nemi parodied plenty of movement and whispered, “Shizuka gud, work gud o’rr night.”

“Tai-pan good?”

Her eyes soared.
“Hai
, Jami-san, Shizuka gud!”

All his questions had only produced more bowing and smiles from both of them, so he had thanked Shizuka, her fee already arranged—“taipan credit plenti werri gud,” the mama-san had told him. For a last time Nemi swore him to secrecy. The waiting servant took them back to the Yoshiwara.

Perturbed but not knowing why, though sure he had not been told all the truth, he had tiptoed back and stood over the bed but Struan was fast asleep, breathing peacefully, so he had left and gone to his office and worked.

Until just after ten.

“Hello, Doctor, come in, good to see you. What’s new?”

Hoag’s face was grim. “Ah Tok sent for me and I’ve just seen Malcolm, that’s what’s new. I wish to Christ you’d asked me first before you—oh, for God’s sake, Jamie,” the squat, good man added quickly, seeing him flush, “I know he asked you to arrange it, I just wish you’d thought to ask me first—I would have thought it bloody obvious it would be bloody dangerous and bloody ridiculous to try so soon after that wound with half your inside patched and near to bursting …” He stopped and sat down. “Sorry, but I had to let that out.”

“That’s all right—is it bad?”

“I don’t know, some blood in his urine and plenty of pain in his loins. It seems she was very vigorous, he got carried away and when he climaxed he said his stomach spasmed with the surge and then cramped up. Poor fellow, though he’s in a lot of pain now, he did tell me she was worth it.”

“He said that?”

“Yes, in some detail—don’t mention that I told you, eh? I’ve given him some painkiller so he’ll sleep for an hour or two. I’ll be back later.” Hoag sighed and got up with a grim smile. “I had another note from Mrs. Struan, did you?”

“Yes, more of the same. Will you order him back to Hong Kong now?”

“I can’t order him to do anything. He goes when he wants to go, this is the storm season, for God’s sake. He’s wise to stay—unless there’s anything pressing in Hong Kong.”

“There are dozens of reasons—that’s the seat of power, there’s nothing for him to do here really.”

Hoag shrugged. “I agree Hong Kong would be better—I’d planned to go back with the mail ship but after last night I think I’ll wait for a few more days for him.”

“Take him with you, please, on the mail ship.”

“I already suggested it and was told, rather impolitely, ‘no.’ Forget it, Jamie, it’s not wrong for him to rest here and a foul sea voyage would be
extremely bad for him, maybe a killer. By the way, I hear there may be another ball next Tuesday with Angel T the guest of honor.”

“Malcolm didn’t mention it.”

“Under the auspices of Ambassador Seratard, of dubious ancestry, father of all the French. Well, I must be going—keep me advised and if Malcolm asks for a similar bout, check with me first, privately.”

“All right. Thanks, Doctor.”

Later Vargas knocked. “Senhor, Ah Tok says the tai-pan wants to see you.”

Climbing the staircase, there was a sudden nasty twinge in Jamie’s stomach, imagining himself in Malcolm’s place.

“Senhor McFay!” Vargas called up from the stairwell. “Excuse me, but the Choshu samurai have just arrived, about ordering the rifles, senhor.”

“I’ll be right back.”

McFay knocked and opened the door. “Hello, Tai-pan,” he said kindly. Struan was propped in bed, his eyes strange, a flat smile on his face. “How’re you today?”

“You saw Hoag?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then you know she was very satisfactory and, well, thanks, Jamie. She helped tremendously though …” Struan laughed nervously. “Though the finish shook me up a bit. Terrific body. It was all very satisfactory but I don’t think I’ll need a repeat performance until I’m really better. She certainly got rid of the—the logjam.” Again the short, nervous laugh. “Didn’t realize, Jamie, how strong a little girl like that could be, or how much … you understand, eh?”

“Of course. Everything went according to plan?”

For an instant Struan wavered, then he said firmly, “Yes, better than that—I want you to double her fee.”

“Certainly.” McFay read the underlying anxiety and his heart went out to him. Obviously whatever happened Malcolm’s deal with Shizuka was secret. If that’s the way he wants it, fine. Not up to me. What’s done is done. Just another secret to add to all the rest. “Glad it was all right.”

“Better than all right. Did the girl say anything?”

“Only that she, er, worked hard all night, to, well, to try to please you.”

A bright knock on the door and Angelique sailed in, blooming with good health, chic in a new lavender dress, parasol, feathered hat, gloves and shawl. “Hello, my love, hello, Jamie, how are you today? Oh, Malcolm, I’m so pleased to see you.” As she bent over the bed to kiss Struan tenderly, “Oh,
chéri
, how I’ve missed you.”

The moment the door had opened the hearts of both men stretched. McFay’s nervousness soared, at once his eyes checked the bed and room to
see if there were any telltale signs. But all was neat and tidy, clean new sheets and pillowcases daily—more Struan fastidiousness about cleanliness, to the point of foolishness, he thought—clean shirt every day? Ridiculous, once or twice a month more than enough but then he knew the habit had been implanted by Dirk Struan and whatever the tai-pan had decreed was law for Tess Struan and therefore her family. Struan was freshly shaved, clean nightshirt, the windows opened to the sea breeze that would carry away any trace of perfume. He began to breathe easier, then she said, “I saw Dr. Hoag,” and both men almost went into spasm again.