The Ends of the Earth (34 page)

Max was at pains to emphasize, through Chiyoko, that their presence at Seifu-so, above all their identities, must remain secret. Umezu assured him everything that occurred at Marquess Saionji’s direction was
naisho
– confidential. All his staff knew that and abided by it religiously.

Max asked how easy it would be to hire a couple of cars for their use. Umezu did not bat an eyelid. He thought he could arrange for a local garage to deliver a pair the following morning.

‘We’ve fallen on our feet here, sir,’ Sam remarked when they were shown their accommodation. There appeared to be any number of rooms at their disposal and several servants to cater for their every want.

One vital modern amenity the villa possessed was a functioning telephone, as Max had hoped. His first call was to the Oriental Hotel in Kobe, where Laskaris had arrived the previous day, registering as Quinquaud. ‘I have arranged for an ocean-going vessel, with crew, to be available,’ he reported. ‘Will we have reason to use it?’

Max replied in guarded language, confirming Shimizu Junzaburo’s agreement to lead them to the secret tunnel.

‘And as for the interior?’

Uchi-gawa
: the Inside. Everything hinged now on the Dragonfly. But Tomura’s orchestration of the closure of her Korean business gave her a powerful motive to help them. Max was confident. ‘I’m going to seek an appointment for tomorrow.’

‘We will be close at hand by then, in case swift action is called for. I will leave word of how I can be contacted.’

Umezu supplied Hashiguchi Yoko’s telephone number. He seemed well informed about the circumstances of her return from Korea. He seemed altogether well informed, though tight-lipped, about many things, in fact. He confirmed Max’s assumption that the woman spoke good English and described her, with a poker face, as
kanyo
– translated by Chiyoko as broad-minded.

Whether that was good or bad Max was about to find out. A man answered the telephone and responded gruffly, in Japanese, to Max’s request to speak to her. At length, a female voice came on the line.

‘This is Hashiguchi Yoko.’

‘
Konnichi wa, Hashiguchi-san.
My name is Greaves. James Greaves.’

‘You are English?’

‘Yes.’

‘What can I do for you, Mr Greaves?’

‘It’s more a question of what we can do for each other. I’m experiencing some business difficulties in Korea – Chosen – and I—’

‘What is your business?’

‘Import-export.’

She laughed at that. ‘And what are your difficulties?’

‘Obstacles placed in my path by the Oriental Development Company.’

‘You do not surprise me.’

‘No? Well, maybe I can interest you in, er … a commercial opportunity … that would be greatly to your advantage and greatly to the ODC’s
dis
advantage.’

There was a lengthy pause, during which Max thought he detected a draw on a cigarette. Then: ‘Tell me more, Mr Greaves.’

‘I’d be happy to, if we could meet.’

‘Are you in Kyoto?’

‘Yes. I’d prefer to come to your villa rather than meet anywhere in the city. Absolute discretion is vital. Tomorrow, perhaps?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘The opportunity will only exist for a limited period.’

‘Very well. Tomorrow. Come at noon.’

Max decided to take Malory with him when he visited the Dragonfly. Malory seemed able to read people better than he could and she also spoke a certain amount of Japanese. The encounter was bound to be challenging given how extensively he had misrepresented himself. He sensed Malory would succeed in steering the discussion on to the right path where he might fail.

She readily agreed, but with little of her usual gusto. She had been subdued since their arrival and, as evening encroached on Seifu-so, he found her standing on one of the bridges across the two ponds in the garden, smoking a cigarette and gazing pensively at a reflection of herself in the still water.

‘You haven’t said much about your meeting with Junzaburo,’ Max ventured.

‘There’s nothing to say.’ She smiled wryly. ‘He refused to speak to me.’

‘But—’

‘He said everything that needed to be said to Chiyoko. He wouldn’t allow me anywhere near him. I’m afraid you’ll have to keep us apart.’

Max touched her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I wanted him out of my life and I succeeded. I have nothing to complain about.’

‘But still …’

‘I’d never have seen him again in normal circumstances. I wish I
hadn’t
seen him again. You think you’ve neatly stored your past away and then you find … it isn’t really past at all.’ She pushed back her shoulders and took a deep breath. ‘Never mind. There are more important matters to consider, aren’t there? I believe I’ll try to put a call through to the hospital in Tokyo and ask how Schools is.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Thank you, Max.’

With that she bustled off, leaving Max to wonder what he had said or done to deserve her thanks.

Schools was reported to be recovering well. There was no reason why he, Ward and Djabsu should not be embarking for San Francisco on Thursday. By then, with luck, Max would be ready to strike. It would not be long now. It would not be long at all.

THE CARS, DELIVERED
early the following morning, were a pair of barrel-nosed Appersons imported from the United States. The proprietor of the garage oversaw the delivery and appeared beside himself with joy at hiring them out to Marquess Saionji’s household.

Sam was less impressed. ‘They look overpowered to me.’

‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ said Max. ‘I’ll take it steadily. You be sure to do the same.’

‘I’d better take a look at the engines.’

‘No time. We both have a lot to do. Let’s go.’

‘Hold on. You’re not due at the Dragonfly’s villa till midday. And you said it isn’t far away.’

‘It isn’t. But I want to go somewhere else first. Mind he doesn’t speed, Chiyoko. Come along, Malory.’

Malory had, in fact, already guessed where she and Max were bound: Kawajuki Castle – Zangai-jo. Max was eager for a first sight of his birthplace and the place of Matilda Tomura’s long imprisonment. Malory suspected Sam would guess that soon enough himself. And she was curious for her part about what Sam had been detailed to attend to, with Chiyoko’s assistance. He had been uncharacteristically reticent on the subject.

Umezu had supplied directions to the castle. It overlooked a valley twenty-five miles or so north of Kyoto. The road through the valley led ultimately to the Sea of Japan coast. It might have been a route of some importance before the coming of the railways, but there was little traffic on it that morning. After leaving Kyoto it threaded its dusty way steadily north through thickly wooded hills. Mist was lifting slowly from the peaks. A Japan untouched by the modernizing spirit of Meiji seemed to creep in around them. There were rice-fields on the few level stretches of land, stands of bamboo and pine, carpets of wild flowers, clusters of thatch-roofed farm buildings.

Then they reached the valley. As the car rounded a corner, the castle revealed itself to them. It reared above the village of Kawajuki on a rocky spur projecting from the surrounding hills.

Where natural rock ended and the bailey wall of the castle began was hard to tell. The two coalesced into a soaring barrier of stone, turreted at its corners. There was another, higher wall within, then the keep and lower towers at the heart of the structure, all multi-storeyed, with successions of wide, swooping gables and deep upturned eaves.

It might have looked a little like a wedding cake but for the colour of the stonework: dark, tinged with a bronze, metallic sheen. The sunlight found in its surfaces only shadow and blankness. Hodgson had described the effect as chilling and Max could not suppress the same reaction. Zangai-jo was a forbidding place, as no doubt it was meant to be.

‘My Lord,’ said Malory. ‘I’d no idea it would be so …’

‘Penitential?’ The word was out of Max’s mouth before he had weighed its full meaning.

Malory looked at him oddly. ‘Whose penance are we talking about, Max?’

‘I don’t know. But a lot of penance is owing, one way or another.’

‘I asked once if the men you’ve killed in your life weigh on your conscience. You said no. Then I asked what would. And you said, “This, if I didn’t do it.”’

Max returned her look. ‘I remember.’

‘Neither of us knew then what “this” really meant, did we? We had no idea. We couldn’t have imagined.’

‘No.’ He glanced towards the castle. ‘But we know now. It’s there. Right in front of us.’

He turned the car round then. And drove away.

The Dragonfly’s villa was in a hilly, sylvan setting overlooking the Hozu-gawa river, a few miles west of Kyoto. The lane up to it was narrow, hemmed in by bamboo forest on either side. Only Malory’s educated guess that the
kanji
on a sign at the foot of the lane represented Hashiguchi gave Max the confidence to follow it to the end.

The gate stood open, seeming to confirm they had come to the right place. Max pulled the car in and stopped. The roof of the villa was visible through the trees ahead of them. They climbed out, Max carrying a briefcase containing what he hoped would be enough money to satisfy their hostess. They followed a footpath that traced the curve of the hill, leading to a smaller gateway into an ornamental garden centred on a lawn in front of the villa – low-roofed and handsome.

A paper door slid open and Hashiguchi Yoko walked out on to the broad verandah. Max did not doubt who she was for a moment. She was not wearing a kimono, as he had subconsciously expected, but a loose, long-sleeved tunic over wide trousers, with flat-soled sandals: an outfit that was neither Japanese nor Western. Her fine-boned face, framed by grey hair, carried an expression not so much of haughtiness as superiority. She looked down at them with neither disdain nor humility. But the tilt of her head did suggest curiosity.

‘Good day, Mr Greaves,’ she said.

Max bowed. ‘
Konnichi wa, Hashiguchi-san.
’

‘Who is your companion?’

‘My secretary, Miss Bowles. She speaks rather better Japanese than I do.’

‘Indeed?’ The Dragonfly spoke to Malory then, in rapid-fire Japanese.

‘
Wakarimasen
,’ Malory responded. ‘
Motto yukkuri hanashite kudasaimasen ka?
’

The Dragonfly laughed. ‘
Kamaimasen
. You will not need your slow Japanese here. Come.’ She waved for them to join her.

A table and two chairs, made of bamboo, were set out on the verandah. She clapped her hands and a bowing, kimono-clad maid appeared. The Dragonfly issued orders. A third chair was fetched. Tea seemed certain to follow.

They sat down. ‘This is a lovely setting,’ said Max, nodding towards the tree-walled valley below them.

‘It is lovely if it is where you want to be,’ said the Dragonfly.

‘It’s an ideal place to retire to,’ said Malory.

‘Exactly. To
retire
to. But I do not wish to retire. I enjoy doing business. Now, what is
your
business, Mr Greaves?’

‘Like I said on the phone, import-export.’

‘This is not a telephone conversation. I have no time for vagueness or pretence. What is your business?’

The arrival of tea gave Max a breathing space. The maid fluttered around in a tinkling of porcelain and a rustling of fabric. Then she was gone.

‘Mr Greaves?’ The Dragonfly studied Max over the rim of her teacup.

He sensed the direct approach would serve them best. ‘I’m here to offer you the chance to hurt Count Tomura and make a profit into the bargain.’

There was no flicker of reaction in her expression. ‘Why should I want to hurt Count Tomura?’

‘Because you do not wish to retire,’ said Malory.

‘Are you American, Miss Bowles?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you are English, Mr Greaves?’

‘I am.’

‘What are your real names?’

Max tried to look mildly offended. ‘Are you suggesting we’re using aliases?’

‘It would be surprising if you were not.’ The Dragonfly smiled. ‘What you want. And what you are willing to pay for it. You should tell me simply. I do not share my countrymen’s fondness for indirectness. The appeal of the bargain will not be increased by a delay in setting out its terms.’

‘The Inside, Hashiguchi-san,’ said Max. ‘The traps installed round part of the interior of Kawajuki-jo – Zangai-jo – by your great-grandfather on the orders of Count Tomura’s great-grandfather. We’re told you can equip us to defeat them. In return, I’d be willing to pay a great deal of money.’

‘A way round – or through – the traps? That is what you want?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who told you I could supply this information?’

‘Jack Farngold.’

‘Jack Farngold?’

‘He came to you in Keijo. You didn’t sell to him. Instead, you sold
him
to Lemmer, who handed him over to Tomura.’

‘And Tomura rewarded you by closing down your business in Korea,’ added Malory.

‘It must be strange to be an American woman,’ said the Dragonfly, frowning at Malory. ‘To speak so freely is a wonderful and a terrible thing.’

‘Is it true Count Tomura’s ancestor had your great-grandfather killed after he’d finished the job?’ asked Max.

‘So my grandfather told me. And he did not lie.’ The Dragonfly bowed her head, as if reflecting on the injustices her family had suffered at the Tomuras’ hands. ‘I hear Jack Farngold is dead.’

‘Yes,’ said Max. ‘He is.’

‘Murdered by an American.’

‘Murdered by Tomura,’ said Malory.

The Dragonfly nodded. ‘It was always certain.’

‘Nothing’s certain,’ said Max. ‘Except money.’

‘Why would you want this information you offer to buy from me?’

‘Why did Jack Farngold want it?’

‘Are you a Farngold, Mr Greaves? Are you another one with their blood in your veins?’

‘Will you sell me the information?’

‘What price will you offer?’

‘What price will you ask?’

The Dragonfly relaxed in her chair, considering the point. Half a minute or so slowly passed. Then, suddenly, a door behind them slid violently open, banging and rattling against its stop. A tall, broad-shouldered, raven-haired Japanese man in Western dress burst on to the verandah and glared at them. He had a moustache worthy of a Mexican bandit, with a deep tan to match it.