by Gai-Jin(Lit)
Adamson, to say coldly, "The idea of going to war over this incident is nonsense, and the notion of grabbing or attacking a king in their sovereign country total lunacy--and typical highhanded
Imperialist jingoism! First thing to do is inform the
Bakufu, then ask them to--"
Irritably, Sir William said, "Dr.
Babcott has already informed them in Kanagawa, they've already denied any knowledge of the incident and in all probability will follow their pattern and continue to do so. A British subject has been brutally murdered, another seriously wounded, unforgivably our delightful young foreign guest was almost frightened to death--these acts, I must stress as
Mr. McFay so rightly points out, for the first time have been committed by identifiable criminals.
Her Majesty's Government will not let this go unpunished...." For a moment he was drowned by tumultuous cheers, then he added, "The only thing to decide is the measure of punishment, how we should proceed and when. Mr. Adamson?" he asked the American.
"As we're not involved I've no formal recommendation."
"Count Zergeyev?"
"My formal advice," the Russian said carefully, "is that we fall on Hodogaya and tear it and all the Satsumas to pieces." He was in his early thirties, strong, patrician and bearded, leader of Tsar Alexander II'S mission. "Force, massive, ferocious and immediate is the only diplomacy Japanners will ever understand. My warship would be honored to lead the attack."
There was a curious silence. I guessed that would be your answer, Sir William thought. I'm not so sure you're wrong. Ah Russia, beautiful extraordinary Russia, what a shame we're enemies. Best time I ever had was in St.
Petersburg. Even so you're not going to expand into these waters, we stopped your invasion of the
Japanese Tsushima islands last year, and this year we'll prevent you from stealing their Sakhalin too. "Thank you, my dear Count.
Herr von Heimrich?"
The Prussian was elderly and curt. "I have no advice in this, Herr Consul General, other than to say formally my government would consider it is a matter for your government alone, and not the affair of minor parties."
Seratard flushed. "I do not consider--"
"Thank you for your advice gentlemen," Sir
William said firmly, cutting off the row that would have flared between them. Yesterday's Foreign Office dispatches from London said that Britain could soon become embroiled in another of the never-ending
European wars, this time belligerent, pride-filled France against belligerent, pride-filled expansionist Prussia, but did not forecast on which side. Why the devil damned foreigners can't behave as civilized fellows
I'm damned if I know.
"Before making a judgment," he said crisply,
"since everyone of note is here and not having had such an opportunity before, I think we should articulate our problem: We have legal treaties with Japan. We're here to trade, not to conquer territory. We have to deal with this bureaucracy, the Bakufu, who're like a sponge
--one moment it pretends to be all-powerful, the next helpless against their individual kings.
We've never been able to get to the real power, the
Tycoon or Sh@ogun--we don't even know if he really exists."
"He must exist," von Heimrich said coolly, "because our famous German traveller and physician, Dr. Engelbert Kaempfer, who lived in Deshima from 1690 to 1693, pretending to be a Dutchman, reported visiting him in
Yedo on their annual pilgrimage."
"That doesn't prove one exists now,"
Seratard said caustically. "However, I do agree there is a Sh@ogun, and France approves of a direct approach."
"An admirable idea, Monsieur." Sir
William reddened. "And how do we do that?"
"Send the fleet against Yedo," the Russian said at once, "demand an immediate audience or else you'll destroy the place. If I had such a beautiful fleet as yours, I'd first flatten half the city and then demand the audience... better, I would order this Tycoon-Sh@ogun native to report aboard my flagship at dawn the next day, and hang him." Many shouts of approval.
Sir William said, "That is certainly one way but Her Majesty's Government would prefer a slightly more diplomatic solution. Next: we've almost no real intelligence about what's going on in the country. I'd appreciate it if all traders would help to get us information that could prove useful. Mr. McFay, of all the traders, you should be the best informed, can you help?"
McFay said cautiously, "Well, a few days ago one of our Jappo silk suppliers told our Chinese compradore that some of the kingdoms
--he used the word "fiefs" and called the kings
"daimyos"--were in revolt against the
Bakufu, particularly Satsuma, and some parts called Tosa, and Choshu..."
Sir William noticed the immediate interest of the other diplomats and wondered if he was wise to have asked the question in public. "Where are they?"
"Satsuma's near Nagasaki in the South
Island, Ky@ush@u," Adamson said, "but what about Choshu and Tosa?"
"Well now, yor Honor," an American seaman called out, his Irish accent pleasing.
"Tosa's a part of Shikoku, that's the big island on the inland sea. Choshu's far to the west on the main island, Mr. Adamson, sir, athwart the Straits. We been through the Straits there, many a time, they're not more than a mile across at the narrowest part. As I was saying now,
Choshu's the kingdom's athwart the narrows, bare a mile across. It's the best, and closest way from
Hong Kong or Shanghai to here.
Shi-mono-seki Straits, the locals call it, and once we traded for fish and water at the town there but we weren't welcome." Many others called out their agreement and that they too had used the
Straits but had never known that the kingdom was called
Choshu.
Sir William said, "Your name if you please?"
"Paddy O'Flaherty, Bosun of the
American whaler, Albatross out of
Seattle, yor Honor."
"Thank you," Sir William said, and made a mental note to send for O'Flaherty, to find out more and if there were charts of the area, and if not to instantly order the Navy to make them. "Go on
Mr. McFay," he said. "In revolt, you say."
"Yes, sir. This silk trader--how reliable he is I don't know--but he said there was some kind of power struggle going on against the Tycoon that he always called "Sh@ogun," the Bakufu and some king or daimyo called Toranaga."
Sir William saw the Russian's eyes slit even more in his almost Asian features.
"Yes, my dear Count?"
"Nothing, Sir William. But isn't that the name of the ruler mentioned by Kaempfer?"
"Indeed it is, indeed it is." I wonder why you never mentioned to me before that you also had read those very rare but illuminating journals that were written in
German, which you do not know, therefore must have been translated into Russian? "Perhaps
"Toranaga" means ruler in their language.
Please continue, Mr. McFay."
"That's all the fellow told my compradore, but I'll make it my business to find out more.
Now," McFay said politely but firmly, "do we settle King Satsuma at Hodogaya tonight or not?"
The smoke stirred the silence.
"Has anyone anything to add--about this revolt?"
Norbert Greyforth, chief of Brock and
Sons, Struan's main rival said, "We've heard rumors of this revolt, too. But I thought it was something to do with their chief priest, this
"Mikado," who supposedly lives in
Ky@oto, a city near Osaka. I'll make enquiries as well. In the meantime, about tonight, my vote goes with McFay, the sooner we belt these buggers the sooner we'll have peace." He was taller than McFay and clearly hated him.
When the cheers died down, like a judge delivering a sentence, Sir William said: "This is what will happen. First, there will be no attack tonight and--"
Cries of "Resign, we'll do it ourselves by God, come on, let's go after the bastards..."
"We can't, not without troops..."
"Quiet and listen, by God!" Sir
William shouted. "If anyone is stupid enough to go against Hodogaya tonight he'll have to answer to our laws as well as Japanners. IT IS
FORBIDDEN! Tomorrow I will formally demand--DEMAND--THAT at once the Bakufu, AND Sh@ogun, tender a formal apology, at once, hand over the two murderers for trial and hanging, and at once pay an indemnity of one hundred thousand pounds or accept the consequences."
A few cheered, most did not and the meeting broke up with a surge to the bar, many of the men already near blows as arguments became more drunken and more heated. McFay and Dmitri shoved their way out into the open air. "My God, that's better."
McFay eased off his hat and mopped his brow.
"A word, Mr. McFay?"
He turned and saw Greyforth. "Of course."
"In private if you please."
McFay frowned, then moved over the semi-deserted promenade along the wharfs and seafront, away from Dmitri who was not in
Struan's but traded through Cooper-Tillman, one of the American companies. "Yes?"
Norbert Greyforth dropped his voice.
"What about Hodogaya? You've two ships here, we've three, and between us lots of bully boys, most lads in the merchant fleet'd join us, we've arms enough and we could bring a cannon or two. John Canterbury was a good friend, the
Old Man liked him, and I want him revenged. What about it?"
"If Hodogaya was a port I wouldn't hesitate, but we can't raid inland. This isn't
China."
"You afraid of that pipsqueak in there?"
"I'm not afraid of anyone," McFay said carefully. "We can't mount a successful raid without regular troops, Norbert, that's not possible. I want revenge more than any."
Greyforth made sure no one was listening.
"Since you brought it up tonight and we don't talk too often, we've heard there's going to be bad trouble here soon."
"The revolt?"
"Yes. Very bad trouble for us. There's been all sorts of signs. Our silk dealers have been acting right smelly the last month or two, upping the price of bulk raw, delaying deliveries, slow on payments and wanting extra credits. I'll bet it's the same with you."
"Yes." It was rare for the two men to talk business.
"Don't know much more than that, except many of the signs are the same as in America that led to civil war. If that happens here it's going to bugger us proper. Without the fleet and troops we're bitched and we can be wiped out."
After a pause, McFay said, "What do you propose?"
"We'll have to wait and see what happens. With
Wee Willie's plan I don't hope for much, like you. The Russian was right about what should be done. Meanwhile..." Greyforth nodded out to sea where two of their clippers and merchantmen lay in the roads--clippers still much faster back to England than steamers, paddle-driven or screw-driven
... "we're keeping all our inner ledgers and specie aboard, we've increased our levels of gunpowder, shot, shrapnel and put in an order for two of the brand-new Yankee, 10-barrel
Gatling machine guns as soon as they are available."
McFay laughed. "The hell you have--so did we!"
"We heard that too, which is why I made the order, and twice as many of the new rifles than your shipment."
"Who told you, eh? Who's your spy?"
"Old Mother Hubbard," Greyforth said dryly.
"Listen, we all know these inventions, along with metal cartridges, have changed the course of war
--that's proved already by the casualties at the battles of Bull Run and Fredericksburg."
"Shocking, yes. Dmitri told me, said the
South lost four thousand in one afternoon. Terrible.
So?"
"We could both sell these weapons to the
Japanners by the ton, my thought is we agree to not, and together we make bloody sure no other bugger imports them or smuggles them in.
Selling Jappers steamers and the odd cannon's one thing, but not repeaters or machine guns.
Agreed?"
McFay was surprised by the offer. And suspicious. But he kept it off his face, sure that Norbert would never keep the bargain, and shook the offered hand. "Agreed."
"Good. What's the latest on young Struan?"
"When I saw him an hour or so ago he was poorly."
"Is he going to die?"
"No, the doctor assured me of that."
A cold smile. "What the hell do they know?
But if he did that could wreck the Noble House."
"Nothing will ever wreck the Noble House,
Dirk Struan saw to that."
"Don't be too sure. Dirk's been dead more than twenty years, his son
Culum's not far from his deathbed and if Malcolm dies who's to take over? Not his young brother who's only ten." His eyes glinted strangely.
"Old Man Brock may be seventy-three but he's as tough and clever as he ever was."
"But we're still the Noble House, Culum is still the tai-pan." McFay added, glad for the barb, "Old Man Brock's still not a Steward of the Jockey Club at Happy Valley and never will be."
"That'll come soon enough, Jamie, that and all the rest. Culum Struan won't control the
Jockey Club vote much longer, and if his son and heir kicks the bucket too, well then, counting us and our friends we've the necessary votes."
"It won't happen."
Greyforth hardened. "Mayhaps Old Man
Brock will honor us with a visit here soon-- along with Sir Morgan."
"Morgan's in Hong Kong?" McFay tried to stop his astonishment from showing. Sir
Morgan Brock was Old Man Brock's eldest son who, very successfully, ran their
London office. As far as Jamie knew
Morgan had never been to Asia before. If
Morgan's suddenly in Hong Kong... what new devilment are those two up to now? he asked himself uneasily. Morgan specialized in merchant banking and had skillfully spread the tentacles of Brock's into Europe,
Russia, and North America, always harrying the
Struan trade routes and customers. Since the
American war began last year, McFay, along with other Directors of Struan's, had been getting worrying reports about failures amongst their extensive American interests, both
North and South, where Culum Struan had invested heavily. "If Old Man Brock and son grace us with their presence, I've no doubt we would be honored to give them supper."
Greyforth laughed without humor. "I doubt they'll have time, except to inspect your books, when we take you over."
"You never will. If I have any news on the revolt I'll send word, please do likewise.
Good night now." Overpolitely McFay raised his hat and walked away.
Greyforth laughed to himself, delighted with the seeds he had planted. The Old Man will be happy to harvest them, he thought, tearing them out by the roots.
Dr. Babcott trudged wearily along a corridor in the semi-darkness of the Kanagawa
Legation. He carried a small oil lamp and wore a dressing gown over woolen pajamas.
From somewhere downstairs a clock chimed two o'clock.
Absently he reached into his pocket and checked his fob watch, yawned, then knocked on a door. "Miss Angelique?"
After a moment she called out sleepily,
"Yes?"
"You wanted to know when Mr. Struan woke up."
"Ah, thank you." A moment, then the door was unbarred and Angelique came out. Hair a little dishevelled and still drowsy, wearing a robe over her nightdress. "How is he?"
"A little sick, and woozy," Babcott said, leading her back along the corridor and downstairs to the surgery where the sickrooms were.
"His temperature and pulse rate are up a little, of course that's to be expected. I've given him a drug for the pain, but he's a fine, strong young man and ev
erything should be all right."
The first time she had seen Malcolm she had been shocked by his lack of color, and appalled by the stench. She had never been in a hospital or surgery before, or in a real sickroom. Apart from reading in the Paris newspapers and journals about death and dying and illness and the waves of plague and killing diseases--measles, smallpox, typhus, cholera, pneumonia, meningitis, whooping cough, scarlet fever, childbed fever and the like--that swept