Death-Wish began to choke as the necklace became a garrotte.
‘Tighter!’ cried Wantanabe, in Japanese.
The crewmen who were not working on shore appeared at the rail of the houseboat and watched impassively as Death-Wish started to turn purple. His eyes bulged and his tongue was forced out of his mouth as Kurabashi applied another turn, forcing the leather noose to bite into the Mute’s neck. The carved bark medallion was now stuck hard against the underside of his chin.
Wantanabe turned to Steve and Cadillac and affected an air of puzzlement. ‘Your frien’ seem to have ah-problem. Good luck charm does not appear to be ah-working.’ He returned to his victim and watched calmly as Kurabashi applied more pressure then, when death was only seconds away, he called it off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
The sergeant rapidly unwound the garrotte, revealing an ugly purple weal, scored through a bright red line where the sharp edge of the leather had cut through the skin. The two soldiers dragged the semi-conscious Mute face-downwards to the outrigger, his toes trailing in the sand and dumped him unceremoniously into the forward part of the hull.
When they had returned to stand on either side of Wantanabe he waved the medallion he had taken from Raging-Bull under the noses of his captive audience. ‘Let that be ah-lesson to all of you! The sky-signs of your gods ah-worthless against pow-ah of Iron Masters! Mo-Town and ah-this Talisman of who ah-you speak cannot save you. Future of Plainfolk in ow-ah han’s!’
His Basic pronounciation got worse the more angry and excited he became. ‘Only we have pow-ah to defeat san’-burrow-ah! We give help to those who obey – kirr aw who defy or seek-ah to betray us! Resistance totaree useless! Thou-san’ grass-monkey die for each one Iron Master who fall!’ He threw the medallion towards Raging-Bull. ‘Terrah-this to yoh peepaw!’
’Bull caught the medallion and bowed. Steve and Cadillac helped him haul the outrigger into the water under the gaze of the Japs. Death-Wish was still flat on his back but he was still alive and his lips were no longer blue. Steve moistened them with some water. ‘You gonna be all right?’
Death-Wish massaged his throat and nodded weakly. He tried to pull himself upright.
Steve restrained him. ‘Lay there a while. ‘Bull’s taking you home. I’m sorry about what happened but you’ll have a chance to get even with these guys. That’s a promise.’ He waded back to where Raging-Bull sat in the stern. The bark medallion hung around his neck. Steve kissed two fingers and laid them on the carved message. ‘Make sure Clearwater sees this.’
’Bull nodded and lifted his paddle over the side. Steve and Cadillac got behind the outrigger, gave it a last push then walked up onto the beach and watched as it headed towards the sun – a pale golden orange disc growing bigger by the minute as it curved down to meet the watery horizon.
‘Think they’ll make it?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Cadillac. ‘In fact, now they’re out of the hands of that lunatic I’d say their chances of getting back in one piece have improved considerably.’ He glanced over his shoulder and saw Wantanabe strutting up the gangway followed by Kurabashi and the soldiers. ‘Wish I could say the same about ours. We must have been mad to think we could pull this off.’
Steve answered with a dry laugh. ‘A while back, you were the one who was reassuring me. We’ll make it. Wantanabe was just trying to show us who’s the boss. He may come on a little heavy but he’s not going to do anything drastic. He’s got too much riding on this. As far as he knows we could be a key part to this operation. But he isn’t sure. That’s why he’s on edge. All we have to do is avoid rubbing him up the wrong way.’
‘And how do we manage that?’
‘By not saying or doing anything that could give him the impression we think he’s a complete and utter shithead.’
Cadillac bristled. ‘Is this your way of suggesting that Death-Wish was almost killed because of something I said?’
‘Listen, I’m glad one of us said something. My brain just locked solid.’
‘Exactly. Considering it was completely off-the-cuff I thought it was a rather clever reply.’
‘Too clever by half. But it wasn’t so much what you said as the way you said it. C’mon, Caddy. You and I have both been there. You know how the Japs feel about uppity Mutes. From now on, we act smart and play dumb. Okay?’
Cadillac sighed wearily. ‘If you say so, Brickman. The last thing I want is another argument. You lead, I’ll follow …’
Hugging the eastern shore of Lake Mi-shiga, the giant wheel-boat commanded by Ryuku Kawanishi headed south towards Bei-tanaba, the last of the five out-stations established during the previous year. The glancing rays of the rising sun turned the calm waters on the port side into a sheet of hammered gold, while to starboard, the dark shadow cast by the multi-storeyed superstructure stretched away towards the heartland of the Plainfolk – their ultimate destination.
The head of station at Bei-tanaba was a certain Izo Wantanabe, and it was the report of this sharp-eyed functionary which had led to the operation now in progress, a punitive expedition designed to capture, alive, the five assassins who had murdered Domain Lord Yama-Shita and engineered a hideous conflagration which had killed and maimed hundreds of others.
On the bridge, alongside Captain Kawanishi, stood Samurai-Major ‘Tenzan’. Morita Tenzan, the Japanese word for lightning was a nickname derived from his skill as a swordsman and the speed with which he reacted to tactical situations. Morita was, in other words, an experienced field commander, and this was the reason why he had been chosen to lead the two hundred and fifty samurai now quartered in the cabins running off the galleried upper decks.
Their horses were stabled in specially-constructed stalls on the cavernous through-deck together with their grooms and three hundred red-stripes – foot-soldiers of inferior rank and birth whose martial skills had earned them the right to carry a mass-produced version of the tachi, the curving long-sword. In Ne-Issan, where only samurai were permitted to carry both the tachi, and its shorter companion the wakisashi, this was regarded as a great honour.
The five assassins had spent the winter with Mute fisherfolk and, according to the last report from Wantanabe, were now trapped like flies in a honeyed web of deceit and flattery. The plan was to seize them as they slept or were still in the grip of the yawning stupor that precedes the state of wakefulness. Their Mute hosts had pledged to cooperate fully with the invading force and, most important of all, they had promised to remove any poisons, weapons and other potentially dangerous implements possessed by the assassins on receipt of the signal that a landing was only hours away. This was not because Morita and his men feared for their lives; it was to ensure that the assassins were deprived of the means to kill themsleves in the crucial moments between realization that they were about to be captured and the act itself.
During his visit to the clan, Izo Wantanabe had furnished the Kojak’s headman with a simple notched wooden calendar to mark the passage of the days. From the end of the first week in April, the clan was to maintain a nightly watch of the eastern sky. If they saw three red stars shoot heavenwards in quick succession it would be a sign that the raiding force was in position and intended to land at sunrise. In return, the Kojak would ignite a green rocket provided by Wantanabe to signal that all was well.
These arrangements were further proof of the commendable foresight and ingenuity which Wantanabe had displayed from the moment he had sighted the flying-horses passing over his out-station.
Aishi Sakimoto, the chief surviving member of the Yama-Shita family’s Inner Council and uncle of the murdered domain-lord had emphasized that the assassins were to be brought back yoked and chained but otherwise unharmed. Once they were incarcerated in the Yama-Shita’s palace-fortress at Sara-kusa they would be subjected singly and collectively to the most exquisitely painful tortures that could be devised.
Past experience showed that this process, patiently applied, could loosen the stubbornest of t
ongues. And prior to the removal of that particular organ – but only after it had been pierced by red-hot needles – Sakimoto hoped to discover the full story behind the destruction of the Heron Pool. The role of the sand-burrowers and their Mute lackeys, the clan M’Call had already been clearly established; what was of crucial importance was the degree of involvement – active or passive – of the Shogun, Yoritomo Toh-Yota and Ieyasu, his wily Court Chamberlain who, despite his advanced age, was still the power behind the throne.
The death of Lord Hiro Yama-Shita and the subsequent redistribution of the family’s trading licenses had been a severe blow to their long-term plans to displace the Toh-Yota and assume the leadership of Ne-Issan. The exclusive right to westward trade with the grass-monkeys had given the Yama-Shita virtual command of the slave trade and only their boats had the right to use the canal which divided their domain and formed the link between the Great River and the Eastern Sea.
This trading monopoly had been the source of the family’s power and influence, but with the posthumous charge of high treason levelled against Lord Yama-Shita by the Shogun things had changed dramatically. Their neighbours, the Ko-Nikka and the Se-Iko, erstwhile-friends and secret allies had joined with other powerful domain-lords in supporting the charges against them and had eagerly seized upon the Shogun’s offer to grant them equal trading rights and, as a result of their cowardly defection, the family now faced the prospect of losing at least half its revenues.
The death by execution and suicide of Lord Yama-Shita’s immediate family, his principal retainers and some two dozen relatives judged to be implicated in the conspiracy had been a bitter blow. In time, the house of Yama-Shita would recover and exact a terrible revenge but for the moment, patience and stealth were required.
Morita’s expedition had been assembled and despatched in great secrecy for two reasons: to prevent the Shogun from learning what was afoot, and because the intended action was illegal. If it came to light, it could lead to another round of punitive sanctions being imposed upon the family. An edict laid down by the Toh-Yota shogunate expressly forbade ‘foreign adventures’. The seventeen domain-lords of Ne-Issan owed – in theory – total allegiance to the Shogun. Their private armies were – again in theory – his, and movements of all units were supposed to be reported to the resident Consul-General, the principal representative of central government stationed in each of the domains.
Prior notification of all troop movements was one of the many mechanisms employed by the Toh-Yota to maintain the status quo and it had helped keep the peace for over eighty years. Yoritomo, the present ruler of Ne-Issan, would have taken a dim view of the unreported despatch of five hundred fully armed men into the outlands – especially when the aim of the operation was to bring back evidence that would help nail him and his family to the wall.
Passing through the straits of Hui-niso, Kawanishi’s massive three-storeyed vessel had made overnight calls at the four out-stations dotted round the broad peninsular separating Lake U-ron from Mi-shiga. Supplies and mail had been unloaded, written reports on the progress made in establishing permanent links with the grass-monkeys inhabiting the hinterland were collected together with the latest airborne message from Wantanabe, and the future toasted with copious drafts of sake. And now, at last, they were on their way to Bei-tanaba – the anchorage from which the attack would be launched.
Steve and Cadillac were filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as they saw the wheelboat appear on the horizon. Up to this moment, everything had gone far better than they dared hope. But what they had accomplished with the help of the Kojak boatmen was nothing compared to what lay ahead. Success or failure, life or death – all now depended on what happened within the next forty-eight hours.
In a short while, they would become accredited members of the military expedition now steaming towards them. Both were aware that one wrong move could spell disaster but their thoughts were focussed on the difficulties they would encounter once they’d managed to get on board. Neither had any inkling that their plan to sink the glittering vessel was about to lurch sickeningly off course before they had even set foot on deck.
Chapter Eleven
After checking with the aid of a spyglass that the wheelboat was flying the insignia of the house of Yama-Shita, Izo Wantanabe clambered down the ladder from the roof of the bridge and told his sergeant to organize a hot bath and a change of clothes for the two Mute guides. If the commander of the military expedition, or one of his subordinate officers, wished to question the grass-monkeys it was necessary to make them presentable. That meant changing their stained, greasy ‘walking-skins’ for clean trousers and tunics, and making sure they smelt of nothing stronger than soap.
Kurabashi summoned Steve and Cadillac onto the deck of the houseboat and gave them the good news. The bad news was that they were not permitted to use the facilities on board. They had to remove one of the big wooden tubs from the bath-house and carry it down onto the beach, using the stout pole provided.
The tubs were normally shifted by four men with two poles but by threading it through on the diagonal they achieved the right balance – then almost ruptured themselves lugging it off the boat.
‘Sheehh! Jack me!’ gasped Steve, after they’d staggered up the beach and shed their burden on the spot indicated by Kurabashi.
‘Could’ve been … worse,’ panted Cadillac, hanging limply over his end of the pole.
‘Yeah?’ Steve straightened up and probed his right collarbone to make sure it was still intact.
‘Yeah, it could’ve been full of water.’ Cadillac recovered his breath and withdrew the carrying pole. ‘Still – at least it’s down-hill on the way back.’
‘Save the jokes. Kurabashi’s getting impatient.’
They ran back to the houseboat and collected twenty buckets of boiling hot water, two at a time, at the double. Kurabashi dogged their footsteps, screaming angrily each time they spilt some on the deck. He was swearing at them in Japanese but military-style abuse has a familiar ring that transcends the barrier of language.
The last trip was to collect a bar of soap, scrubbing gloves and two towels. ‘Wash body from-ah head to toe!’ barked Kurabashi. ‘Hair, face, everything tip-top! Smell mus’ go! Quick, quick! No time! No time!’
Steve and Cadillac bowed then raced down the gangway. Pausing only to add several cooling buckets of water from the lake, they stripped off their walking-skins, grabbed the soap and a scrubbing-glove and side-vaulted into the steaming tub.
Steve sank down up to his chin, savouring the all-embracing warmth. ‘Hope he’s not going to scrub our backs …’
Cadillac laughed as he joined him. ‘You worried he might laugh when he sees your –’
‘Idiot! It’s not down there I’m thinking about, it’s up here.’ Steve tapped the dirty strip of rag tied around his forehead.
Cadillac was also wearing one. Stitched into the first few inches of the strip – the layer lying nearest the skin – were some flat-bottomed pebbles which, when concealed by the other layers of rag, created the characteristic bulges that had prompted Trackers to refer to Mutes as ‘lump-heads’.
Their body-markings, which were authentic reproductions of the variegated skins the vast majority of Mutes were born with, would not come off no matter how hard they scrubbed with soap and water; only the chemical action of the oily sap from crushed pink finger-leaves could alter the permanence of the specially-formulated vegetable dyes. But because their skins were free of the usual rough patches of vein-like ribbing and gathering – the third deformation that set Mutes apart from their fellow-humans – they had adopted the ‘lump-head’ look to hide the fact that they were also straight-boned.
It was this need to blend in with their Kojak hosts which had led them to choose Raging-Bull and Death-Wish from amongst a host of volunteers. Apart from having ‘tree-bark’ veining on their forearms, the two boatmen were virtually smooth-skinned. The lumps on their foreheads – bone-tumours
arising from a hereditary defect in the Mutes’ genetic code – had also been covered by ragged strips of cloth to give all four a similar appearance.
As a child of the Federation, Steve had been showering daily ever since he’d been able to stand on his own feet but Cadillac had never experienced the luxury of washing in hot water until landing in Ne-Issan. The communal tub favoured by Iron Masters provided imaginative bathers with a range of delicious opportunities and the twice-daily encounters with his ‘scrubbers’ had been one of the most pleasurable aspects of his stay. The other great discovery had been the libido-loosening effects of sake – the pale yellow liquor made from fermented rice. The warm embrace of the water brought back memories of both, and with it, the sharp realization that his body still craved for a bracing shot of alcohol. Cadillac fought down the sudden thirst that gripped his throat and as he tried to banish all thought of sake from his mind, Steve’s voice cut across his reverie.
‘Caddy! Take off your headband and wash it now while nobody’s around!’ Turning his back to the house-boat, Steve dunked his head repeatedly while he scrubbed the dirt out of his own strip of rag.
Cadillac did the same then wound it back over his wet hair. Steve was just knotting his into place when they saw Kurabashi heading towards them followed by two of the female domestics. The first was carrying a neat pile of clothes, the second some rolled straw mats. Kurabashi had his whipping cane under his arm. He usually carried it around as a symbol of his authority when dealing with the Mute construction workers. So far they hadn’t seen him use it but the threat of a beating was always there.
Having received a sound thrashing during his time as a road-runner, Steve was in no hurry to earn himself another. He rubbed soap in his hair and quickly worked up a lather.
When the straw mats had been laid down a couple of yards from the tub, the first Thai woman placed a pair of rope-soled sandals and a neatly-folded white cotton tunic and trousers on each one. Both women then bowed to Kurabashi and scuttled back to the boat. The clothes – a wide-sleeved V-neck wrap-over tunic fastened with a sash, and boxy, calf-length trousers were almost identical to those Cadillac had been given to wear at the Heron Pool.
The Amtrak Wars: Blood River Page 28