Kurabashi took the whipping-cane from under his arm and placed it behind his back. Holding it in his clasped hands, he paced slowly around the tub. In Iron Master bath-houses, the tubs were set into holes in the planked floor to permit easy access and to allow the bather’s back to be scrubbed by somebody kneeling outside: here on the beach, the rim of the tub was level with Kurabashi’s armpits.
‘You ah-wash feet – backsides, grass-monkey?’
‘Yes, Iron Master!’ they chorused.
Kurabashi jerked his head. ‘Outside! Do again for-ah me to see!’
Steve and Cadillac leapt out and scrubbed themselves from toe to waist under the sergeant’s beady gaze. Fortunately, Steve had taken the precaution of dying his pubic hair dark brown as well. He had very little chest hair whereas Cadillac’s formed a dark shadow that ran down through his navel from breastbone to groin. His lower legs were well-covered too.
Kurabashi, like all Iron Masters, had no body hair, and apart from a meagre scattering of short pale eye-lashes had no hair on his skull either. He surveyed them with a mixture of curiosity and distaste then brandished his whipping-cane. ‘Hoh-kay! Back in-ah water! Wash rest of-ah body!’
They went over their chests, arms and faces, scrubbed each other’s backs then started to rinse the suds out of their hair.
Kurabashi rapped his cane sharply on the rim of the tub. ‘No! No! No good!’ He prodded Cadillac’s head-band. ‘Remove ah-this before wash hair!’
Cadillac and Steve exchanged a loaded glance.
‘Looks like we’ve got some explaining to do …’
‘Then you’d better come up with something good.’ Steve slipped off his headband and sank beneath the water. Cadillac did likewise then emerged and started to wash his hair.
As Steve surfaced he heard Kurabashi say: ‘Grass-monkey … why you no more have lumps on-ah your face?’
With their skins still tingling from a brisk towelling, Steve and Cadillac were marched up the gangway in their clean dry clothes and halted on the fore-deck of the houseboat. After telling them to lay down their straw mats, Sergeant Kurabashi left them under the watchful gaze of four armed sea-soldiers and strode off towards Wantanabe’s quarters. When the head Jap emerged some ten minutes later he did not look too pleased.
Following Cadillac’s lead, Steve fell to his knees on the mat beside him and bowed his head as Wantanabe confronted them, thrusting one of the ragged headbands under their noses. It had been folded to expose the section into which the pebbles had been stitched. ‘So, grass-monkeys … you ah-wish to explain this-ah deception?’
Now that he had the advantage in height, he had ditched the aggressive bullfrog act: now it was the velvety-steel inquisitor. The old cat-and-mouse routine …
Cadillac clasped his hands together in supplication and threw a sideways glance at Steve. The message spelled out by the eyes read: ‘Okay, smart-ass, you want to show me how it’s done? Start talking.’
Sonofabitch …
‘No deception intended, Iron Master!’ began Steve. ‘Stones were only to, uh … to, uh –’
Cadillac bailed him out. ‘– to cover our shame! We were given the skin of the Plainfolk, but to punish us for wrongdoing in former life, the Great Sky-Mother did not give us the same bodies as our clan-brothers. Ever since we were born, our mothers kept our heads wrapped with stones – for our shame was also theirs. And so what they began, we have continued to this day.’
Not bad, Caddy … not bad …
Wantanabe stepped back and conferred with his trusty sergeant. Cadillac managed to catch most of the exchange. The head Jap had swallowed his story but it was a reluctant decision, influenced by the fact that the wheelboat was drawing closer by the minute.
Wantanabe gave the headband back to Kurabashi. Steve and Cadillac held their breath and kept their eyes averted as he paced slowly up and down in front of them. ‘Good story. But is it ah-true?’
Cadillac bowed lower still. ‘Plainfolk speak only truth to Iron Masters. A Kojak warrior who lies to save his life is without honour. This is the law of my people.’
Ethical codes of conduct were something an Iron Master could understand. ‘The Kojak are great warriors,’ admitted Wantanabe. ‘I also know of-ah shame that can come from unfortunate-ah circumstance of birth. This can explain many things.’
Cadillac sat back on his heels and bent his head to touch the clasped hands resting on his chest. ‘Iron Master possess great wisdom and forgiving heart.’
Easy, Caddy. No need to overdo it …
‘But present difficulty-ah remains. Truth of matter can only be verified by-ah Kojak wordsmith. Until then must find way to prevent further monkey-business!’ Wantanabe laughed loudly at this witticism and everyone else joined in. In Ne-Issan, when the boss-man laughed, you laughed even louder and you kept on going until the smile left his face.
On Wantanabe’s signal, Kurabashi moved to the foredeck hatchway and yelled to someone below. Three soldiers appeared. One was carrying chains, the other two lugged heavy square wooden boards. They were made of jointed timber about three inches thick and had a hole in the middle, lined with a strip of iron. Steve and Cadillac were handed the chains and told to shackle each other’s ankles and wrists. When they’d handed over the keys and were back kneeling on their mats, it became clear why the boards were made in two halves with a simple hinge on one side and a closing bolt on the other. They were neck restraints.
The boards, some four inches wider than their shoulders, were locked around their necks. The chain connecting their wrists was pulled through a slot at the front of the board and fastened to it by means of another small bolt. It was brutally simple and fiendishly clever. To balance when standing upright, you had to adopt a stooping posture and in order to ease the pressure of the iron collar on the base of the neck, the wearer was forced to support the weight of the board with both hands.
Wantanabe stood in front of them for a few moments to savour their predicament then, satisfied that they were unlikely to cause him any further upset, he returned to his quarters. Kurabashi told Steve and Cadillac they could, if they wished, sit cross-legged on their mats.
After the sea-soldiers had gone off to prepare for the arrival of the wheelboat, Steve tried to find the best position for the neckboard. There wasn’t one. ‘This is killing me …’
‘Me too,’ whispered Cadillac. ‘What in Mo-Town’s name are we going to do if they put us on board the wheelboat trussed up like this?’
‘Let’s just get on it first. ‘We’ll figure out the rest later.’
‘But–’
Steve cut him off. ‘Listen to me. Did they kill Death-Wish?’
‘They came pretty close.’
‘Yeah, but the point is they didn’t. This is all part of their campaign to keep us guessing. It’s a tried and tested technique. If you’re in charge of an operation and you haven’t a clue what to do next, then the best way to maintain control – and conceal your own uncertainty – is to throw everybody else off balance. Never fails.’
‘I hope you’re right. Sounds to me as if you’re pissing in the wind …’
‘Caddy! For crissakes, snap out of it! Every time we run into a sticky patch, you throw a downer! Just hang in there. Things always go from bad to worse before they get better. I can read this guy like a vid-screen. Hell! You’re the one whose supposed to be the expert. Can’t you see the state he’s in?’
‘He’s worried, yes –’
‘Worried?! The guy’s crapping himself! He’s set up this whole raid, he’s told whoever’s out there that he’s got two guides ready to lead the way and now he finds we’re not quite what we appeared to be. Nothing he can really put his finger on but enough to set the alarm bells ringing. And you know what? I bet my last meal-credit he’s beginning to wonder about those medallions ‘Bull and Death-Wish sailed off with. Were they just good luck charms or were they a secret message tipping off the bad guys? Whose side are the Kojak on now? And I bet you something
else. He’s not going to say a word about this to the guys on that wheelboat.’
‘If I were in his position, I don’t think I would either.’
‘Because he’s not a samurai. Which means no quick way out. If this raid goes down the tube and he has the bad luck to survive …’
Cadillac nodded. ‘And something equally nasty could happen to his family. Yes, I take the point. Just one thing – you say “If this raid goes down the tube”. Don’t you mean “When”?’
‘Of course!’ snapped Steve. He let the board rest on his neck in order to stretch his aching arms. ‘You know what’s gonna happen, and I know what’s gonna happen –’
‘But he doesn’t…’
‘Exactly. Satisfied?’
‘Never felt better.’
They sat there in silence, bearing the irksome weight of the neckboards without further complaint, and watched the wheel-boat draw closer. To the east, the yellow dawn sky had been bleached silvery-white and was now turning eggshell-blue. The flecks of gold scattered across the water by the rising sun had sunk without trace in the endless rippling expanse of grey. Some time later, when the surface of the lake changed, chameleon-like to match the deepening blue of the sky, they heard the hushed, rhythmic beat of the wheelboat’s engine; the faint opening bars of a slow, stately crescendo whose hypnotic four-note cycle gradually became more distinct as the square menacing bulk of the wheelboat bore down on them.
‘I’ve suddenly thought of something,’ said Cadillac.
‘If it’s not good news I don’t think I want to hear it. But tell me anyway.’
‘Supposing there’s somebody on that boat who was part of the Yama-Shita delegation that came to see our first test flights at the Heron Pool?’
‘You mean … somebody who … might recognize us?’
‘Yes. Look at me. I’m wearing almost exactly the same outfit.’
‘But your hair was shorter and you were clear-skinned.’
‘You weren’t.’
‘No, but my hair was –’
‘Blond. That’s right, but only at the roots. The rest of it was dark brown – as it is now.’
Steve mulled over the implications. It was unbelievable. How could he have overlooked the possibility of something like this happening? ‘We could have a problem …’
The pounding of the engines was enveloped by the plunging thundering sound of water being churned to foam beneath the massive blades of the rear-mounted paddle wheel, then cascading off them as they rose high into the air.
Now they could see, in ever-increasing detail, its gilded, blood-red superstructure and as it drew closer still, the figures crowding the rails of the forward galleries. As yet, the faces were pale, featureless blobs but soon they would acquire noses, mouths and eyes. And one of those pairs of eyes could soon prove to be their undoing.
In the middle of the afternoon, when the wheelboat captained by Ryuku Kawanishi had anchored close inshore, Izo Wantanabe and his wife stepped into a dory and were rowed across by two sea-soldiers wearing newly-washed uniforms. Both Izo and Yumiko had taken great pains to dress up for the occasion and so had Sergeant Kurabashi who stood in the bow holding a bamboo pole bearing the house flag of the Yama-Shita.
The wheelboat was anchored with its port side parallel with the shore, a standard manoeuvre which brought half its battery of cannon to bear on the land surrounding the out-station. No attack was expected but Iron Masters always remained alert to potential sources of danger. In a country where suspicion and intrigue was rife no one who sought to challenge the authority of the Shogun could afford to relax their guard – especially in view of the betrayals that had followed the debacle at the Heron Pool.
The same rules applied here in the outlands. The primitive weapons of the grass-monkeys – most of which the Iron Masters had supplied – were no match for samurai steel but there were other dangers; dark forces that could not be quantified but which were, nevertheless, very real.
Disembarking from the dory, Izo and Yumiko made their way up the wide port bow gangway which had been lowered into the water for that purpose. A samurai from Morita’s personal staff and a junior ship’s officer greeted them as they reached the deck. Sergeant Kurabashi and the dory were already on their way back to the house-boat to pick up the two troublesome Kojak guides.
After the usual long-winded ritual of polite, self-effacing exchanges and a series of bows that brought the Wantanabes’ noses closer and closer to the spotless tatami, they finally found themselves facing Captain Ryuku Kawanishi and Samurai-Major ‘Tenzan’ Morita. Izo’s wife, who had been invited to be present as a mark of the esteem in which the couple were now held by the family, paid her respects to the high-ranking figures on the dais then shuffled backwards in her snow-white cotton socks to a kneeling position at the rear of the room and took no further part in the proceedings.
Wantanabe answered Morita’s questions promptly and, in the opinion of Captain Kawanishi, with admirable economy. When Morita had been brought fully up to date on the situation and the personalities involved, Wantanabe told him about the guides Carnegie-Hall had sent to lead the attacking force to their target.
‘I wish to question them,’ said Morita.
Uncrossing his legs, Wantanabe acknowledged the oblique order with a bow. ‘Your wish to do so was anticipated by my humble self. I ordered them to be brought to the wheelboat. In chains and neckboards.’
Morita exchanged looks with the wheelboat captain then said: ‘I assume there is a good reason for this?’
Wantanabe bowed again. ‘A precaution, sire, but they have not been harmed I assure you. They were impudent and their conduct made me feel uneasy. I came to the conclusion that a certain amount of restraint was necessary to make them more, ahh … responsive.’
Morita nodded. ‘The wrist chains will suffice …’
‘What did I tell you?’ said Steve, as the neckboards and leg shackles were removed.
Cadillac raised his chained wrists in reply.
‘Some people are never satisfied,’ said Steve, trying to lighten the mood.
‘Silence!’ barked Kurabashi. ‘No more speak until ah-spoken to! You go meet commander of-ah expedition. Big Iron Master! Much powah! Show respect otherwise ah-bad things happen!’
Steve didn’t need to be reminded – not since Cadillac’s thunderbolt had dropped out of the blue. Wantanabe and a samurai were waiting for them at the top of the gangway with six red-stripes who positioned themselves in front, behind and alongside the manacled pair. The samurai led the party up to the second floor of the three side galleries and down a wide companion way with guards stationed at each end and halted outside a large stateroom located amidships. The samurai entered first, the double doors sliding open and shut behind him as if operated by a magic eye. Wantanabe, Steve, Cadillac and their escort waited in silence outside. The dink’s face gave nothing away but he was several shades paler than usual and the veins on either side of his forehead stood out: dark mauve squiggly lines that throbbed in unison with his beating heart.
It wasn’t the only one that was pounding.
The two square box-panelled doors slid apart to reveal the samurai. As they opened wider still, Steve caught sight of the mechanism – two guards positioned just inside. Yumiko knelt on a mat over to the right. Two more samurai sat cross-legged on either side of the room. Straight ahead, blocking off the rear half of the room was a folding screen with a red-stripe poised on one knee at either end. Two brown mats lay side by side in front of the screen flanked by two plain ones edged with white.
The samurai had already taken off his sandals. Wantanabe signalled Steve and Cadillac to do likewise. ‘You ah-follow me,’ he whispered. ‘When I bow, put head to mat. When you ah-sit up, keep eyes down. Stay on knees whole time. Do not answer questions directly. Give answers only to this samurai. Unnah-stan’?’
‘Yes, Iron Master …’
They followed Wantanabe into the room and took their places on the brown mats.
It was a rather appropriate colour, thought Steve, considering the shit they were in. Wantanabe positioned himself to Steve’s left, the samurai to Cadillac’s right. The six-man escort stayed outside.
As the doors swished shut behind them, the two red-stripes folded up the screen and carried it to the left side of the room revealing the top brass, in full armour and the usual paraphernalia seated imposingly on the dais flanked by eight richly-dressed aides. They made an impressive sight and to intimidate their two primitive guests even further, they now wore the snarling, bulging-eyed masks that had caused the Plainfolk to refer to the Iron Masters as ‘dead-faces’.
Steve and Cadillac put their noses to the floor and kept them there until they saw the people around them straighten up.
Even if they had been allowed to look directly at the people on the dais the masks made it impossible to recognize any of them. The two men seated in front of the others were obviously giving the orders. One of them was Samurai-Major Morita but Steve and Cadillac had no way of knowing they’d already met him. The thought that all eyes in the room were upon them while they could look at no one plus the fact that, at any time, someone might recognize them made the pressure almost unbearable. Once again, Steve’s brash confidence had led them to overlook dangers which, on mature reflection, should have been blindingly obvious.
Speaking in Japanese, Morita began his questioning of the two guides using the samurai as an interpreter. The samurai, who spoke faultless Basic, then gave running translations of their replies. Cadillac’s knowledge of the language gave him a head start since he knew what was coming as soon as the interpreter did. It was this unexpected advantage – and not a desire to pass the buck – which had prompted Steve to suggest that Cadillac should provide as many of the answers as possible.
The Amtrak Wars: Blood River Page 29