Now his whole being was committed to the attack. All reasoning against it had vanished. There was a consensus, Akimoto gleefully in favor, Takeda, and the Sensei. Therefore he was also. The boat was ready. Now he would collect Akimoto and they would go back and finalize the plan. In reality he was glad. He would die in a blaze of glory doing the Emperor’s wishes. What more could a samurai desire from life?
With the suddenness of an ice bath he was shocked from euphoria and disappeared into a doorway. Three Redcoats stood outside the shoya’s house, two more were emerging from the nearby hovel he and Akimoto rented. Akimoto was between them, calling out at the top of his voice one of the few English phrases he had learned: “So sorry, no unn’erstan’ Nakama!”
“N-a-k-a-m-a,” the Sergeant said slowly and loudly. “Where is he?” Then louder, “Where Nakama?”
“Nakama?” Akimoto’s voice itself was loud, clearly trying to warn him if he happened to be within hearing. “Nakama no unn’erstan’, so sorry,” then in Japanese, “Someone’s betrayed someone,” then in guttural English again, “Nakama no unn’er—”
“Shut up!” the Sergeant said angrily, “Corporal, this fool knows nothing. Butcher, you and Swallow stay here until Mister bloody Nakama comes back and ask him—ask him nice-like to come along wiv you to see Sir Will’m but make sure you bring the bugger. You,” he stabbed a rough, iron-hard finger in Akimoto’s chest, “you come along wiv me in case the Guv wants you.” Loudly protesting in Japanese, he went with them, then in English, “Nakama, no unn’erstan’,” over and over.
When Hiraga had recovered, and it was safe, he slipped out of the doorway, jumped a fence and hurried back to No Man’s Land. There he ducked down into the doorway, not safe yet to run for the well, too much light, the three scavengers too near, too malevolent. Must keep it secret.
Who has betrayed us?
No time to think about that now. He went deeper into the shadows as one of the scavengers moved nearer, muttering and cursing at the smallness of the pickings, a grubby sack in one hand. All three were skeletal and filthy. One came close to the opening but passed without noticing him. In half an hour light would be gone, nothing to do but to wait. Suddenly the doorway was blocked.
“Thort I didn’t see you, eh? Wot’cher doin?” the scavenger rasped, heavy with menace.
Slowly Hiraga straightened. His hand was on the small pistol in his pocket. Then he saw the knife appear in the clawlike fist and the man thrust forward viciously. But Hiraga was faster and caught the hand and chopped at the scavenger’s throat. He squealed like a gutted pig and went down. At once the other two looked up and hurried to investigate.
They skidded to a stop. Now Hiraga was in the doorway, the gun in one hand, knife in the other and he stood over the man who writhed, choking in the dirt. Knives came out and the two men attacked. Hiraga did not hesitate and lunged at one man who darted away, leaving him the opening he needed. He was through the slot quickly, running for Drunk Town, not wanting to waste time fighting. In moments he had reached a side street but in his haste his hat had fallen off. He looked back and saw one of the scavengers had grabbed it up with a shout. In seconds the other had a hand on it too and they began a cursing fight for possession.
Chest heaving, Hiraga left them to it. Another look at the sky. Be patient. When they’ve gone you can go to the well. You must not reveal it, it’s essential for the attack. Be patient. Buy a hat or a cap. What’s gone wrong?
“Well, where the devil has he gone?”
“Can’t be far, Sir William,” Pallidar said. “I’ve men at both gates and on the bridge into the Yoshiwara. He’s probably in one of the Inns. A matter of time before he appears. You want him in irons?”
“No, just here, unarmed, under guard.”
“What about this fellow?”
Akimoto was sitting, his back to the wall, a soldier nearby. He had already been searched.
“I’ll decide that when I’ve talked to him. Ah, André, come in. Settry, no need for you to wait. I’m dining with the Russian Minister, when you’ve got Nakama come and fetch me.” Pallidar saluted and went out. “André, sorry to bother you but we can’t find Nakama. As Phillip’s not here could you interpret for me, ask this fellow where he is?”
He watched while André began questioning Akimoto, trying to contain his irritation and wishing Phillip Tyrer were here and not with Babcott. Hope that goes well. Damn it, if Nakama’s not caught Yoshi will be irritable indeed, rightly so.
“He says he doesn’t know,” André said. He had not taken off his topcoat. Sir William’s office was always freezing; even on the coldest day, his coal fire was mean. “He seems dim-witted, mumbles Nakama who, Nakama could be anywhere, the Yoshiwara, perhaps Kanagawa.”
“Eh?” Sir William was shocked. “He’s not supposed to leave the Settlement without my express approval. Ask him … ask him when did Nakama leave?”
“He says he doesn’t know, doesn’t know Nakama, if he’s left or where he is, doesn’t know anything.”
“Perhaps a night in the brig will refresh his memory. Corporal!” The door opened at once. “Put this man in the brig overnight, or until I give orders to the contrary. He is to be well treated, understand?”
“Yessir.”
“He is to be well treated.”
“Yessir.” The Corporal jerked a thumb at Akimoto, who backed out of the room bowing. The brig, used for rowdies, and servicemen subject to military discipline, was down the street, a low brick building with a dozen cells, flogging triangle. After the Club, it had been the second structure built, a normal British custom for most Settlements.
“Merci, André.”
“De rien.”
“Have you any idea where he could be?”
“No, Monsieur, other than what the man said. See you at dinner.” André smiled and left and began walking down the High Street, the wind whipping the leaves and papers and debris. Not much light was left in the sky.
Glad we’re not responsible for finding him, he thought. Where would he have gone? If he has any sense to Kyōto or Nagasaki, or stowed away on yesterday’s merchantman to Shanghai if he knows Yoshi wants him. Surely he must have known—no secrets in the Bakufu, or here. Great meeting, good for us too for we have the edge with Yoshi but damn Phillip, he’s getting too good. Surely the patient will be Anjo. He spat irritably. I should have had the chance—after all it was my idea, Raiko and Meikin must have planted the thought somehow. Mon Dieu, they’ve more power than I imagined.
An icy current went through him. Raiko had asked him to see her urgently tonight. What now? Had to be trouble.
“’Evening, sir,” the Struan guard at the front door said.
“I’ve an appointment with Madame Struan.”
“Yes, sir. She’s expecting you, in the tai-pan’s office along the corridor. Excuse the mess in the hall, sir, but Mr. McFay’s packing. Terrible he’s going, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but let’s hope th—” The signal gun at the Harbor Master’s cut him off. Astonished, both men glanced seawards, for no ship was expected or overdue. Movement on the crowded High Street stopped and then a murmur of excitement went through Yokohama. Rounding the distant headland was a clipper, all sails set and the bit between her teeth. They saw puffs of smoke from her cannonade salute to the flagship, then heard the following boom and the flagship’s answer.
Too far distant to see her flag. “She’s one of ours,” the guard said proudly. “Has to be, like in the old days … oh, ’evening, sir.”
Jamie McFay came out of the door fast and focused his binoculars. “Hello, André, just want to make sure … Prancing Cloud! Hallelujah!” The implications would be clear to everyone. She had been scheduled to sail on to London. Returning here, and so quickly, meant she carried urgent news—or passengers. Good or bad.
“Hallelujah,” André echoed. He saw Seratard with a telescope on the steps of the French Legation, Sir William at his window with binoculars, and next door, Dmitri stood at
Brock’s entrance, a short telescope to his eye. As Dmitri lowered it he noticed Jamie, hesitated, then gave him a thumbs-up. Jamie waved back then refocused. The clipper was beautiful charging for her moorings.
André said softly, “Perhaps she’s aboard?”
“I had the same thought. We’ll soon find out.”
“Signal her.”
“By the time I get the Harbor Master to put up the flags the light will have gone. Anyway it’s not up to me now, that’s Mr. MacStruan’s decision.” Jamie looked at him. “We’ll know soon enough. You’re seeing Angelique?”
“Yes.”
“No need to worry her, until we know. Eh?”
“I agree, mon brave.” André looked back at the clipper. “You’ll meet her?”
“The ship?” The same hard smile. “Wouldn’t you?”
They went into the foyer together. Coming down the staircase was Albert MacStruan, half dressed in evening clothes, tie undone but elegant. “Prancing Cloud?”
“Yes,” Jamie said.
“Thought so.” The strange eyes narrowed. “’Evening, André. How are you?” MacStruan said.
“Fine, thank you. See you later.”
Jamie waited until André had knocked and gone into the tai-pan’s office that was now MacStruan’s. “You’ll meet her?”
“Oh, yes.” MacStruan walked down the last step but now the bounce had gone from his stride. “Please join me.”
“Thanks, but that’s your privilege now. I’ve sent Vargas for the Bosun, the launch will be ready in five minutes.”
MacStruan said kindly, “Come aboard with me, meet the ship like you used to, should still be doing.”
“No, time to move on, it’s all yours now. But thanks.”
“I hear Zergeyev’s banquet tonight will be grand, as Angelique’s accepted. Change your mind, join the party.”
“Can’t, not tonight, I’m still not finished packing.” Jamie smiled at him, then motioned down the corridor. “Angelique cleared using your office with you?”
“Oh, yes, glad to oblige, and better than having visitors upstairs in her suite, especially him. Can’t say I like him.”
“André’s all right, his music is the best, certainly the best we have here. Hope Prancing Cloud’s news is good.”
“Me too. But I doubt it. Do you think Tess is aboard?”
“The thought had occurred to me.” Jamie grinned, no longer her servant. “It would explain Cloud’s changed schedule. That’s what Dirk would have done.”
“She’s not Dirk, she’s much more cunning—more’s the pity, my dear fellow.” There was no love lost between the stepbrothers and Tess Struan, but a codicil in Dirk’s will had laid down that should the two boys prove themselves in schools and scholarship, they were to be used in the Noble House to the limit of their ability. Both were smart, their connections with highly placed Etonian and university friends scattered throughout the gentry, the City and in Parliament where his stepbrother, Frederick, had just won a seat, made them even more valuable. Even so both knew Tess Struan would dismiss them, but for the codicil. “Hope she hasn’t come a-visiting—that’s a boring thought.”
McFay laughed. “We’ll just batten down the hatches.”
“Hello, André.”
“’Evening, Angelique.”
She was in her favorite chair near the bay window, the curtains open to the harbor. “Prancing Cloud?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Is she aboard?”
André smiled crookedly. “It would explain the clipper.”
“It doesn’t matter either way,” she said evenly but her stomach was twisting. “Would you like a drink?”
“Thanks.” He saw the bottle of champagne opened in its bucket of ice and a half-full glass on the table. “May I?”
“Please.”
It was becoming her custom to watch the sun go down, or the gloaming and the night arrive, with champagne. Just one glass to prepare for the long evening and then the long night. Her sleep pattern had changed. She no longer put her head on the pillow and drifted off to wake at dawn. Now sleep eluded her. At first she had been frightened but Babcott had convinced her that fear only made insomnia worse. “We don’t need eight or ten hours, so don’t worry. Use the time to your profit. Write letters or your journal and think good thoughts—and don’t worry ….”
Dearest Colette, (she had written yesterday)
His advice works but he missed the best opportunity and that is TO PLAN, so important because that woman is plotting my downfall.
God willing, I will be in Paris soon when I can tell you all. Sometimes it’s almost as though my life here is a play, or a Victor Hugo story, and Malcolm, poor man, never existed. But I enjoy the quiet, am content with the waiting. Only a few more days, and then I will know about the child, if it is to be or not. I so hope and hope and hope and pray and pray and pray I carry his child—and also that your birthing will be smooth, and give you another boy.
I have to be wise. I’ve only myself to rely on here. Jamie is a good friend but he cannot help much—he’s no longer with the Noble House and this newcomer Albert MacStruan is kind, a perfect gentleman, highborn British, and tolerates me only for the moment—until SHE orders otherwise. Sir William? He’s government, British Government. Seratard? God knows if he’ll truly help, but it will only be for what use I can be to him. Mr. Skye? He does his best but everyone hates him. André? He’s too clever and knows too much, and I believe the trap he’s in is driving him mad. (I can’t wait to hear what YOU THINK!!!) My only hope is Edward Gornt. He will have arrived in Hong Kong and will have seen her by now. My prayers, and I know yours, for his success are abundant and daily.
So I use my night waking time to plan. Now I’ve so many good plans and thoughts how to deal with every possible contingency—and plenty of strength to deal with the ones I haven’t dared consider, for example if Edward fails me or, God forbid, he never arrives—there are rumors of terrible storms in the China seas, normal at this time of the year. Poor Dmitri’s Cooper-Tillman lost another merchantman. Poor sailors, how terrible the sea is and how brave the men who sail her.
André says, rightly, I cannot leave here nor make a move until SHE declares herself. I am Malcolm’s widow, everyone says so, Mr. Skye has registered all sorts of papers with Sir William and has sent more to Hong Kong and more to London. I have enough money and can stay here as long as I want—Albert MacStruan has said I can use Jamie’s office when it is vacant and I have ten more chits that Malcolm chopped for me but left the amount blank—wasn’t that thoughtful—that Jamie and now Albert have agreed to honor, up to a hundred guineas each.
When SHE declares herself I will join battle with her. I feel it will be to the death but I assure you, darling Colette, it won’t be mine—this will be her Waterloo, not mine, France will be revenged. I feel very strong, very fit …
She was watching André, waiting for him to begin. His face was hard, the skin pale and stretched, and he was thinner. The first glass had been gulped. And the second. Now he sipped the third. “You’re more beautiful than ever.”
“Thank you. Your Hinodeh, how is she?”
“More beautiful than ever.”
“If you love her so much, André, why do your lips tighten and your eyes pop out with rage when I mention her name—you said it was all right to ask about her.” A few days ago he had told her about their agreement. Part, not all. It had burst out when despair had overwhelmed him. “If you’re so adamant about not making love in the dark and the huge price this Raiko demanded why did you agree in the first place?”
“I … it was necessary,” he said, not looking at her. He could not tell her the real reason—it had been enough to see Seratard’s lips curl and see him avoid making contact ever since, careful never to use the same eating utensils or glass even though it was only caught from a woman or a man—wasn’t it? “I just took one look at her and, mon Dieu, don’t you understand what love is, how …” The words died aw
ay. He poured another glass, the bottle almost empty now. “You cannot believe how crushingly desirable she was that once.” He gulped the wine. “Sorry, I need money.”
“Of course. But I have only a little left.”
“You have paper, with his chop.”
“Oh?”
His smile was, if anything, more crooked. “Fortunately shroffs talk to shroffs, clerks to clerks. Fill in another tomorrow. Please. Five hundred Mex.”
“That’s too much.”
“Not half enough, chérie,” he said, his voice barely audible. He got up and closed the curtains to the last of the sunset, then turned up the oil lamp that was on the table and reached for the bottle. The dregs went into his glass, and then he slammed the bottle back in its ice bucket. “Do you think I like doing this to you? You think I don’t know it’s blackmail? Don’t worry, I’m reasonable, I only want what you can presently afford. A hundred Mex, or the guinea equivalent tonight, two hundred tomorrow, a hundred the next.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Everything’s possible.” He took an envelope out of his pocket. The envelope contained a single sheet of paper that he unfolded carefully. Dozens of shreds of green paper were pasted meticulously on it to complete a perfect jigsaw. He laid it on the table, well out of her reach. At once she recognized her father’s handwriting. The second page that she had seen André tear up so long ago.
“Can you read it from there?” he asked softly.
“No.”
“Your loving father wrote, he signed and dated it, ‘and hope, as we discussed, that you will arrange an early betrothal and marriage by whatever means you can. It’s important for our future. Struan will permanently solve Richaud Frères. Never mind th—’”
“Never mind, André,” she said as softly, no need now to disguise the venom. “The words are indelibly written on my brain. Indelibly. Am I buying it, or is it a permanent threat?”
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