Gai-Jin by James Clavell
Then she heard André’s different voice. “So Hiraga client of mama-san friend in Yoshiwara. Hiraga with friend now. Neh?”
Her guard dropped back into place. “I would not know where he is. I imagine he is in the Settlement as usual. Lord Yoshi wants him? Why?”
“Because Hiraga is shishi.” André used the word for the first time, aware of what it meant from Yoshi’s revelations. “Also for kill daimyo. Daimyo Utani. Other killings too.”
She kept the fear off her face. “Terrible. Shishi, you say? I’ve heard of them. About this information, old friend, may I ask about th—”
“Hiraga dis’ppear, Raiko. No in Settlement. Many soldiers search. Gone, Raiko. Search all places. He gone.”
“Eeee, vanished? Soldiers? Vanished to where?”
“Here. To your friend. Where’s your friend?”
“Ah, so sorry, I doubt he would be there,” she said with perfect sincerity, and shook her head emphatically. “Probably he was warned and has run off to Kanagawa or some such place, and so sorry, old friend, but that is not a good question to ask. Your information is very interesting. Is there more?”
André sighed. He knew she knew. Now she was at his mercy. For a time. “Yoshi samurai come tomorrow for your Hiraga,” he said, no longer afraid because one word from him and patrols, Japanese or British, would tear the House of the Three Carp to pieces—after Hinodeh was taken to safety. “If gai-jin not have Hiraga tomorrow, much trouble, Raiko. For gai-jin, Yoshiwara, all.” The way he said it sent a tremor through her. “Perhaps gai-jin put Enforcers here, there, all places.” He let that hover in the air.
“So?” she asked, a bead of sweat forming on her upper lip, frightened of what was coming, all else forgotten.
“Have idea: if you … so sorry,” he said sweetly, “if your friend hide Hiraga few day, secret, safe place. Then, at right time give gai-jin leader Hiraga … perhaps get much money, enough you, and Hinodeh, neh?” He was watching her and she tried not to flinch. “Or your people give Hiraga to Yoshi. Hiraga is shishi—valuable—better than earrings,” he said again, and saw a shudder take her. “Shishi valuable, neh?”
When her heart had stopped thundering enough and she could trust her voice, she mustered the best smile she could, for clearly he believed she knew Hiraga was here, and therefore he could, if provoked, put her and the Three Carp in lethal jeopardy. “I will ask my friend if she has seen him, or knows where he is, then we can talk, quickly,” she said, voice conciliatory, deciding that it was better to hurry all shishi out of her life as soon as possible. Preferably tonight. “What wonderful information you have discovered, how valuable, how clever to know so much, it will bring some profit no doubt! Ah, Furansu-san,” she said as if a sudden thought to further distract him, “we hear that a gai-jin lady has arrived from Hong Kong tonight. She is the famous mother of the tai-pan?”
“Eh? No,” André said absently. “No, she—she promise in marriage to trader. Why?”
“Would he be one of my clients, old friend?”
“No, think Inn of Succulent Joy for year, perhaps more, Jamie McFay.”
“Jami-san? Jami-san of Stru’n?” Eeee, she thought like quicksilver, Nemi will need to know quickly. She must prepare to present herself to this lady in the Struan big house, to bow before her and welcome her, and assure her in sharing his bed she had been looking after Jami-san expertly—very important to have good relations between nee-go-san—second lady, a consort—and oku-san, wife—because the wife pays all bills, and then to invite her to a return visit to the Jami house in the gardens of the Succulent Joy. Eeee, that would be grand, then we could all get a good look at her. “Furansu-sama, there is a rumor the gai-jin put a Japanese in prison tonight.”
“What? Don’t know about that. Maybe find out later. Not important. Listen, about Hinodeh.”
She interrupted brightly, “Hinodeh was asking me earlier if you were honoring her tonight. She will be so pleased you are here—she honors you greatly.”
André’s chest felt tight. Now that he had Raiko in his grip he would ask her, no, tell her to make Hinodeh forgo the condition of the light. Suddenly he was afraid to do so.
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” he muttered. “I go Hinodeh.”
After he left she drank some brandy to steady her nerves, chewed some fragrant tea leaves to take away the smell then, worriedly, went to the three shishi and told them part of André’s information about Yoshi demanding Hiraga, and that his men would arrive tomorrow to take possession. “So sorry, it would be best if you left tonight, much safer for you,” she said, her voice heavy with dread. “Katsumata-sama, this client swore Enforcers and gai-jin soldiers were due any moment, coming to search everywhere.”
The three men were silent. Hearing of Yoshi’s secret dealings with the gai-jin, Katsumata was more determined than ever to create trouble between them. “Thank you, you have been of great service, Raiko-san. We may leave, we may need to stay, either way you will be well rewarded.”
“I really believe it would be better to leave an—”
Katsumata’s voice rasped, “Either way you will be well rewarded. Meanwhile we will discuss how best to protect you.”
She did not want to go but she bowed, thanked him and went out into the night, and when safely away cursed him and them and André, at the same time deciding who would be the trustworthy messenger to speed André’s intelligence to Meikin.
“Light the lamps,” Katsumata said. All had guttered and most extinguished as she had opened and closed the door and the wind had invaded the room. With the door closed again the few remaining flames settled but for an isolated draft. “Listen,” he said, so that no one outside could hear: “Hiraga, I will get more men and return in three days. Hide here, safer than coming with me, use a new disguise and hide in the tunnel. If you are clever you will be safe.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
“In three days we gut Yokohama, sink the ship, kill as many gai-jin as possible, and escape. I will bring Bakufu uniforms. Takeda, help Hiraga with the incendiaries. They must be ready by the time I get back.”
Takeda said, “Better if I come with you, Sensei. I can protect your back in case you are seen or intercepted.”
“No. Stay with Hiraga.” Katsumata did not want to be encumbered, exceedingly uncomfortable inside the Yoshiwara fence. “I’ll leave the moment the barricades are open.”
“It is the best plan. Sonno-joi,” Hiraga said.
He was feeling nauseated and light-headed at the same time, aghast at the thought of Yoshi’s men arriving tomorrow, or Enforcers, and being caught—inevitable now that Yoshi, personally, was after him—knowing, too, the Sensei was right again: the walled Settlement and fenced Yoshiwara were traps.
At the same time he was marvelously relieved. Now that his end was inevitable there was no reason not to hurl himself whole-heartedly into the attack.
Three days is a lifetime. With Katsumata gone, who knows what may happen? In any event, I won’t be taken alive.
“My God, Jamie, look there!” Dmitri said.
Jamie glanced at the doorway. So did the twenty other guests scattered around the reception room in the Russian Legation. Conversation died then picked up. Angelique was coming in on the arm of Sir William. A long-sleeved and simple black dress that showed off not only the paleness but the glow of her skin, and set off the column of her neck to perfection, the cut perfect, her tiny waist and swell of her breasts presented modestly, perfect for mourning, but no doubting their hidden magic. Hair swept up. No jewelry except a thin gold necklace and wedding ring—Malcolm’s signet ring now cut to fit.
“She’s twenty-four karat.”
“Yes,” Jamie said. Then, feeling a new stir, looked around. Across the room Maureen was smiling at him, surrounded by men, Pallidar amongst them. He smiled back, liking what he saw, still dumbfounded by her arrival, and courage, making such a formidable journey alone. What the devil am I going to do?
“Incredible
“You’re right, Dmitri. I’d have bet Tess would never do that.” What’s she up to, he asked himself again, and what was in her letter to Angelique? No chance to ask yet, no clue from her appearance. His own had been illuminating.
Dear Jamie, Mr. Gornt has told me in detail what a good friend you were to my son. I thank you with all my heart. But I still cannot forgive you for not complying with my wishes—company policy—for not diverting my son back to his duty and persuading him to give up his attention to that woman or, at the very least, to put her in proportion and to return here; cannot forgive you aiding and abetting him in his foolishness, particularly as I pointed out at length his minority and that while tai-pan in name he did not exercise those powers until formally installed, and that, to my regret, I did, temporarily.
I understand from Mr. Gornt you intend to try to form yr own business. I wish you luck and thank you for yr many years of fine service. In business Struan’s will never be hostile. I enclose a sight draft on London for five thousand guineas. Please give my best wishes to yr fiancée. I enjoyed meeting her. Tess Struan.
He beamed at the thought of all that money. It made his company possible, small to be sure, but it gave him the time he needed, and also to ease forward with the shoya though how those ventures would prosper without Nakama/Hiraga he did not know. He pitied him. And Tess. In her case he understood, and forgave her, not because of the money. “What, Dmitri?”
“You’ve every right to be smug. Your Maureen’s great.”
“Oh! Yes. Yes, she is.”
“What about Nemi?” Dmitri asked.
Jamie’s smile vanished, his discomfort returned, and he turned his back to the door. “A bloody problem, Dmitri. I’d made a date to see her tonight.”
“Jesus, in Struan’s?”
“No, thank God. In our … in her place.”
“Jesus, that was lucky. Are you going?”
“Yes, why not? Christ Almighty, I don’t know … When Maureen arrived out of the dark … It’s not that I don’t like her, I’m still in a state of shock.”
“Sure, but a good one—you’re lucky. Listen, we’re old buddies and can speak straight. If you … if you decide to stop with Nemi, to pension her off, call it a day, whatever, may I ask that you let me know? She’s a good sport, good fun and she speaks enough of our lingo.”
“All right, but …” Laughter from the men surrounding Maureen attracted their attention there. Then to Angelique. “Smashing, isn’t she?” Jamie said. “Angelique, I mean.”
* * *
Angelique and Sir William were waiting for Zergeyev to join them. Tonight’s dress and coiffure had been decided on earlier—selected specifically for Tess and this soiree, which was to have been their first battleground. Though her enemy had not arrived she resolved not to alter her plan, the effect was so pleasing. She had considered wearing the Imperial Jade ring that Malcolm had ordered from Hong Kong and had been delivered by mail ship a week after his death, causing her another flood of private tears. If Tess had been here she would not have hesitated. Without that reason the ring was wrong.
Actually I’m glad she isn’t here, she told herself. Thank God Vargas warned me. I need more time to prepare for that joust, person to person—ah, time, am I or am I not bearing Malcolm’s child … “Good evening, Count Zergeyev,” she said with her gentle smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re so welcome, you’ve already made the evening a success. ’Evening, Sir William. You both know everyone, except a new guest.” In a sudden hush, everyone watching, comparing, Zergeyev beckoned Maureen from the circle of admirers, Marlowe amongst them now. “Miss Maureen Ross, from Edinburgh, Jamie’s fiancée. Madame Angelique Struan.”
The moment Angelique had come in she had seen Maureen, instantly scrutinized her from nice head to neat shoe and decided she was no threat—noticing Gornt in passing, but leaving him for later. “Welcome to the furthest British outpost in the world, Mademoiselle Ross,” she said pleasantly, wondering how old she was, and thinking, Yes, at night, in a muffler, this one could easily be mistaken for that woman—same tall, imposing way of standing; same direct gaze. “Jamie is very lucky.”
“Thank you.” The moment Angelique had come into the room Maureen had scrutinized her from shining head to tiny foot, recognized her beauty, and while instinctively liking her, decided at once she was a threat—her eyes had switched to Jamie to see his open admiration, and the men around him, no way of missing the general hum of appreciation—and she readied for battle.
“I’m so pleased to meet you and was awful sorry to hear about your tragedy, I’m so … everyone’s so sorry.” With genuine feeling, she leaned down and touched a cheek against Angelique’s. “I do hope we’ll be friends.” A special smile. “Please, let’s be friends. I’ll need a friend, dinna fear. Jamie said what a good friend you’ve been to him.”
“No need for ‘please,’ Maureen—may I call you Maureen, and would you call me Angelique?” she said with a special smile, acknowledging and understanding the warning put nicely and without claws, that Jamie was personal property and not to be flirted with. “Good, it would be very good to have a girl friend. Perhaps we could have tea tomorrow?”
“Och, I’d enjoy that. Angelique, what a pretty name and pretty dress.” Too severe, yet too hourglass for mourning.
“And so is yours, that color goes marvelously with your hair.” Green silk, expensive, but English not Parisian and the cut old-fashioned. Never mind. That can be improved, if she becomes an intimate. “Jamie was a great friend to my husband, and to me when I needed one badly. You are very lucky,” she said truthfully. “Now where is your handsome fiancé? Ah, there he is!”
Watched by all eyes, she linked arms with her. Everyone beamed at the Entente Cordiale and, still the center of attention, she guided Maureen to him. “Be careful, Jamie, it’s easy to see this lady is very precious—there are too many pirates in Yokohama.”
Those around laughed and she left them and went back to Sir William, greeting Ketterer en route—a special compliment and smile to him, and later to Marlowe—as well as Settry Pallidar, resplendent and rivaling Zergeyev in his Cossack uniform. “La, Sir William,” she said. “How lucky we are.”
“To be …” Zergeyev stopped himself in time. He almost said, To be alive? Instead he took a glass of champagne from a silver platter held by a liveried manservant and said, “To be in the presence of two such lovely ladies, we are lucky! Your healths.” Everyone drank, and continued to compare. Zergeyev was too worried to follow suit, much more concerned with what other foul news had arrived with Prancing Cloud, particularly for the other Ministers.
An urgent, coded dispatch from St. Petersburg—three months old—had arrived. First, it related the usual trouble with Prussia, troops massing on their Western borders, six armies sent there; trouble expected soon with the Ottoman Empire and Moslems to the south, three armies sent there; famine everywhere, with intellectuals such as Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy advocating change and liberalization. Second, it ordered him to press the Japanese to remove their fishing villages from the Kuriles and Sakhalin under threat of “serious consequences.” And third, much trouble for him personally: You are appointed Governor General of Russian Alaska. In the spring the warship Tsar Alexandre will arrive with your replacement for the Japans, and then carry you and your entourage to our Alaskan capital Sitka where you will be in residence for at least two years to expedite Friendship.
“Why so glum, friend?” Sir William asked in Russian.
Zergeyev saw that Angelique was again surrounded, so drew him aside and told him about his new posting. But not about “Friendship.” This was the code name of a top-secret State plan to facilitate enforced, massive immigration of hardy Siberian tribes into their vast Alaskan-American territories that spread hundreds of miles inland, adjoined Canada and hugged the coast southwards to end not far from the American-Canadian border. Hardy, tough, w
“I agree.” Sir William felt equally uncomfortable with the vicissitudes of his own Foreign Office, their aptitude for sudden postings, equally olympian. “Alaska? Ugh! Know nothing about it—have you ever been there? Last year, the ship I was on stopped at Vancouver, in our colony there. It’s just an outpost, and we went no farther north.”
“Sitka’s not much farther. I was there as a youth once. Now we’ve permanent settlement, lots of traders, a few hundred shacks,” Zergeyev said sourly. “Furs, freezing, lawlessness, illiterates, Indians, drunks, and no society. The place is a foul wasteland, discovered by Bering and Chirikov a hundred-odd years ago … at first they thought it was just part of our northern territories, fifty-odd miles across an inlet, not realizing it was a Strait they named after Bering. Sixty-odd years ago, one of my granduncles helped form the Russian American Fur Company, our fur-trading monopoly, and appointed an imperious son of a whore—a cousin called Baranof—to be Director, who moved the capital to Sitka. It’s on an island off the coast, totally miserable, and called, guess what, Baranof Island. Unfortunately my family made Alaska a special interest. Hence the posting. Matyeryeybitz! Both of them.”
Sir William laughed and Angelique turned back to them. “May I share the joke?”
“Er, it wasn’t well, very funny, my dear,” he said, docketing the highly interesting data for transmission to London, “just a Russian vulgarity.”
“English humor, Angelique.” Zergeyev laughed. “And on that happy thought, it is time for dinner.”
Gallantly he bowed, went over and took Maureen into the dining room, Sir William and Angelique followed, then the others. Abundant silver on the refectory table, liveried menservants behind each chair, others to bring in huge quantities of meats and borscht and beets and pies and jugs of iced vodka, champagne and French wines and sorbets. Gypsy musicians from the Russian warship, then later Cossack dancers from his entourage for entertainment.