Ori did not move, just glared up at him and at the other two who moved up beside him. One was also middle-aged, the other a youth not much older than Ori himself. Both carried oars and fishing tackle. "You do not ask those questions of your betters," he said. "Where are your manners?"
"Who're you, you're not samur--" The man stopped, petrified, as Ori leapt to his feet, the sword instantly in his hand, the blade dangerously half out of its scabbard.
"On your knees, scum, before I cut your baka hearts out--a haircut does not make me any less samurai!" Instantly the fishermen fell to their knees, heads to the beach and were bleating their apologies, no mistaking the authority or the way the short sword was held.
"Shut up!" Ori snarled. "Where were you going?"
"To fish, Lord, half a league out to sea, please excuse us but, well, in the dark and your hair not norm--"
"Shut up! Get the boat in the water.
Move!" Once safe out to sea, now over his blinding anger, the salt air cleansing, Ori looked back at the Settlement. Lights still on in the French and British Legations, the Struan Building and the Club that Hiraga had identified for him. Oil streetlamps along the praia, a few windows glowing in other bungalows and godowns, Drunk Town pulsating as normal throughout the night, the gin shops never totally sleeping.
But all of his attention was on the French Legation. Why? he kept asking himself.
Why should I have been so possessed with--jealousy, that's the real word. An insane jealousy. To be jealous over pillowing is baka!
Was it because of what Hiraga had told me: "Taira says their custom is like ours amongst the leader class, a man does not pillow the woman he will marry before marriage..." which means this tai-pan will not bed her and, as she is promised, no one else has the right. Did I smash the shutters to prevent that man pillowing her --or was it to protect her?
Or was it just because I wanted no other man to enjoy her until I can again--that's even more stupid, how could I ever tell? Was it because I was the first? Does that make that pillowing different: because you have possessed her uniquely? Remember, Chinese have always believed virginity to be the most powerful aphrodisiac between Heaven and Earth. Is that why I did what I did?
No. It was a sudden impulse. I believe she is a wolf woman who must be killed-- preferably after I've pillowed her once more--for me to escape her spell.
But how and when? It must be now.
Too dangerous to stay in the Settlement, or Yoshiwara. Hiraga is bound to hear I have not left. I am a dead man if he finds me.
Could I risk three more days, then, if I fail to snare her, hurry off to Kyoto with Hiraga none the wiser? Safer to leave now. Which? "You, old man, where do you live?"
"Second Street, Fifth House, Lord," the fisherman stuttered, all of them deeply afraid, long since realizing that this must be one of the ronin who were hiding in the Settlement to escape the Toranaga Enforcers.
Sunday, 19th October
Sunday, 19th October: Church bells were beckoning the faithful on this nice crisp morning. "Not many bloody faithful in Yokohama," Jamie McFay said to Struan. McFay's shoulders and back were aching, the church and the coming service not to his liking, nothing like the austere Scottish Presbyterianism of his childhood. "Not that I'm a real churchgoer, not anymore," he said, very much on guard, unsure how Struan was going to be after their violent row the day before.
"My ma's still as strict as they come, three times on Sunday!"
"Like mine, though she's Church of England,"
Struan agreed heavily. He walked slowly and badly, hunched over, leaning on his canes, amid groups of men converging on the church that was down the High Street and set back slightly in its own garden on a choice lot facing the sea.
"The church is pretty though. Makes Yokohama permanent."
Holy Trinity, or Holy Titty as they privately dubbed it, was the pride of the Settlement. It had been consecrated last year by the Bishop of Hong Kong. The steeple was tall and the bell sweet-sounding, reminding all ex-patriots of home--so very far away. Wood and plaster and bricks from Shanghai. Neat gardens and small cemetery with only seven graves, sickness rare in Yokohama--unlike Hong Kong with its plagues and the lethal Happy Valley fever, mal-aria--all seven deaths by misadventure, except one of old age.
Twenty years working in Asia were rare and men past retirement age, rarer still.
Again the bell tolled, not yet insistent, more than enough time to take their places, the Noble House pew in the first row. I need all the help I can get, Struan was thinking fervently, never devout though always a believer. I'm glad it's our church more than the other traders'.
The land and the building had been donated to the Church of England by all traders. They had enthusiastically voted the levy four hours after the Yokohama Club had opened its doors for business, the same day the Settlement was founded-- at McFay's insistence and on the orders of Tess Struan, who guaranteed fifty percent of the cost. She had also pledged to provide the bell and had it cast in their new foundry in Hong Kong. When Tyler Brock heard about it, not to be outdone by his estranged and hated daughter, he had ordered a stained-glass window from London and pews of English oak.
"Sunday church's all right, once a month, Father used to say, but never in Mother's hearing."
Struan smiled bleakly. "When he was younger he was as much a churchgoer as she is now..." He stopped a moment to gather his breath and stared out to sea. The sea was choppy, blue-grey, the sky speckled with cumulus. A dozen or so merchantmen lay snug in the roads, English predominately, one American, one Russian, yesterday's mail steamer, the French paddle steamer flagship wallowing at anchor, and the 21-gun steam frigate H.m.s. Pearl, still without her foremast. "Feels naked without the fleet, doesn't it?"
"Yes and it does. Not many will miss prayers today." McFay circled his head to ease the ache in his neck.
"How long do you think they'll be gone?"
"A month is my bet... 'morning Mrs.Lunkchurch." Both raised their hats politely, Struan awkwardly, as she sailed past, bustled and bonneted, husband sweatily in tow, his face dark with bruises. "What the devil happened to him?"
"Fighting," McFay said cautiously, still trying to gauge Struan's humor--he had not seen him or heard from him since yesterday except to get a curt message this morning to join him for their walk to church. He fell into step as Struan started off again. "Seems he, Dmitri and a few others decided to visit Drunk Town last night for a Saturday night binge."
"You mean punch-up?"
"'fraid that was the basic idea. Dmitri, well, he said they had a grand time."
Struan noticed the sudden glint in McFay's eyes. "Ah, you were there too, Jamie?" he asked dryly, then smiled.
McFay saw the smile and was greatly relieved. "Well yes, Tai-pan, yes, I went along... but just to make sure Dmitri didn't get into trouble."
"Did he?" Struan asked with a sudden stab of envy.
"No, but och ay, Tai-pan, we had a grand time."
"You lucky fellow! Come on, Jamie, tell all!"
Jamie heard and saw the open friendliness and camaraderie that he had been afraid he had lost forever and beamed, his aches forgotten, angers forgotten and worries over his future. "There was a smashing cockfight at the Bull and Cock, best we've had here, they've a new ring now and a new Nagasaki beer that's better than our own Highland Dark! Two army handlers were pitted against two of our lads, Chandler Sykes and Old Bloody."
"Who?"
"He's one of our retired seaman, a master gunner, name of Charlie Bent, who paid off of Lasting Cloud--the same gunner who blew Wu Fang Choi's war junk out of the water for your dad, back in '43. Now he's nicknamed "Old Bloody" as he looks after the abattoir. Well I backed him all the way, Tai-pan, and won twenty-five pounds. Afterwards we descended on the Yokopoko Palace--that's the biggest tavern in Drunk Town, Army mostly, the Navy go to the Friar Tuck and never the twain shall meet." He laughed. "Lost a tenner at roulette, another five at dice.