"Koiko in a plot? My beauty, my treasure? Of course not," Meikin burst out.
"Of course not."
"Meikin-san, when Lord Yoshi returns, surely as her mama-san, he will send for you. In case, so sorry, in case enemies have whispered against you, it would be wise to have... to have ready tokens of... of your respect."
There was no reason for either woman to ask, What enemies? Success bred jealousy and secret hatreds everywhere--particularly in best friends--and in the Floating World, a world of women, more than anywhere. And both were successful.
Meikin was over her initial shock now, her mind concentrating on means of escape--in case Yoshi suspected, or Koiko had denounced her, or he had proof that both she and Koiko supported sonno-joi, shishi, and knew Katsumata. There was no real way to escape, not into another identity or to another place, Nippon was too well compartmentalized. Throughout the land, ten family heads formed the basic unit responsible for their own behavior and obedience to law, ten of these units formed another grouping equally responsible, ten of these the same and so on, up to the ultimate giver of law: the daimyo.
So she could run nowhere, hide nowhere. "What could I possibly give the great Lord Yoshi?" she asked her voice hoarse, feeling sicker than ever before.
"Perhaps, perhaps information."
"What kind of information?"
"I do not know, so sorry," he said with pretended sadness. Tomorrow could be different, tonight he must still pretend, to give them face, whatever he thought of their stupidity. Stupid to embrace sedition with a penis, particularly when the shishi possessors were few, most were being scattered or killed, and they continued to commit the unforgivable sin: failure. "I do not know, Lady, but Lord Yoshi must be worried, greatly worried what the vile gai-jin fleet will do. They prepare for war, neh?"
The moment he said it he saw Meikin's eyes become even more flinty and fix on Raiko who flushed slightly. Ah, he thought gleefully, they already know--and so they should, bedding the loathsome gai-jin! By all gods if there be gods, what they know the Gyokoyama should of course be told quickly.
"That news might--would ease his pain," he said, nodding wisely as a banker would.
"And yours."
Half a hundred paces away in a dwelling within the walls, snuggled into gardens, Phillip Tyrer was sitting cross-legged, bathed, replete with food and sak`e, naked under his yokata and in a state of rapture. Fujiko knelt behind him, her knowing hands massaging his neck muscles, finding the points of pleasure-pain.
She wore a sleeping yukata, her hair loosened and now she moved closer, delicately bit the lobe of his ear, near the center, where the erotic sites lay. Her tongue increased his pleasure dramatically.
Fingers slid sensuously to his shoulders, never slowing, taking away his cares, the conferences with Sir William and Seratard, helping his chief to deal with that Frenchman and his constant, inbred devious attempts to gain a minuscule advantage when, let's face it, he had thought, the slimy rotter has only two mediocre ships when we have a fleet of ships-of-the-line, crewed by men, not sycophants!
Taking notes and then setting out two alternate battle plans into correct diplomatic English and French for their governments, and into more ordinary orders for the Admiral and General to carry out, the time slipping away and his headache growing. But Andr`e had been an asset at the morning meeting, well prepared, and all the time suggesting ideas and dates, maneuvering the two principals into agreeing and making decisions, all four of them sworn to secrecy.
Then, at last, slipping out of the Legation and across the bridge, knocking on the door, instantly opened by Raiko herself and being bowed in and through the garden and bathed and fed but before that Raiko had at last begun to treat him as an important official should be treated.
About bloody time, he thought, more than a little pleased, every nerve tuned to Fujiko's fingers...
Most of her mind was concentrated on Raiko's warning: "Some vile and hungry low-class person at the Lily has seduced our gai-jin lord away from us. At great cost I have tempted him here, granting many concessions to go-betweens. Do not fail tonight, this may be your last chance to bind him to us with ropes of silk. Use every trick, every technique... even the Moon behind the Mountain."
Fujiko flinched. She had never tried this before, even in the most heated embrace. Never mind, she told herself stoically, better a few queer moments of eccentric behavior--than no gai-jin pay tonight, and no pay for a year of leisure.
As her fingers moved closer and her soft murmurs began, daydream pictures of her farmhouse began to intrude, the children, her fine husband and their ripening fields of rice, so grand and kind and...
Firmly she put them away.
Until the client is asleep, she ordered herself.
Tonight you will snare the ungrateful dog forever!
It's a matter of face for the whole of the House of the Three Carp! Waylaid by a low-class person from the Lily?
Ugh!
The clipper Prancing Cloud swung at anchor with a change in the evening tide. "She's snug, sir," the First Mate said. Captain Strongbow nodded and continued puffing his pipe.
They were on the quarterdeck. Wind creaked the spars and blocks above. Strongbow was a clear eyed, thick, tough man of fifty. "It'll be a fair night, Mister, crisp but not cold." He smiled, adding softly, "Good for our guests, eh?"
The First Mate, as tall and tough and weathered but half his age, was watching them too and grinned.
"Aye aye sir."
Angelique and Malcolm were on the main deck below, leaning on the gunnel close together, staring at the lights of Yokohama. Malcolm wore a topcoat over casual shirt and trousers and soft shoes, and had, for the first time, without too much discomfort, used only one stick while aboard. She wore a heavy red shawl around her shoulders and over a long loose dress. They were near a deck cannon. The ship carried ten thirty-pounders, port and starboard, and bow and stern chasers and their gunners were as good as any in the Navy. That was Strongbow's boast. It did not apply to all their clippers or merchantmen or steamers.
"Pretty, isn't it, my darling wife?" Malcolm said, genuinely happy for one of the few times in his life.
"Tonight everything in the world is pretty, mon amour," she said, nestling closer. It was after dinner and they were waiting until the stateroom, the cabin they were occupying, was cleared of dishes and prepared. The cabin was large and used the whole of the stern, normally the Captain's quarters, unless the tai-pan was aboard--one of the many laws laid down by Dirk Struan, thirty years ago, the fleet still governed by his dictates to the last detaiclass="underline" best pay, cleanliness, training, and fighting readiness.
Strongbow was watching the tide, gauging it. In these waters a change in the tide could herald the coming, hours later, of a tsunami, a giant wave generated maybe a thousand miles away by a sub-ocean earthquake that would engulf anything in its path at sea, and coastal cities when it hit land.
When he felt that the shift had been normal, he looked back at Struan. He was glad to have him aboard, and new orders to sail early tomorrow with all speed for Hong Kong, knowing, as they all knew, Herself had commanded the young man home weeks ago. But he was troubled to be carrying the girl.
My God, damned if I can call her Mrs. Struan--there's only one of them, he was thinking. Young Malcolm married? In spite of Her orders? In spite of Her opposition?