Sir William, a greatcoat over his pajamas, had taken charge of the Legation defense. Down by the surf Pallidar was supervising dragoons connecting pumps to the sea through long canvas hoses. He looked back to see the General hurry out of the night, an engineer officer alongside, a detachment of soldiers with him, to stop in front of Sir William.
"I'm heading for Drunk Town and the village," the General said, out of breath.
"Plan to blow up some houses to make a fire break--with your permission. All right?"
"Yes, do what you can, it might work. If the wind doesn't drop we're finished, hurry!"
"Happened to be watching from the bluff, looked like three of four fires started in the Yoshiwara, same time, different areas."
"Good God, you mean arson?"
"Don't know, but whether it was an Act of God or the Devil or a bloody arsonist, this'll burn us out!" With the engineers he raced into the night.
Sir William saw the Admiral trudging up the beach from the Legation wharf where more sailors and marines were landing. "Boats are ready to evacuate," Ketterer said. "We've stores enough for the whole population. We can assemble them along the beach, should be safe enough."
"Good. This could be dicey."
"Yes. Completely changes our plans, what?"
"'fraid so. Couldn't have happened at a worse time." God-cursed fire, Sir William thought angrily. Complicates everything --the Yoshi meeting tomorrow and bombardment of Kagoshima, and just when Ketterer had finally agreed to obey instructions. What the devil do we do, evacuate or what? Put everyone aboard the fleet and sail back to Hong Kong with our tails between our legs, or move everyone to Kanagawa and to hell with what the Japanese might do? Can't. Kanagawa's a worse trap, bay's too shallow for the fleet to be useful.
He glanced at Ketterer. The Admiral's face was hard and weatherbeaten, the small eyes fixed in the distance. He'll plump for Hong Kong, he thought sickened. Damn this wind!
Down the street MacStruan had ladders against the side of his building. Servants and clerks handed up buckets of water to others perched there dousing the shingles. Next door at Brock's, Gornt and others were doing the same.
"Christ, look!" someone shouted. Now fires blanketed the whole of the village and Drunk Town skyline. The wind was blistering hot and furious in their faces, rushing at them, taunting them.
"Mon Dieu," Angelique murmured.
She wore a heavy coat over her nightdress, head scarf and had dressed hastily at the first warning and fled outside. It was evident the fires would reach them soon, so she scurried back indoors, up to her room. Rapidly she stuffed her brushes and combs and salves and creams and rouge into a bag, her best lingerie next. A moment of thought, and then no longer frightened, she opened the window, shouted at Ah Soh below to stay there and began throwing dresses and coats to her.
Ah Soh sniffled and did not move. MacStruan, close by, cursed her into motion and pointed across the road to their jetty where clerks already guarded boxes of papers, stores and rifles, Vargas and others sweating more parcels into place, MacStruan having decided to chance leaving their specie, bullion and certain documents in their iron safe.
"You motherless whore, Ah Soh," he shouted in perfect Cantonese, "take tai-tai's things over there, guard them and stay there even if the fires of hell fall on you or I'll beat the soles of your feet to pulp!" She obeyed instantly. "Angelique," he called out with a laugh, "we'll get plenty of warning, stay in the warm until I call for you!"
"Thanks, Albert." She saw Gornt looking up at her from next door. He waved.
She waved back. Now there was no fear in her.
Albert would warn her in good time, safety lay across the road or in boats collecting on and near the shore. Her mind was clean of worry.
Earlier she had decided how to handle Andr`e and Skye and the Woman in Hong Kong. And Gornt tomorrow, and what to do.
Humming Mozart, she took out her brush and sat in front of her mirror to make herself much more presentable for all of them. It was like old times.
Now, what shall I wear, what would be best?
Raiko followed the burly servant amidst the remains of her Inn. He carried an oil lamp and led the way carefully, using stepping stones where he could, skirting bad patches of embers that glowed overbrightly, a warning in the dark, fanned by the hot, acrid air. Her face was blackened, hair heavy with ash and dust, her kimono scorched and in tatters. Both wore smoke masks, yet they coughed and wheezed from time to time. "Go more to the left," she croaked, throat dry, continuing her inspection, only stubs of stone supports, in neat square patterns above ashes, indicating where dwellings had been.
"Yes Mistress." They plodded onwards.
Above the noise of the wind they could vaguely hear others calling, an occasional cry of pain and weeping, distant fire bells from the village and Settlement that were burning furiously. She was over her initial panic. Fires happen. They were the work of the gods. Never mind, I'm alive.
Tomorrow I will find out what caused the fire, if it was an explosion as some were claiming, though in the uproar this foul wind could play tricks with hearing, and the bang could easily have been an ill-placed oil jar falling into the kitchen fires and bursting where the blaze began. The Three Carp is gone. So are all the others, or almost all.
I'm not ruined, not yet.
A group of courtesans and maids, many crying, appeared out of the night, a few of them scorched. She recognized women from the Green Dragon. None of her own girls. "Stop crying," she ordered. "Go to the Sixteen Orchids--everyone is collecting there. It's not badly damaged, there'll be beds for all, food and drink. Help those who are hurt. Where's Chio-san?" This was their mama-san.
"We haven't seen her," said one through her tears, "I was with a client, it was all I could do to hurry out with him to the underground shelter."
"Good, run along, go that way and be careful,"
Raiko said, satisfied, pleased with herself, remembering that when the Yoshiwara was being built, just over two years ago, and mama-sans had been selected by their Guild--with prior, expensive approval of that department of Bakufu--she had suggested that each Teahouse have a fireproof cellar built near the central structure, and for further prudence to put their brick fire-safes below ground level. Not all of the mama-sans approved, saying the added expense was not merited.
Never mind, it's their loss. Let's see how many wail and beat their breasts tomorrow that they didn't follow my example.
She had just finished inspecting hers. Steps led down to the iron-sheathed door. The interior was unblemished. All valuables were safe, all contracts, indentures, debt papers, loans made to the Gyokoyama and bank statements, IOU'S, best linens and dress kimonos--both hers and the Ladies' as good as new in their wrappers. From the beginning it had been her policy that all expensive linens and clothes that were not to be worn and used that evening, had to be put away underground, almost always to groans at the extra work.
There won't be groans this dawn, she thought.
To her immense relief all her ladies, staff and clients were accounted for, except Fujiko, Hinodeh, Teko, Furansu-san and Taira, two servants, two maids still missing. But that did not worry her.
They were surely safe elsewhere. A servant had seen a gai-jin, perhaps two running safely towards the Gate.
Namu Amida Butsu, she prayed, let them all be safe, and bless me for my wisdom making sure that my people were well rehearsed with fire drills.
The horror of Yedo's Yoshiwara conflagration, twelve years before, had taught her the lesson. That fire had almost killed her and her client, a rich rice merchant in the Gyokoyama. She had saved him by waking him from his drunken stupor, staying to drag him out at the risk of her own life. Escaping through the gardens they had suddenly found themselves surrounded by fire and trapped, but they had rescued themselves from death by furiously digging a trench in the soft earth with her obi dagger, allowing the fire to pass over them.