When he reached the alley his strength drained out of him. The Inn of the Forty-seven Ronin and its surrounding fence had vanished.
All that remained was emptiness and the reeking smell and smoking ashes. A few bodies, men and women. Some decapitated, some hacked to pieces. He recognized his comrade shishi, Gota, by his kimono. The mama-san's head was on a spear thrust into the ground. Attached was a sign: It is against the law to harbor criminals and traitors. The official seal below was of the Bakufu, signed by Nori Anjo, chief of the roju.
Hiraga was filled with surging fury but it was icy and merely added more layers to that already within. Those cursed gai-jin, he thought. It is their fault.
Because of them this happened. We will be revenged.
Sunday, 28th September
Sunday, 28th September: Malcolm Struan came out of sleep slowly. His senses probed, testing. He had always known much about mental pain, losing two brothers and a sister; the anguish caused by his father's drunkenness and ever increasing rages; from impatient teachers; from his obsessive need to excel because one day he would be the tai-pan; and from his nagging fear he would be inadequate however much he prepared and trained and hoped and prayed and worked by day and by night, every day and every night of his life-- no real childhood or boyhood like others.
But now as never before he had to test the level of his awakening, to plumb the depth of what physical pain he had to endure today as today's norm, disregarding the sudden, blinding spasms that arrived without warning or logic.
Just a throbbing ache today but better than yesterday. How many days from the Tokaido Road? Sixteen. Sixteenth day.
He allowed himself to become more awake. Truly better than yesterday. Eyes and ears open now.
Room steady in the early light. Clear sky, light wind, no storm.
Two days ago the storm had ceased. It had blown for eight days at typhoon strength, then vanished as quickly as it had arrived. The fleet standing off Yedo had scattered the first day seeking safety at sea. Alone of all the warships, the French flagship had disengaged early, just making it back safely to Yokohama.
No other ships had returned. No need to worry yet, but everyone watched the horizon uneasily, hoping and praying.
During the gales here at Yokohama a merchantman had been blown ashore, some buildings damaged, many cutters and fishing boats lost, havoc wrought in the village and Yoshiwara, many tents in the military encampment on the bluff blown away but no casualties there, or in the Settlement.
We were more than lucky, Struan thought, concentrating on the central problem of his universe. Can I sit up?
A tentative, awkward attempt.
Ayeeyah! Pain, but not too bad. With both arms he pushed further and now he was erect, his hands braced behind him.
Bearable. Better than yesterday. Waiting a moment, then leaning forward, carefully taking his weight off one arm. Still bearable. Weight off both arms. Still bearable. Taking care he pulled the bedclothes off and cautiously tried to swing his legs to the floor. But he could not, the stabbing pain too great. A second try, again failure.
Never mind, I'll try later. He lowered himself as gently as he could. When his weight was off his waist and on his back he sighed with relief.
"Ayeeyah!"
"Patience, Malcolm," Babcott had said every day at every visit--three or four times daily.
"Sod patience!"
"Quite right too--but you really are doing fine."
"And when can I get up?"' "Now if you wish--but I wouldn't advise it."
"How long?"' "Give it a couple of weeks."
He had cursed openly but in many ways he was glad for the reprieve. It gave him more time to consider how he was going to deal with being tai-pan, with his mother, with Angelique, with McFay and pressing business problems.
"What about the guns for Choshu?"' McFay had asked a few days ago. "It'll be a huge continuing business."
"I've an idea. Leave it with me."
"Norbert will have sniffed these Choshus out long since and he's bound to make them an undercutting offer."
"The hell with Norbert and Brock! Their contacts are not as good as ours, and Dmitri, Cooper-Tillman and most of the other American China traders's on our side."
"Except in Hawaii," McFay said sourly.
In the last mail, ten days ago--no further news since then and the bimonthly steamer not expected for another five days--Tess Struan had written:...
The Victoria Bank has betrayed us. I believe they have been secretly supporting Morgan Brock in London with lavish letters of credit. With these, he has secretly bought out or bribed all our Hawaiian agents cornering the whole sugar market, excluding us totally.
Worse, though I've no proof, it's rumoured he has close contacts with the Rebel President Jefferson Davis and his cotton plantation owners, proposing to barter the whole crop against cotton futures for English mills --a deal that would make Tyler and Morgan the richest men in Asia. THIS MUST NOT HAPPEN! I am at my wit's end. Jamie, what do you suggest? Give this dispatch to my son with the same urgent request for help.
"What's your suggestion, Jamie?"' "I don't have one, Mal...
Tai-pan."
"If the deal's done the deal's done and that's the end of it. Say it is, could we intercept the cotton somehow?"' McFay had blinked. "Pirate it?"' Struan had said levelly, "If need be.
Old Man Brock would, he has in the past.
That's one possibility, the cotton will all go in his ships. Second: our Navy breaks the Union blockade and then we can all get all the cotton we want."
"It could, if we declare war on the Union.
Unthinkable!"
"I don't agree. For God's sake, we should come in on Davis's side, Southern cotton's our lifeblood. Then they'll win, otherwise they won't."
"Agreed. But we're equally dependent on the North."
"How do we take away his ships? There must be a way to break the chain. If he can't move the cargo he's bankrupt."
"What would Dirk do?"' "Go for the jugular," Malcolm had replied at once.
"Then that's what we have to find..."
Where and what is it? he asked himself again, lying quietly on the bed, willing his brain to work clearly on this problem and all the others.
Angelique? No, I'll think about her later --but I know I love her more every day.
Thank God I can write letters now. Must write to Mother again, if anyone should know the jugular it's her, isn't Tyler Brock her father and Morgan her brother but how dare she sneer at Angelique's family? Should I write to Angelique's father? Yes, but not yet, there's time enough.
So much other mail to catch up on, books to order from England, Christmas not so far away, the Jockey Club Charity Ball in Hong Kong, Struan's annual Ball to think about, meetings today: Jamie at least twice, Seratard this afternoon --what does he want? What else is planned for today? Phillip's coming to chat again after breakfast... wait a minute, no, not today.
Yesterday Sir William ordered him back to Yedo, to prepare the Legation for the meeting with the Council of Elders in twenty days.
"Will the meeting really take place, Sir William?"' he had asked when the Minister had visited him. With the fleet no longer protecting the Legation, and extensive though not overtly hostile samurai activity all around them, after a few face-saving days Sir William had considered it prudent to return to Yokohama, ostensibly to prepare for the delivery of the indemnity money.
"I think so, Mr. Struan. Perhaps not punctually, but yes the ceremonial will happen approximately then and we will have taken a real leap forward. If they produce the first payment of 5,000 pounds as promised... well, that will be a very good indication. By the way, I understand you've a steamer due to leave today for Hong Kong, could I prevail upon you to allow one of my staff and some urgent mail to go with her--my wife and two sons are expected soon and I have to make plans."