Tyrer's mind, aching with so much concentration--hard to understand this man's speech--instantly realized the far-reaching implications. "This boy Shogun.
How old please?"
"Sixteen year Shogun Nobusada.
Bakufu say what do," Hiraga said again, curbing his irritation, knowing he must be patient.
"Emperor much power but no..." He searched for the word, could not find it so explained another way, "Emperor not 'rike daimyo. Daimyo has samurai, weapon, many. Emperor no samurai, no weapon. Can no make Bakufu obey. Bakufu have armies, Emperor not, wakatta?"
"Hai, Nakama, wakatta." A thousand questions were jostling to be asked and Tyrer knew this man could be a well to be emptied, but it must be done cautiously and this was not the place. He saw the intense concentration on the man's face and wondered how much of what he said Nakama actually understood, reminding himself to speak slowly and as simply as possible. "How many of you fight against the Bakufu?"
"Many." Hiraga slapped at a vagrant mosquito.
"Hundreds, thousands? What sort of people, ordinary people, gardeners, workmen, merchants?"
Hiraga looked at him, bewildered. "They nothing. On'ry serve samurai. On'ry samurai fight. On'ry samurai hav weapon. Kinjiru other have weapons."
Tyrer blinked again. "You're samurai?"
More bewilderment. "Samurai fight. I say fight Bakufu, yes? Nakama samurai!"
Hiraga took off his hat and pulled away the soiled, sweat-stained cloth that served as a turban to reveal his characteristic shaven pate and topknot. Now that Tyrer could see his face clearly, for the first time without the low-brimmed coolie hat and the first time he had really looked at him, he saw the same, hard slanting eyes of a two-sworder, and the vast difference in bone structure from villagers. "When Shenso, captain samurai, see me so, I dead."
Tyrer nodded, his mind amok.
"Easy me es'kape. P'rease, give so'rdier c'rothes."
Tyrer was finding it hard to keep the excitement, and dread, off his face, part of him desperate to flee, the other avaricious to have all this samurai's knowledge that could, no would, be a major key to unlock the world of Nippon and his own future if handled correctly. Just as he was about to blurt out his agreement he remembered Sir William's previous admonition and, thankfully, took time to compose himself.
"Easy es'kape, yes?" Hiraga repeated impatiently.
"Not easy, possible. But risky. First I have to be convinced to be sure you are worth saving."
Tyrer saw the sudden flash of anger--perhaps it was anger together with fear, he could not decide. Christ, samurai! I wish Sir William was here, I'm out of my depth. "Don't think I can r--"
"P'rease," Hiraga said as a supplicant, knowing that this was his only real chance to break out of the trap, but thinking, Hurry up and agree or I shall kill you and try to escape over the wall. "Nakama swear by gods he'rp Taira-san."
"You swear solemnly by your gods you will answer all my questions truthfully?"
"Hai," Hiraga said at once, astounded that Tyrer could be so naive as to ask that question of an enemy or believe his affirmative answer-- surely he cannot be that stupid? What god or gods? There are none. "By gods I swear."
"Wait here. Bolt the door, only open it to me."
Tyrer put the revolver in his pocket, went and found Pallidar and McGregor and took them aside breathlessly. "I need some help. I've found out Ukiya is one of the men wanted by the samurai, it turns out he's a sort of dissident. I want to disguise him as a soldier and sneak him back with us."
Both officers stared at him. Then McGregor said, "Excuse me, sir, but do you think that's wise? I mean the Bakufu are the legal government and if we get caught th--"
"We won't get caught. We just dress him up as a Redcoat and put in the middle of soldiers. Eh, Settry?"
"Yes, we could do that, Phillip, but if he's spotted and we're stopped we'll be up the creek without a paddle."
"Do you have an alternative suggestion?"
Tyrer said, a nervousness to his voice as his fear-excitement rose. "I want him smuggled out. Without his help we would probably all be dead and he will be extremely useful to us."
Uneasily the other two men looked at each other, then at Tyrer. "Sorry, it's too dangerous," Pallidar said.
"I-don't-think-so!" Tyrer snapped, head aching. "I want it done! It's a matter of extreme importance to Her Majesty's Government and that's the end to it!"
McGregor sighed. "Yes sir, very well.
Captain, what about mounting him?"
"As a dragoon? Ridiculous idea, a gardener won't be able to ride for God's sake.
Much better let him march, surround him with sold--"
"Fifty pounds against a brass farthing, the bugger can't keep step, he'll be as obvious as a whore in a Bishop's underpants!"
Then Tyrer said, "What about if we put him in uniform, bandage his face and hands and carry him on a stretcher--pretend he's sick."
The officers looked at him, then beamed. "Good oh!"
"Even better," Pallidar said happily, "we pretend he has some foul disease, smallpox--measles--plague!" In unison they laughed.
The samurai officer and the guards they had agreed to allow within the now empty Legation followed Tyrer, McGregor and four dragoons throughout the house. Their search was meticulous, every room, every cupboard, even the attics. At length he was satisfied. In the hall were two stretchers, on each a soldier, both feverish, both bandaged, one partially, the other, Hiraga, completely--head, feet, and hands--outside his soaking uniform.
"Both very sick," Tyrer said in Japanese, Hiraga having given him the words.
"This soldier has spotted disease."
The very mention of the words caused the samurai to blanche and move back a pace--outbreaks of smallpox were endemic in the cities but never so bad as in China where hundreds of thousands died.
"This... this must be reported," the officer muttered, he and his men covering their mouths as all believed infection and spread of the disease was caused by breathing befouled air near a sufferer.
Tyrer did not understand so he just shrugged.
"Man very sick. Not go near."
"I am not going near him, you think I am mad?" The big man went on to the veranda.
"Listen," he said quietly to his men.
"Don't say a word about this to the others in the square or there may be a panic. Stinking foreign dogs. Meanwhile keep your eyes open, this Hiraga is here somewhere."
They scoured the grounds and outhouses, the full compliment of Legation staff and soldiers drawn up in the shade, waiting impatiently to begin the march down to the wharf and to the waiting boats. At last satisfied, the officer bowed sourly and stalked back through the gates, samurai massed outside, Joun still bound near the front ranks, the petrified gardeners kneeling in a row, all hats off and naked. As he approached they cowered deeper into the dirt.
"Get up!" he said angrily, disgusted that when he had ordered them to strip, not one of them had the shaven pate of a samurai, or any sword cuts, wounds or other sign of samurai status, so he had been forced to conclude his prey was still hiding inside, or had escaped. Now he was even more angry and stomped in front of Joun.
"To disguise himself, the ronin Hiraga has shaved his head or allowed his hair to grow like one of those scum gardeners. Identify him!"
Joun was on his knees, broken, near death.
He had been beaten and brought back to life and beaten and brought back again on Anjo's orders.
"Identify this Hiraga!"
"He's... he's not, not there." The youth cried out as the officer's iron hard foot thudded into his most sensitive parts, then again, the gardeners shivering and terrified. "He's not... not there...." Again the merciless blow. In desperate, helpless agony, beyond himself, Joun pointed at a youngish man who fell on his knees screaming his innocence.