"Sometimes. They're certainly warlike, always battling someone. They've just got a new King and his chief supporter is a big tough prince called Bismarck who's trying to collect all German speakers into one great nation and--"
"P'rease, so sorry, Taira-san, not so fast yes?"
"Ah gomen nasai." Tyrer repeated what he had said but more slowly, answering more questions, never failing to be astounded at their number and extent and range of his proteg`e's enquiring mind. He laughed again. "We must have an agreement, one hour about my world in English, one hour about yours in English, and then a one-hour conversation in Japanese. Hai?"
"Hai. Domo."
Four horsemen going out to the racetrack overtook them, greeted Tyrer and looked Hiraga over curiously. Tyrer greeted them back. At the far end of High Street by the barrier, lines of coolies with the afternoon's shipment of goods and foods began to clear through the Custom House under the watchful eye of the samurai guards. "We'd best hurry, don't want to get mixed up with that lot," he said and crossed the road, picking his way through the horse manure, then stopped abruptly and waved. They had been passing the French Legation. Angelique was standing at her ground floor window, the curtains pulled aside. She smiled and waved back. Hiraga pretended not to have noticed her scrutiny.
"That's the lady Mr. Struan's going to marry," Tyrer said, walking on again.
"Beautiful, isn't she?"
"Hai. That her house, yes?"
"Yes."
"Good night, Mr. McFay. Everything's locked up."
"Thanks. 'night, Vargas." McFay stifled a yawn, continued writing his daily journal, the last job of the day. His desk was clear but for two weeks of newspapers still to be read, his In tray empty, Out tray spilling over with answers to most of today's mail, and orders, bills of lading already completed and signed, ready for collection at sunup when business began.
Vargas absently scratched at a flea bite, a way of life in Asia, and put the key to the strong room on the desk. "Shall I bring you more light?"
"No thanks, I'm almost finished. See you tomorrow."
"The Choshus are due tomorrow, about the guns."
"Yes, I hadn't forgotten, good night."
Now that he was alone in this part of the ground floor McFay felt happier, always pleased to be on his own and always safe within himself. Except for Vargas, all clerks, shroffs and other staff had their own staircase and rooms far to the back of the godown. The communicating door between the two sections was locked nightly. Only Ah Tok and their personal servants stayed in this foresection that contained offices, the strong room where all guns, ledgers, safes with all specie in Mexican silver dollars, gold taels and Japanese coin were kept, and their living quarters on the floor above.
Mail day was always busy and a late night, tonight later than most because the moment he had got the last installment of Great Expectations from Nettlesmith, he had rushed upstairs and shared his allotted hour, page by relished page with Malcolm Struan, then had come down again delighted and satisfied that all had worked out for Pip and the girl and that a new Dickens epic would be announced in next month's edition.
The grandfather clock was ticking pleasantly.
He wrote rapidly with a fine clear hand: MS was enraged with his mother's letter in today's mail (Steamship Swift Wind, a day late, one man lost overboard in storm off Shanghai, also she had to run the gauntlet in the Shimonoseki Straits, the shore batteries firing perhaps twenty rounds, without hurt, thank God!). My reply to my Mrs. S's cannonade today was honeyed (she has not yet heard about the party that will cause an explosion from Hong Kong to Java) but doubt if it will smooth any waters.
I informed her that A had moved over to the French Legation but don't think that will mean a damn to Mrs. S, though MS was fretful all day that A hadn't visited him and again swore at Ah Tok, putting her in a filthy mood--which she passed on to all the other servants, ayeeyah!
I must record in spite of all his pain that MS is much wiser than I imagined, with an excellent grasp of business generally, international trade and now accepts my view that there is great potential here. We discussed the Brock problem and agreed there was nothing to be done from here but as soon as he returned to HK, he would deal with them. Again he refused to consider returning on the mail ship--Hoag fence sits and is not my ally, saying the longer Malcolm rests here, the better--a bad voyage could be traumatic.
Had a first meeting with this Japanese Nakama (that has to be an alias) who is certainly more than he pretends to be. A samurai, a ronin outlaw, who can speak some English, who would cut his hair because he has decided to give up his samurai status, who seeks to wear our clothes, has to be out of the ordinary, and watched carefully. If half of what he says is true, then we have made--through Tyrer, bless him--a major intelligence step forward. Pity that Nakama knows nothing about business, his only usable information was that Osaka is Japan's main business center, not Yedo, so all the more reason to press for the opening of that city as soon as possible. Nakama is certainly to be cultivated and...
There was a tap on one of the shutters. He glanced at the clock, almost ten. An hour late. Never mind, Asian time's different to our time.
Without haste he got up, slipped the small revolver into the side pocket of his frock coat, went to his private door and unlocked it. Outside were two women muffled in hooded cloaks, with a man servant. They all bowed.
He beckoned the women in, gave a few coins to the man who thanked him, bowed again and went back down the side alley towards the Yoshiwara.
McFay re-locked the door. "Heya, Nemi, you all same pretty, neh?" He smiled and hugged one of them.
The girl beamed at him from under her hood, a sparkle to her, his musume for a year and kept by him for half that time. "Heya, Jami-san, you-ah gud, heya? This musume my sister, Shizuka. Pretti, neh?"
Nervously the other girl moved her hood aside, forced a smile. He began to breathe again --Shizuka was as young as Nemi, as attractive and fragrant. "Hai!" he said, and both were relieved that she had passed initial scrutiny. This was the first time McFay had ever arranged a girl for someone else. Awkwardly, he had asked Nemi to make sure the mama-san understood the girl was for the tai-pan and therefore had to be special. Both girls were in their early twenties, barely coming up to his shoulder, both more at ease now though completely aware the real hurdle had yet to be surmounted.
"Shizuka, I please you see. Tai-pan top man," he said kindly, then to Nemi, patting his side where Struan's wound was, "She understand about wound, neh?"
Nemi nodded, her white teeth sparkling.
"Hai, I 'sp'rain, Jami-san! Dozo, 'reave coat here, or up'stair?"
"Upstairs."
He led the way up the great staircase, well lit with oil lamps, Nemi chattering to the new girl who was all eyes. It was his custom, from time to time, to send for Nemi to spend the night here, the manservant returning just before dawn to escort her back to the little dwelling he had bought for her within the grounds of her house, the Inn of Succulent Joy. Ten gold sovereigns it had cost him for a five-year lease for the house after days of haggling. Another ten for her contract for the same period, plus extra for a new kimono each month, hairdressing, a personal maid, and all found, with sak`e.
"But Mama-san, what if fire burn house down, heya?"' he had asked, appalled that he was agreeing to such a huge price though the extraordinarily advantageous exchange rate gave them a profit of four hundred percent most months--meant that almost everyone could keep a pony or two, consume champagne at will, and more importantly guaranteed that Nemi's running expenses would not amount to more than a few pounds yearly.