No mistake, Hiraga wanted to shout, that's the code name Katsumata gave her--so he sent her into that hornet's nest, but why? "Which way did he go? Lord Yoshi?"
"There are forty samurai accompanying him, all mounted but carrying no banners, and Lord Yoshi himself, as I said, was disguised. They slipped out of Kyoto just before dawn, three days ago, heading along the Tokaido, a forced march, my masters presume for Yedo." The shoya hid his astonishment at the vehemence in the young man's face.
"Forced march you say? They could reach Kanagawa, when?" The last way station before Yedo. "In ten or twelve more days?"
"Ah, yes, you are probably right though with two women travelling... my message said both were riding--oh, I already mentioned that--and oh yes, I forgot, Lord Yoshi was disguised as a common ashigari, yes I suppose it is possible to reach Kanagawa then."
Dazed, Hiraga swallowed more sak`e, hardly tasting it, accepted another cup, thanked him for the information, saying they would meet tomorrow and left to go to the village hovel he shared with Akimoto.
Outside the village streets were quiet.
Shops closed at nightfall. Lights behind shoji screens made the huts and hovels inviting. Wearily, and in turmoil over the news, he took off his top hat and ruffled his hair, scratching his scalp, still not completely accustomed to wearing his hair European style, though lately hardly noticed the discomfort of trousers and waistcoat, glad for them against the season's cold. Even scratching vigorously did not help the confusion and ache in his head so he sat on a nearby bench--squatting difficult in tight trousers--and stared at the sky.
Koiko! He remembered the two times he had been with her, once for an evening and once for the night. Eeee, both had been expensive, so expensive, but worth it. Katsumata had told him that never again would he perceive such texture of skin or silky hair or such fragrance, or such kind, gentle laughter in a woman's eyes, or experience the ultimate, exploding warmth that made you want to die, you had so much joy.
"Ah, Hiraga, to die then,"
Katsumata had said, "at such a high point, to carry that with you beyond--if there is a beyond--would be perfection. Or if there is no beyond, to be certain at the leap into nothingness you have experienced the best, to die at the zenith would surely be a totality of life?"' "True, but such waste. Why train her for Yoshi?"' "Because he is a major key to sonno-joi, for or against, because she is the only one I have ever known who might possibly enthrall him and so move him to our side, or be positioned to send him onwards. He may be the key to sonno-joi, for or against--that's our secret, yours and mine--of course he dies at a time of our choosing anyway."
Then has Katsumata sent Sumomo to be the dagger of the deed? Or is it to keep Koiko safe from betrayers, or even to guard Yoshi from a traitor within?
So many questions, so much unanswered.
He got up and walked off again, his head aching worse than ever. Tomorrow Akimoto was going with Taira aboard a warship. Hiraga had asked to go but had been refused: "So sorry,"
Tyrer had told him, "Sir William said this friend of yours, Mr. Saito, may go, but only him. Of course no weapons. I understand his family is the biggest shipbuilder in Shimonoseki, eh?"' "Yes, Taira-sama. His father fami'ry."
"But samurai are not allowed to be in business."
"That is correct, Taira-sama," he had said quickly, the man too apt a pupil, making the lie sound truthful. "But many samurai fami'ries make arrangement with money 'renders and boat makers to do work, neh? This man important sea fami'ry."
A week ago he had introduced the subject of Akimoto, with that fiction, during one of his endless meetings with Sir William where he stood and answered questions, learning little in exchange.
"His name is Saito, Sir W'ram, fami'ry rich, he visit here want to see great British Navy ships, hear great stories about great British Navy. Perhaps you and he can make together, can great ship making factory."
It was not altogether a lie. For generations Akimoto's forebearers had lived in a fishing village, one of the three ashigari families there who acted as a kind of policemen for Hiraga's father, head of the nearby hirazamurai-ranked family, also for generations. Akimoto personally, had always been interested in the sea and warships.
Hiraga's father had arranged for Akimoto to join the Choshu samurai school, ordering him to learn all he could from the Dutch seaman who was the sensei, because, soon, daimyo Ogama would need officers to captain Choshu ships, and to lead their navy.
"Eeee, Cousin," Akimoto had said the day before yesterday, "I cannot believe you persuaded them to let me learn their war secrets."
Hiraga sighed. He had noticed that anything to do with "business" got immediate gai-jin attention.
Poetry, not at all, calligraphy nothing, sword-forging a little, politics, yes, but only as it affected trade, but an opportunity to make something to sell for profit--anything, a ship or cannon or cup or knife or length of silk--brought instant results. They're worse than rich dealers! Their food is money.
Last night Akimoto had been in his cups, rare for him, and started to ramble about money and gai-jin and being near them, "You are right, Hiraga, that's one of their secrets: money worship. Money! How clever you are to smell out that so soon! Look at that dog of a shoya!
Look how he is all ears when you start to tell him what Taira or that other gai-jin dog gleefully say about their dirty business methods, and how they extort money from others any way they can, calling it profit, as though profit is a clean word, feeding off each other like lice.
When you talk about money does not that old fish head shoya bring out his best sak`e to encourage you to tell more and more? Of course he does. He is just like them, worshipping money, gathering it from us samurai, putting us deeper into debt every year when he creates nothing, nothing! We should kill him and do what Ori said, burn this stinking cesspool--"' "Calm yourself! What's wrong?"' "I do not want to calm down, I want action, a fight, attack! I am tired of sitting and waiting." Akimoto was flushed, breathing heavily, eyes bloodshot and not just from the liquor. His huge fist pounded the tatami.
"And I am tired of you studying all night, your head in a book, if you're not careful you will ruin your eyes and ruin your sword arm and then you will be dead. Attack, that is what we are here for--I want sonno-joi now, not later!"
"Without knowledge and patience... how many times do I have to tell you? You become like Ori, or that fool Shorin, why be so anxious to put your head in the Enforcer's garrote?"' "I'm not and... Eeee, Hiraga, you're right, please excuse me but..." The words had trailed off and he saw him swallow more sak`e.
"What is really troubling you? The truth."
Akimoto hesitated. "I heard from my father." He began haltingly but soon the words were pouring out. "A letter came through the mama-san at Kanagawa... there's famine in the village, in the whole area, your family is hurting too, so sorry to tell you. Two of my little cousins have died. Three of my uncles gave up samurai class and their swords--they sold them as part payment for debts to the moneylender, swords that were used in Sekigahara--to become fishermen, at least they are working the nets for boat owners, dawn to dusk, to get a few cash! Tomiko, she an aunt's widowed daughter who was living with us, she had to sell her little girl to a child broker. She was given enough to feed the rest of her family for half a year--her two sons and her invalid father. A week later she left the money in a teapot for my mother to find and threw herself off the cliff. Her note said her heart was broken having to sell her own child but the money could help the family and not be wasted on another useless mouth..."