"Quite right," Sir William said loudly, overriding both of them as Seratard's face matched the Admiral's and he volubly began to disagree. "In any event it would be a political decision. For London and Paris."
"Political be damned," the Admiral said, jowls shaking with rage. "A dozen of our best warships in the hands of those scallywags when you see what they can do with a couple of swords? I'm totally opposed!"
"So am I," Sir William said smoothly, "totally, and will so recommend."
"What?"' "I totally agree with you. Such a major decision is entirely up to the Admiralty, assisted by the Foreign Office. Paris likewise. Not a thing we can do but report to our superiors. You should do likewise. Thank God Japanese authorities at long last approve our right to proceed against guilty parties ourselves. Don't you agree, Admiral?"' "If you're talking about your proposed, ill-advised punitive strike, here, there or anywhere, it's not yet approved by the Admiralty so it's not approved by me. I suggest we go back aboard Pearl before the rain starts..."
Sir William sighed and looked out of a wardroom porthole. The rain had stopped temporarily, the sea was still leaden but his spirit wasn't. He had the indemnity money, there was no immediate need now to flatten Yedo and through this Yoshi we'll help modernize Japan, he thought.
We'll make a happy place for it in the family of nations, happy for them as well as us.
Far better we do it and instill British virtues than the French implant French ones, though their wines and attitudes to food and fornication are far superior to ours.
Yes. Except in fornication the Japanese will benefit. In that their attitude is without doubt superior. Pity we can't import that into our society but the Queen would never stand for it.
Dreadful shame, but that's life. We'll just have to bless our luck to be living here--once we've civilized them. "Henri, let's get some air."
He was glad to be back on deck. The wind was sea salt heavy, sharp and wholesome, the frigate under sail now, making way nicely.
Marlowe was on the bridge--officers and men on deck or in the shrouds achingly aware of the Admiral who sat in the bridge sea chair, sourly hunched into his greatcoat. "For God's sake, Marlowe, take her closer to the wind."
"Aye aye, sir."
Sir William was not an expert but that seemed to be a pedantic and unnecessary order. Bloody man! Still, can't blame him for wanting confirming orders, it's his neck if anything goes wrong.
When the frigate swung on to a new tack his grip tightened on the gunnel. He loved the sea and being on it, particularly on the deck of a British warship, proud that the ships of Empire possessed the sea as much as any ships could rule the waves. Ketterer's right about not wanting to create another navy, he thought, not with these men-- the French, American and Prussian navies are enough trouble as it is.
He looked aft.
Aft, over the horizon, was Yedo. Yedo and Yoshi spell trouble whichever way you look at it, whatever the rosy future he promised.
Ahead was Yokohama. More trouble there but never mind, tonight Angelique's my dinner partner-- I'm glad she didn't leave but still don't understand why. Doesn't that play even more into Tess Struan's hands?
Strange to think of Angelique without Malcolm Struan. Sorry he had such bad luck but he's gone and we're alive and he isn't. Joss. Who'll be tai-pan now? Young Duncan's only ten, last of the Struan boys.
Terrible for Tess, more tragedy to bear. Wouldn't be surprised if this didn't finish her. Always admired her for her courage, carrying the load of Culum and the Brocks, not to mention Dirk Struan.
Well, I did my best for Tess, and for Malcolm--alive and dead. And for Angelique.
When she leaves there'll be an emptiness that won't be filled easily. Hope she regains the youth she's lost, that's another sadness but she's got a whole life in front of her--if she has his child or if she doesn't. Betting's still evens.
Commands on the bridge attracted his attention for a moment but it was nothing urgent, just adding more sail. The wind was humming the shrouds. The frigate picked up speed. Their moorings were under an hour away. Sunset a good two hours.
Plenty of time to bring Nakama to heel before dinner.
Sunset was just a lowering of light, the sun dying behind a blanket of clouds, regretting the loss of the day.
Hiraga said to the group of fishermen, "That boat will do--no fishing tackle, but oars and sail are included." He was on the beach near Drunk Town and he paid the owner what had been asked without bargaining, still unwilling to lose face by negotiating though he knew now--too well hammered into him by Mukfey--that he was being cheated and overcharged and that this man and his compatriots would laugh at him as soon as they were out of sight. He knew he was to blame because he was dressed like a gai-jin and not properly with swords.
Half of him wanted to scream and lash out at their bad manners and have them crawling on the beach, begging for the privilege of giving him the boat. The other half counselled patience: You have done what you must do, the boat is yours, tomorrow you die with honor in the cause of sonno-joi, these lice have no more value than the barnacles on the filthy little vessel they sell.
"Leave everything in the boat," he said.
Unctuously the owner bowed and grovelled his way out of range, then, with his comrades, walked away, blessing their luck for a double profit.
The boat was an ordinary little fishing boat for one to three men with a small sail and single stern oar. Part of samurai training was the use of boats on short distances to traverse rivers or to reach offshore coastal ships or galleys, so they could all handle it. The news that he had bought one would fly around the village but that did not matter. By the time the shoya and others had worked out its probable use, the revelation would be too late.
Satisfied the boat was safe, he began to walk through Drunk Town, through the crowded alleys, stepping over drunks and garbage, disgusted with the filth. Taira says his London is the cleanest, biggest wealthiest city in the world but I do not believe him--not if so many of his kind live like this, with the rest of the Settlement not much better. Taking a shortcut he crossed into a smaller alley. Men passed by, beggars held their hands out, eyes peered suspiciously from doorways but no one bothered him.
No Man's Land was as always, weed-covered and stinking, the main refuse dump of the Settlement.
A few ragged scavengers raked through the latest pile of trash. They glanced at him briefly.
His eyes went to the rickety well head. The broken wooden cover that hid the secret passage to the Yoshiwara seemed untouched.
Ori's face fleetingly came from his memory and the time they were below, when he was ready to kill him and Ori had thrown, pretended to throw, the golden cross into the depths. Ori was baka to waste his life over that woman. We could use him tomorrow.
He shoved Ori out of his mind.
Now his whole being was committed to the attack.
All reasoning against it had vanished. There was a consensus, Akimoto gleefully in favor, Takeda, and the Sensei. Therefore he was also. The boat was ready. Now he would collect Akimoto and they would go back and finalize the plan. In reality he was glad. He would die in a blaze of glory doing the Emperor's wishes.
What more could a samurai desire from life?
With the suddenness of an ice bath he was shocked from euphoria and disappeared into a doorway. Three Redcoats stood outside the shoya's house, two more were emerging from the nearby hovel he and Akimoto rented. Akimoto was between them, calling out at the top of his voice one of the few English phrases he had learned: "So sorry, no 'unnerstan Nakama!"
"Not-a-knowledge-a-more-a," the Sergeant said slowly and loudly. "Where is he?" Then louder, "Where Nakama?"