"I'll try," he said, purporting to be confident, not forgetting he was still Hiraga's prisoner, the sword too near. "Can't guarantee anything but I'll try. Where will you be?"
Hiraga was satisfied, his gamble immense though with room left to maneuver. He had convinced Taira, now again on his side. The gai-jin leader would be an ally. "You keep sekret?"
"Of course."
"Send word to Raiko. I can meet in vi'rage or here. You say where, Taira-sama.
Think sooner is better, for ship, neh?"
"Yes. I'll send you a message tomorrow, or come myself." Cautiously Tyrer began to stand.
Hiraga beamed. "You go Fujiko?"
Gloom descended instantly. "There's no Fujiko anymore."
"What? What you mean p'rease?"
Tyrer told him and he saw Hiraga's face flush.
"But you have promise, Taira-sama. Me, I t'awk, arrange with Raiko, neh?"
"Yes, but now the contract's off. Raiko says..." Tyrer stopped, frightened by the look on Hiraga's face.
"Wait, p'rease!" Hiraga stormed out.
Tyrer peered out of a side window. No one in sight, only waving branches and the smell of sea salt in the air--run while you've the chance, he told himself but then, suddenly, desperately, he wanted to urinate. He used the bucket in the bathroom and felt better. Now he was hungry. And thirsty. He looked around.
No teapot, no water jug. His hunger and thirst were grinding--like Hiraga's idea was grinding. No way to satisfy either. Without Sir William's benevolence Hiraga would be a child in the wilderness. Even Jamie couldn't help much, now that he was out of Struan's. Why should he or anyone help? There was no quid pro quo. Again he peered out of the little window.
Get out while you can, he thought and went for the door. Then he heard footsteps. He rushed back to his cushion. The shoji was flung open.
Raiko was shoved on her knees in front of him, Hiraga towering menacingly in the doorway.
"Oh so sorry, Taira-sama," Raiko said, stumbling over the words in abject haste to apologize and placate him, "oh so sorry, I made a terrible mistake...."
Her words were a fountain. Tyrer understood little of them though he got their message clearly.
"Enough," he said firmly. "Bring contract now.
I sign."
Meekly she brought out the scroll from her sleeve and offered it.
"Wait," Hiraga ordered. "Give it to me!"
She obeyed instantly and put her head down again. He scanned the short document, grunted.
"This as agree, Taira-sama, you sign 'rater," he said in English again. "This person ..." he pointed angrily at Raiko, "says make mistake, says Fujiko begs honor to see you now, so sorry for the mistake. Her mistake. Baka!" he snapped at her, adding in Japanese, "Treat this lord properly or I'll destroy this Teahouse! Make sure Fujiko is ready, very ready. Now."
"Hai, Hiraga-sama!" Mumbling profuse apologies she fled.
Once safely away, she chortled, delighted with her performance, with Hiraga's ploy, and that the deal was done.
Tyrer, elated, thanked Hiraga too happy to worry about how his obvious friend had changed her so quickly. We'll never understand some things about these people. "I'll sign the contract and bring it back tomorrow."
"Take time, keep woman dog waiting."
Hiraga smiled and gave him the scroll. "Now I take you Fujiko.
Ikimasho."
"Domo arigato gozaimashita."
Tyrer bowed as a Japanese would bow to someone owed a considerable favor.
"Friend he'rp friend," Hiraga said simply.
Later that evening Tyrer awoke, completely satisfied. His timepiece read 9:20.
Perfect, he thought. He lay beside Fujiko who was fast asleep, the futons and feather coverlets as clean and sweet-smelling as she was, warm and comfortable--so much better than his bed, rough straw mattress and heavy woolen blankets with their dank smell. The sheen of her skin was golden in the candlelight, the tiny room golden and snug, with the wind worrying the roof and shoji walls and flames.
Another short nap, he thought, and then I'll leave.
Don't be silly. There's no need to go back tonight. All papers for tomorrow's Yoshi meeting are ready, a copy of the Treaty in Japanese and English in Wee Willie's briefcase and double-checked this afternoon. The agreed battle plan against Sanjiro of Satsuma is ready in the safe for his and Ketterer's signature. I'll be up with the dawn, bright as a mint-new golden guinea--after the Hiraga shock-u and Raiko's bigger shock-u I deserve a treat. He smiled, shock-u, sounding so Japanese. A contented sigh, good old Nakama, I mean Hiraga. He yawned and closed his eyes. And nestled closer. Fujiko did not awaken but opened herself to him.
In another part of the gardens Hinodeh waited impatiently for Andr`e, due any moment now, Raiko had warned, almost ill with anticipation.
Raiko was slouched in her own quarters, drinking sak`e. Soon she would turn to brandy and to oblivion, the drink swilling away all bad thoughts: her fear and loathing for Hiraga and her hopes for him, her terror over Meikin and esteem for her revenge intermingled with each emptied cup.
Across the garden, hidden in his safe house Hiraga sat in the classic Lotus position meditating to clear the foul headache that the Katsumata news and Tyrer had caused.
Soon Akimoto would return. Then he would decide about Takeda.
Over the next fence in a garden house of the Teahouse of Cherries, Akimoto was sak`e drunk. Lolling across from him, Takeda belched and quaffed his beer. Another sak`e flask was emptied blearily until it slid from Akimoto's fingers. His head drifted to his arms. He began to snore. Takeda smiled, not nearly as drunk as he had pretended.
When he was sure Akimoto was asleep, he slid the shoji open and closed it after him. The night was cold, the wind strong from the south. It whipped around him, ruffling his thatch of uncomfortable, stubbled hair. He scratched vigorously checking the part of the gardens he could see. A maid with a tray hurried from a bungalow to the main building. In the distance he heard men singing drunkenly and a samisen. Somewhere a dog barked. When the maid had vanished, he put on his dark padded jacket, stuck his swords in his belt, stepped into his straw sandals and darted down the path, turned onto another, then another until he was near the fence.
His cache was under a bush. Five bombs that he and Hiraga had made, with fuses of various lengths.
The bombs were constructed from two sections of giant bamboo tied together, a third of a yard long, half that wide, the hollows of one packed tightly with Katsumata's extra gunpowder, the other with oil, and plugged. Quickly he fused three bombs using the longest fuses he had, about a candle of time each--nearly two hours. The fuses were made of cotton rope, impregnated with a gunpowder solution and allowed to dry. He armed the remaining two with fuses for half that time.
A last look at the sky. Clouds raced with the wind. Good. He picked up two long-fused bombs and was gone, melding nicely with the night, through the secret fence door into the garden of the Three Carp that was south of the Cherries and headed for the southernmost garden house, like all of them, raised half a yard on low pilings. It was occupied and illuminated. Warily he crawled under it. He lit the fuse with a flint, the noise deadened by the wind. The fuse caught. A woman's footstep sounded above and he froze. Sound of the shoji being opened. After a moment it closed again.
Errant leaves heaped over the spluttering fuse concealed it almost completely and once more he was away, a shadow amongst shadows--to duck into the shrubbery seeing a gai-jin coming down the path. The man passed without noticing him, then again he was in motion, running for the main Teahouse building.
Another fire bomb was settled there neatly.
Now back through the fence, avoiding a servant, waiting for a portly old maid to trundle by, reaching the cache, there to collect the last of the long-fuse bombs and hastening away again. This he lit and placed under his own house, Akimoto's snores rumbling above. Takeda's lips drew back with his smile. A last time he darted back to the cache, sweating and euphoric. So far, all according to Ori's plan. Hiraga was gai-jin infected. So was Akimoto. He was not. He would do it alone.