“Of course, Tsukku-san.”
“I apologize for being so devious, Sire, but we have had to formulate a plan. The cannon do not belong to us. Please give me one moment.” Alvito turned to dell’Aqua. “Everything is arranged about the cathedral, Eminence.” Then to Ferriera he added, beginning their agreed plan: “You will be glad you did not sink him, Captain-General. Lord Toranaga asks if you would carry ten thousand ducats of gold for him when you leave with the Black Ship for Goa, to invest in the gold market in India. We would be delighted to help in the transaction through our usual sources there, placing the gold for you. Lord Toranaga says half the profit is yours.” Both Alvito and dell’Aqua had decided that by the time the Black Ship had turned about, in six months, Toranaga either would be reinstated as President of the Regents and therefore more than pleased to permit this most profitable transaction, or he would be dead. “You should easily clear four thousand ducats profit. At no risk.”
“In return for what concession? That’s more than your annual subsidy from the King of Spain for your whole Society of Jesus in Asia. In return for what?”
“Lord Toranaga says pirates prevent him leaving the harbor. He would know better than you if they’re pirates.”
Ferriera replied in the same matter-of-fact voice that both knew was only for Toranaga’s benefit, “It’s ill-advised to put your faith in this man. His enemy holds all the royal cards. All the Christian kings are against him. Certainly the main two, I heard them with my own ears. They said this Jappo’s the real enemy. I believe them and not this motherless cretin.”
“I’m sure Lord Toranaga knows better than us who are pirates and who are not,” dell’Aqua told him unperturbed, knowing the solution as Alvito knew the solution. “I suppose you’ve no objection to Lord Toranaga’s dealing with the pirates himself?”
“Of course not.”
“You have plenty of spare cannon aboard,” the Visitor said. “Why not give him some privately. Sell him some, in effect. You sell arms all the time. He’s buying arms. Four cannon should be more than enough. It would be easy to transship them in the longboat, with enough powder and shot, again privately. Then the matter is solved.”
Ferriera sighed. “Cannon, my dear Eminence, are useless aboard the galley. There are no gun ports, no gun ropes, no gun stanchions. They can’t use cannon, even if they had the gunners, which they don’t.”
Both priests were flabbergasted. “Useless?”
“Totally.”
“But surely, Don Ferriera, they can adapt . . .”
“That galley’s incapable of using cannon without a refit. It would take at least a week.”
“Nan ja?” Toranaga said suspiciously, aware that something was amiss however much they had tried to hide it.
“What is it, Toranaga asks,” Alvito said.
Dell’Aqua knew the sand had run out on them. “Captain-General, please help us. Please. I ask you openly. We’ve gained enormous concessions for the Faith. You must believe me and yes, you must trust us. You must help Lord Toranaga out of the harbor somehow. I beg you on behalf of the Church. The cathedral alone is an enormous concession. Please.”
Ferriera allowed none of the ecstasy of victory to show. He even added a token gravity to his voice. “Since you ask help in the Church’s name, Eminence, of course I’ll do what you ask. I’ll get him out of this trap. But in return I want the Captain-Generalship of next year’s Black Ship whether this year’s is successful or not.”
“That’s the personal gift of the King of Spain, his alone. That’s not mine to bestow.”
“Next: I accept the offer of his gold, but I want your guarantee that I’ll have no trouble from the Viceroy at Goa, or here, about the gold or about either of the Black Ships.”
“You dare to hold me and the Church to ransom?”
“This is merely a business arrangement between you, me, and this monkey.”
“He’s no monkey, Captain-General. You’d better remember it.”
“Next: Fifteen percent of this year’s cargo instead of ten.”
“Impossible.”
“Next: To keep everything tidy, Eminence, your word before God—now—that neither you nor any of the priests under your jurisdiction will ever threaten me with excommunication unless I commit a future act of sacrilege, which none of this is. And further, your word that you and the Holy Fathers will actively support me and help these two Black Ships—also before God.”
“And next, Captain-General? Surely that’s not all? Surely there’s something else?”
“Last: I want the heretic.”
Mariko stared down at Blackthorne from the cabin doorway. He lay in a semicoma on the floor, retching his innards out. The bosun was leaning against the bunk leering at her, the stumps of his yellow teeth showing.
“Is he poisoned, or is he drunk?” she asked Totomi Kana, the samurai beside her, trying without success to close her nostrils to the stench of the food and the vomit, to the stench of the ugly seaman in front of her, and to the ever present stench from the bilges that pervaded the whole ship. “It almost looks as though he’s been poisoned, neh?”
“Perhaps he has, Mariko-san. Look at that filth!” The samurai waved distastefully at the table. It was strewn with wooden platters containing the remains of a mutilated haunch of roast beef, blood rare, half the carcass of a spitted chicken, torn bread and cheese and spilled beer, butter and a dish of cold bacon-fat gravy, and a half emptied bottle of brandy.
Neither of them had ever seen meat on a table before.
“What d’you want?” the bosun asked. “No monkeys in here, wakarimasu? No monkey-sans this-u room-u!” He looked at the samurai and waved him away. “Out! Piss off!” His eyes flowed back over Mariko. “What’s your name? Namu, eh?”
“What’s he saying, Mariko-san?” the samurai asked.
The bosun glanced at the samurai for a moment then back to Mariko again.
“What’s the barbarian saying, Mariko-san?”
Mariko took her mesmerized eyes off the table and concentrated on the bosun. “I’m sorry, senhor, I didn’t understand you. What did you say?”
“Eh?” The bosun’s mouth dropped farther open. He was a big fat man with eyes too close together and large ears, his hair in a ratty tarred pigtail. A crucifix hung from the rolls of his neck and pistols were loose in his belt. “Eh? You can talk Portuguese? A Jappo who can talk good Portuguese? Where’d you learn to talk civilized?”
“The—the Christian Father taught me.”
“I’ll be a God-cursed son of a whore! Madonna, a flower-san who can talk civilized!”
Blackthorne retched again and tried feebly to get off the deck.
“Can you—please can you put the pilot there?” She pointed at the bunk.
“Aye. If this monkey’ll help.”
“Who? I’m sorry, what did you say? Who?”
“Him! The Jappo. Him.”
The words rocked through her and it took all of her will to remain calm. She motioned to the samurai. “Kana-san, will you please help this barbarian. The Anjin-san should be put there.”
“With pleasure, Lady.”
Together the two men lifted Blackthorne and he flopped back in the bunk, his head too heavy, mouthing stupidly.
“He should be washed,” Mariko said in Japanese, still half stunned by what the bosun had called Kana.
“Yes, Mariko-san. Order the barbarian to send for servants.”
“Yes.” Her disbelieving eyes went inexorably to the table again. “Do they really eat that?”
The bosun followed her glance. At once he leaned over and tore off a chicken leg and offered it to her. “You hungry? Here, little Flower-san, it’s good. It’s fresh today—real Macao capon.”