“I think I understand, Anjin-san, but why should that concern you? You’re not in Europe, Anjin-san, he has no formal claim on her. If she wants to accept you and him, or even reject you or reject him, what has that to do with anything?”
“I’d say he was her lover, in our sense of the word. That’s got everything to do with it, neh?”
“But what has that to do with her profession, or pillowing?”
Eventually he had thanked her again and left it at that. But his head and his heart told him to beware. It’s not as simple as you think, Mariko-san, even here. Omi believes Kiku-san’s more than special, even if she doesn’t feel the same. Wish I’d known he was her lover. I’d rather have Omi a friend than an enemy. Could Mariko be right again? That pillowing has nothing to do with loving for them?
God help me, I’m so mixed up. Part Eastern now, mostly Western. I’ve got to act like them and think like them to stay alive. And much of what they believe is so much better than our way that it’s tempting to want to become one of them totally, and yet . . . home is there, across the sea, where my ancestors were birthed, where my family lives, Felicity and Tudor and Elizabeth. Neh?
“Anjin-san?”
“Yes, Fujiko-san?”
“Please don’t worry about money. I can’t bear to see you worried. I’m so sorry that I cannot go to Yedo with you.”
“Soon see in Yedo, neh?”
“Yes. The doctor says I’m healing well and Omi’s mother agrees.”
“When doctor here?”
“Sunset. So sorry I cannot go with you tomorrow. Please excuse me.”
He wondered again about his duty to his consort. Then he put that thought back into its compartment as a new one rushed forward. He examined this idea and found it fine. And urgent. “I go now, come back soon. You rest—understand?”
“Yes. Please excuse me for not getting up, and for . . . so sorry.”
He left her and went to his own room. He took a pistol out of its hiding place, checked the priming, and stuck it under his kimono. Then he walked alone to Omi’s house. Omi was not there. Midori welcomed him and offered cha, which he politely refused. Her two-year-old infant was in her arms. She said, so sorry, but Omi would return soon. Would the Anjin-san like to wait? She seemed ill at ease, though polite and attentive. Again he refused and thanked her, saying he would come back later, then he went below to his own house.
Villagers had already cleared the ground, preparing to rebuild everything. Nothing had been salvaged from the fire except cooking utensils. Fujiko would not tell him the cost of rebuilding. It was very cheap, she had said. Please don’t concern yourself.
“Karma, Anjin-sama,” one of the villagers said.
“Yes.”
“What could one do? Don’t worry, your house will soon be ready—better than before.”
Blackthorne saw Omi walking up the hill, taut and stern. He went to meet him. When Omi saw him, he seemed to lose some of his fury. “Ah, Anjin-san,” he said cordially. “I hear you’re also leaving with Toranaga-sama at dawn. Very good, we can ride together.”
Despite Omi’s apparent friendliness, Blackthorne was very much on guard.
“Listen, Omi-san, now I go there.” He pointed toward the plateau. “Please you go with me, yes?”
“There’s no training today.”
“Understand. Please you go with me, yes?”
Omi saw that Blackthorne’s hand was on the hilt of his killing sword in the characteristic way, steadying it. Then his sharp eyes noticed the bulge under the sash and he realized at once from its partially outlined shape that it was a concealed pistol. “A man who’s allowed the two swords should be able to use them, not just wear them, neh?” he asked thinly.
“Please? I don’t understand.”
Omi said it again, more simply.
“Ah, understand. Yes. It better.”
“Yes. Lord Yabu said—now that you’re completely samurai—that you should begin to learn much that we take for granted. How to act as a second at a seppuku, for example—even to prepare for your own seppuku as we’re all obliged to do. Yes, Anjin-san, you should learn to use the swords. Very necessary for a samurai to know how to use and honor his sword, neh?”
Blackthorne did not understand half the words. But he knew what Omi was saying. At least, he corrected himself uneasily, I know what he’s saying on the surface.
“Yes. True. Important,” he told him. “Please, one day you teaches—sorry, you teach perhaps? Please? I honored.”
“Yes—I’d like to teach you, Anjin-san.”
Blackthorne’s hackles rose at the implied threat in Omi’s voice. Watch it, he admonished himself. Don’t start imagining things. “Thank you. Now walk there, please? Little time. You go with? Yes?”
“Very well, Anjin-san. But we’ll ride. I’ll join you shortly.” Omi walked off up the hill, into his own courtyard.
Blackthorne ordered a servant to saddle his horse and mounted awkwardly from the right side, as was custom in Japan and China. Don’t think there’d be much future in letting him teach me swordsmanship, he told himself, his right hand nudging the concealed pistol safer, its pleasing warmth reassuring. This confidence vanished when Omi reappeared. With him were four mounted samurai.
Together they all cantered up the broken road toward the plateau. They passed many samurai companies in full marching gear, armed, under their officers, spear pennants fluttering. When they crested the rise, they saw that the entire Musket Regiment was drawn up outside the camp in route order, each man standing beside his armed horse, a baggage train in the rear, Yabu, Naga, and their officers in the van. The rain began to fall heavily.
“All troops go?” Blackthorne asked, perturbed, and reined in his horse.
“Yes.”
“Go Spa with Toranaga-sama, Omi-san?”
“I don’t know.”
Blackthorne’s sense of survival warned him to ask no more questions. But one needed to be answered. “And Buntaro-sama?” he asked indifferently. “He with us tomorrow, Omi-san?”
“No. He’s already gone. This morning he was in the square when you left the Tea House. Didn’t you see him, near the Tea House?”
Blackthorne could read nothing untoward in Omi’s face. “No. Not see, so sorry. He go Spa too?”
“I suppose so. I’m not sure.” The rain dripped off Omi’s conical hat, which was tied under his chin. His eyes were almost hidden. “Now, why did you want me to come here with you?”
“Show place, like I say.” Before Omi could say anything more, Blackthorne spurred his horse forward. With his most careful sea sense he took accurate bearings from memory and went quickly to the exact point over the crevasse. He dismounted and beckoned Omi. “Please.”
“What is it, eh?” Omi’s voice was edged.
“Please, here Omi-san. Alone.”
Omi waved his guards away and spurred forward until he towered over Blackthorne. “Nan desu ka?” he asked, his hand seemingly tightening on his sword.
“This place Toranaga-sama . . .” Blackthorne could not think of the words, so explained partially with his hands. “Understand?”
“Here you pulled him out of the earth, neh? So?”
Blackthorne looked at him, then deliberately down at his sword, then stared up at him again saying nothing more. He wiped the rain out of his face.
“Nan desu ka?” Omi repeated more irritably.
Still Blackthorne didn’t answer. Omi stared down at the crevasse and again at Blackthorne’s face. Then his eyes lit up. “Ah, so desu! Wakarimasu!” Omi thought a moment then called out to one of the guards, “Get Mura here at once. With twenty men and shovels!”