Most of his diagnostic problem was due to his and Phillip's lack of fluency, because the patient was impatient, did not trust him yet, and was not forthcoming with symptoms or clues. It had taken much diligent questioning for him to probably establish the man experienced difficulties with bowel movements, passing urine and an inability to hold erections--which seemed to concern him the most --though Anjo had shrugged and would admit none of the symptoms outright.
"Phillip, tell Lord Yoshi I think he will live about the average for a man in his condition of the same age."
Tyrer's headache had returned, aided by his desperation to do a good job. "He live about same as man of same age."
Yoshi thought about that, also understanding the difficulties of probing delicate matters in a foreign language with inadequate interpretation. Therefore he must keep the questions simple. "Ask: two years, three years, one year?" He watched Babcott closely, not Tyrer.
"Difficult say, Lord. In one week perhaps know better."
"But now? The truth. One two or three, what think?"
Babcott had realized before he left Kanagawa that his function here was not only as a doctor. Sir William had said: "To put it bluntly, old chap, if the patient turns out to be Anjo, you're also an important representative of Her Majesty's Government, me, the Settlement, and a bloody spy--so, George, please don't pong on this golden opportunity..."
For himself he was first and foremost a doctor. With doctor-patient confidentiality. No doubt that Yoshi was the enemy of the patient, a powerful enemy, but also a potentially powerful friend to H.m.'s Government. Balancing the two, Yoshi was the more important in the long run.
Anjo had issued the ultimatum to evacuate Yokohama, he was the head of the Bakufu who would, unless there was a violent end to Yoshi, certainly die before him. If forced what would you answer? he asked himself. Within a year. He answered instead: "One, two or three, Yoshi-sama? Truth, sorry not know now."
"Could it be more?"
"Sorry, not possible say now."
"Can you say next week?"
"Perhaps say can, not more than three year next week."
"Perhaps you know more than you say, now or next week."
Babcott smiled with his mouth. "Phillip, tell him politely I am here at his invitation, a guest. As doctor, not magician, and I don't need to return next week or any week."
"Damn it, George," Tyrer muttered guardedly, "we don't want trouble, I don't know what "magician" is, and damned if I can cope with these nuances, for God's sake make it simple."
"What did you say, Taira?" Yoshi asked sharply.
"Oh! Sire, that... difficult translate words of High Leaders when... when many meanings, and not know bet word... best word, please excuse me."
"You should study harder," Yoshi said testily, infuriated that he did not have his own interpreter.
"You do well but not well enough, study harder! It is important you work harder! Now what did he say, exactly!"
Tyrer took a deep breath, sweating. "He say, he doctor, not like god, Yoshi-sama, not know exact about tairo. He... he here Yoshi invite. So sorry, if not want come Yedo, Doctor-sama, not come Yedo." He died a little more seeing Yoshi smile the insincere way Babcott had, no mistaking that meaning, and he cursed the day he decided to be an interpreter. "So sorry."
"So ka!" Grimly Yoshi weighed his next move. The Doctor had proved useful though he was hiding facts from him. If that was the case, he deduced the real facts were bad, not good. That thought pleased him. A second thought pleased him. It was based on an enlightened idea Misamoto unknowingly suggested months ago.
Yoshi had at once initiated the practice through his spymaster, Inejin, for future use: one way to control barbarians was through their whores.
Inejin had been diligent as usual. So now Yoshi knew a lot about the gai-jin Yoshiwara, which were the most popular Inns, about Raiko and the whore of this strange and so ugly youth, Taira, the old one of many names now called Fujiko. And about the strange whore of Furansu-san. The gai-jin leader, Sur W'rum, had no special whore. Serata used two sporadically. Nemi was named as the consort of the chief gai-jin trader and an especially good source of information. The Doctor did not visit the Yoshiwara. Why? Meikin will find out...
Ah yes, Meikin the traitoress, you are not forgotten!
"Tell the Doctor I look forward to seeing him next week," he said, his voice flat.
"And thank him. Abeh!"
Abeh was in the room, kneeling, in an instant. "Escort them to Kanagawa. No, take them to the gai-jin leader personally, at Yokohama, and bring back the renegade Hiraga."
"Hello, Jamie! It's lunchtime! Last night you said to call for you at one o'clock!"
Maureen smiled at him from his office doorway, bonnet and dressed nicely, her cheeks rosy from her brisk walk along the promenade from Struan's. "One o'clock, you said, for lunch at this Club of yours."
"Be right with you, lassie," he said absently, finishing the letter to his banker in Edinburgh about the joint venture with the shoya, enclosing Tess Struan's sight draft for deposit. Got to talk to Nakama-Hiraga somehow as soon as he's found, he was thinking. Where the devil is he? Hope to God he hasn't fled as everyone thinks. "Take a seat, Albert's joining us."
He was so engrossed he missed her disappointment.
This new office was in the Guardian building, near to Drunk Town, on the High Street. It was much smaller than the one in Struan's but it had a pleasant view of the bay, so important for the trader to be able to follow the coming and going of ships.
Unfurnished except for a desk and three chairs, half a dozen filing cabinets.
Piles of books and boxes, sheaves of blank paper, pens and new ledgers that he had scrounged until his order from Hong Kong arrived, were scattered everywhere. Heaped on his desk were more papers, letters, orders and a big mailing announcing the launch of his new company and requests for business. All had to be made ready for Prancing Cloud's departure. "Did you sleep well?"
He sealed the letter, hardly hearing her. "Yes thank you, did you?" and picked up another of the mailings.
These were being copied by two Portuguese clerks in their office down the corridor, next to the printing shop. The clerks had been lent by MacStruan until he could make permanent arrangements. "Albert's a good fellow isn't he? I said we might be late," he remarked absently. If it had been up to him he would have skipped the Club and asked one of the clerks to make him a sandwich, or ordered some of the Chinese food that they ordered daily from Drunk Town. Half an hour later he put down his pen. "All set?" he asked brightly.
"Aye."
"What's up?" he asked, seeing her look.
"Weel, laddie, I'd hoped we could be alone for lunch, there's a lot to talk about-- obviously there was no time last night. It was a bonnie party though, wasn't it?"
"Yes it was. The Cossack dancers were stunning. We've lots of time to talk, sorry, didn't think it was important."
"Angelique was stunning too, aye, and many of your friends, Marlowe and Settry!" She laughed lightly.
Relieved, his guard came down and he picked up his hat and coat and opened the door. "Glad you enjoyed it."
"You went out last night, after we'd said good night."
His guard came up too late to prevent the guilty flush. "Yes, er, yes I did."
"I knocked on your door but there was no answer--I just wanted to talk, I wasn't tired. You said you were tired."
"Well, yes I was, but then I wasn't, shall we go?"
"Aye, I'm hungry." They went out on to the promenade. Few people were about. The day was not the best, sea choppy and wind cutting. "It's no' as bad as Glasgow at this time of the year," she said pleasantly, taking his arm.
"That's true, but the cold won't last, soon it'll be the best time, the spring and autumn are best." He was breathing better now that the subject had been dropped. "Spring and autumn are the best."