"You motherless whore, Ah Soh," he shouted in perfect Cantonese, "take tai-tai's things over there, guard them and stay there even if the fires of hell fall on you or I'll beat the soles of your feet to pulp!" She obeyed instantly. "Angelique," he called out with a laugh, "we'll get plenty of warning, stay in the warm until I call for you!"
"Thanks, Albert." She saw Gornt looking up at her from next door. He waved.
She waved back. Now there was no fear in her.
Albert would warn her in good time, safety lay across the road or in boats collecting on and near the shore. Her mind was clean of worry.
Earlier she had decided how to handle Andr`e and Skye and the Woman in Hong Kong. And Gornt tomorrow, and what to do.
Humming Mozart, she took out her brush and sat in front of her mirror to make herself much more presentable for all of them. It was like old times.
Now, what shall I wear, what would be best?
Raiko followed the burly servant amidst the remains of her Inn. He carried an oil lamp and led the way carefully, using stepping stones where he could, skirting bad patches of embers that glowed overbrightly, a warning in the dark, fanned by the hot, acrid air. Her face was blackened, hair heavy with ash and dust, her kimono scorched and in tatters. Both wore smoke masks, yet they coughed and wheezed from time to time. "Go more to the left," she croaked, throat dry, continuing her inspection, only stubs of stone supports, in neat square patterns above ashes, indicating where dwellings had been.
"Yes Mistress." They plodded onwards.
Above the noise of the wind they could vaguely hear others calling, an occasional cry of pain and weeping, distant fire bells from the village and Settlement that were burning furiously. She was over her initial panic. Fires happen. They were the work of the gods. Never mind, I'm alive.
Tomorrow I will find out what caused the fire, if it was an explosion as some were claiming, though in the uproar this foul wind could play tricks with hearing, and the bang could easily have been an ill-placed oil jar falling into the kitchen fires and bursting where the blaze began. The Three Carp is gone. So are all the others, or almost all.
I'm not ruined, not yet.
A group of courtesans and maids, many crying, appeared out of the night, a few of them scorched. She recognized women from the Green Dragon. None of her own girls. "Stop crying," she ordered. "Go to the Sixteen Orchids--everyone is collecting there. It's not badly damaged, there'll be beds for all, food and drink. Help those who are hurt. Where's Chio-san?" This was their mama-san.
"We haven't seen her," said one through her tears, "I was with a client, it was all I could do to hurry out with him to the underground shelter."
"Good, run along, go that way and be careful,"
Raiko said, satisfied, pleased with herself, remembering that when the Yoshiwara was being built, just over two years ago, and mama-sans had been selected by their Guild--with prior, expensive approval of that department of Bakufu--she had suggested that each Teahouse have a fireproof cellar built near the central structure, and for further prudence to put their brick fire-safes below ground level. Not all of the mama-sans approved, saying the added expense was not merited.
Never mind, it's their loss. Let's see how many wail and beat their breasts tomorrow that they didn't follow my example.
She had just finished inspecting hers. Steps led down to the iron-sheathed door. The interior was unblemished. All valuables were safe, all contracts, indentures, debt papers, loans made to the Gyokoyama and bank statements, IOU'S, best linens and dress kimonos--both hers and the Ladies' as good as new in their wrappers. From the beginning it had been her policy that all expensive linens and clothes that were not to be worn and used that evening, had to be put away underground, almost always to groans at the extra work.
There won't be groans this dawn, she thought.
To her immense relief all her ladies, staff and clients were accounted for, except Fujiko, Hinodeh, Teko, Furansu-san and Taira, two servants, two maids still missing. But that did not worry her.
They were surely safe elsewhere. A servant had seen a gai-jin, perhaps two running safely towards the Gate.
Namu Amida Butsu, she prayed, let them all be safe, and bless me for my wisdom making sure that my people were well rehearsed with fire drills.
The horror of Yedo's Yoshiwara conflagration, twelve years before, had taught her the lesson. That fire had almost killed her and her client, a rich rice merchant in the Gyokoyama. She had saved him by waking him from his drunken stupor, staying to drag him out at the risk of her own life. Escaping through the gardens they had suddenly found themselves surrounded by fire and trapped, but they had rescued themselves from death by furiously digging a trench in the soft earth with her obi dagger, allowing the fire to pass over them.
Even so, much of her lower back and legs had been badly burned, ending her career as a courtesan.
But her client had remembered her and when she had recovered enough to walk, he talked to the Gyokoyama who lent her the funds to open her own Teahouse and then he had gone on to another lady. Their investment had been repaid fivefold.
In that fire over a hundred courtesans, sixteen mama-sans, countless clients and maids had perished. More had died in Kyoto's Shimibara fire. Over the centuries hundreds in other fires. In the Great Fire of the Trailing Sleeves, a few years after the mama-san Gyoko had built the first Yoshiwara, fire erupted and obliterated it, and cost Yedo a hundred thousand lives. Within two years it was rebuilt and thriving, to burn again and be rebuilt again, endlessly. And now as before, Raiko swore, we will rebuild ours better than ever!
"The Sixteen Orchids would be that way, Mistress, neh?" The servant hesitated, unsure in the billowing smoke clouds. Around them nothing but embers and ashes, a few pathetic house supports, no outlines of meandering paths or stones to guide them. Then a gust broomed away ash and cinders to reveal cornerstones and a stone dragon cracked by the heat. She recognized it and knew where they were. Hinodeh's bungalow.
"We must go back a little," she said, then something caught her eye. A glint. "Wait. What's that?"
"Where, Mistress?"
She waited. Again the wind fanned embers and again the glitter, slightly ahead and to the right.
"There!"
"Ah, yes." Taking care, he used a blackened, leafless branch to brush a path, stepped forward and raised the lamp and peered ahead.
Another cautious step, to retreat hastily as a gust shoved embers at him.
"Come back, we'll look tomorrow!"
"A moment, Mistress." Flinching against the heat, he used the branch swiftly to brush away more ashes. He gasped. The two charred shapes lay side by side, the left hand of one in the right hand of the other. What glinted was a gold signet ring, twisted and partially melted. "Mistress!"
Aghast, like a statue, Raiko stood beside him.
Furansu-san and Hinodeh, must be, she thought instantly, he always wore a signet ring-- remember, he even offered it to me a few days ago.
And, as instantly, her spirit was uplifted with the sight of the clasped hands, the picture they made on their bed of living coals, seeming to her to be a cradle of precious gems, rubies, glinting and living and dying and being reborn by the air currents --as the two of them would be until the end of time.
Oh so sad, she thought, tears brimming, so sad and yet so beautiful. How peaceful they are, lying there, how blessed, dying together, hand in hand. They must have decided on the poison cup and to go as one.
How wise. How wise for both of them.
She brushed at her tears, murmured, "Namu Amida Butsu," as a benediction. "We'll leave them in peace and I'll decide what to do tomorrow." She backed away, her tears bittersweet, but gladdened by the beauty she had seen. Once more they picked their way towards the gathering point.
A random thought took hold of her.
If those two were Furansu-san and Hinodeh, the gai-jin who escaped must be Taira. That's good, much better than the other way around. I lose a fine source of intelligence but gain more in the long run. Taira and Fujiko are more docile and have a future. Skillfully handled, Taira will easily become as informative, soon I'll be able to talk directly with him, his Japanese is improving daily and already good for a gai-jin. I must arrange extra lessons and teach him political phrases, not just the language of bedding and the Floating World that is all Fujiko is capable of--andwitha peasant accent at that. Certainly my investment with him long term is much more promising and-- Both mistress and servant stopped at the same moment. They stared at each other, then abruptly at the southern sky. The wind had dropped.
Wednesday, 14th January: "Yokohama's finished, William," the General said in the first light of dawn, his voice raw. They were on the bluff, overlooking the Settlement, Pallidar in attendance, all of them mounted. Smoke still wafted up to them. The General's face was bruised and filthy, uniform torn, cap ripped and the brim burnt. "Thought it best to ask you to come up here, gives you a better picture, sorry. Act of God."
"I knew it was bad, but this..." The words trailed off. Sir William was numbed. None of them had slept. The signs of fatigue and worry were in all their faces, their clothes scorched and dirty, Pallidar's ripped and the worst of all. As the sun rose slightly they could see the whole panorama to Hodogaya on the Tokaido.
The Yoshiwara no longer existed, nor the village, most of Drunk Town, over half the Settlement including stables. No confirmed reports of casualties yet, but a richness of rumors, all bad. No confirmed reason for the catastrophe yet. Many shouted arson by Japanese, but which Japanese and at whose orders, no one knew, though destruction of the Yoshiwara and village would concern none of them to gain their ends.
"You'll order evacuation this morning?"
Sir William's head ached with a thousand questions and forebodings. "First an inspection. Thank you, Thomas. Pallidar, you come with me." He spurred his pony down the incline. At the Legation he reined in a moment. "Anything new, Bertram?"
"No sir, no confirmed names or numbers yet."