I'm married but not, accused of awful things that never happened or were never meant or never intended, innocent but not, I'm hated by Tess when I only wanted to do the best I could for my Malcolm, oh yes I knew he was vastly eligible and my father not, and me not, I suppose not, but I didn't do anything to hurt him, he loved me and wanted to marry me and I tried my best, I swear I did, and now that he's dead I'm trying so hard to be sensible, I'm alone and he's gone and I have to think of the future, I'm frightened, I was a child when I arrived, now I'm different, it's all too fast, and the worst is I can't remember his face, it's slipping away and there's nothing.... Poor Malcolm."
In the twilight, on the edge of No Man's Land and in the lee of a half completed village house, a shadow moved. Then another. Two men were lurking in hiding, waiting. Somewhere amid the temporary village of lean-tos and shelters and partially built huts, and subdued chattering, a child began to cry to be quickly hushed.
Where once No Man's Land had been a series of hills and valleys of garbage and castaway junk, most had been consumed, the rest settled deeper into the earth, and over all, a thick mat of ash and threads of smoke. Only the brick well head was prominent. The first shadow became Phillip Tyrer and he rushed for the well head, keeping low, and ducked down beside it.
Cautiously he examined the surroundings. As far as he could tell he had not been seen. Across the way, Drunk Town was just smoking rubble and twisted remains, a few isolated fires still smoldering, temporary lean-tos, tarpaulin or canvas shelters. A few men about, quarrelsome, most of them hunched against the cold on upturned kegs, drinking looted beer and spirits.
Phillip carefully leaned over the edge of the well and whistled. From below there was an answering whistle. He ducked down again, stifled a nervous yawn. In a moment a hand reached the top bricks. Hiraga's head appeared. Phillip beckoned him. Silently Hiraga squatted beside him, then Akimoto. Both wore padded jackets and kimonos over loose pants and carried their swords camouflaged with spare clothing. Warily they ducked down as three men on the Drunk Town side began crossing near where the alley had been and went down it, picking their way over the remains of the godown.
One was singing a sea chanty. Long after they had disappeared his rolling baritone came up on the wind.
"Follow, but be careful!" Tyrer ran back to the village shadows and stopped beside the other man in the lee of the half-finished dwelling. Jamie McFay. When it was safe, Hiraga and Akimoto joined them, moving much more lithely, silently.
Jamie McFay said, "Here, quick." He opened the sack and handed them rough seaman's clothes and woolen balaclavas and shoes. They stripped and dressed and put their own clothes into the sack which Akimoto slung on his back. Tyrer saw Hiraga slip a derringer into a side pocket.
It had taken barely a minute or two.
Jamie led the way along where the village main street had once been--and would soon be again. They could feel eyes everywhere. Above them the moon came out of the cloud briefly. Automatically Hiraga and Akimoto froze into shadows, both men ready to go for their weapons, mentally cursing the inept carelessness of the other two. The moon vanished, and they went on.
The shoya's dwelling was three-quarters rebuilt, the shop front empty but the living quarters behind were temporarily finished and livable.
Jamie eased through a pile of beams and shojis and knocked on a makeshift door. It opened and he went in. The others followed into darkness. The door closed.
In a moment a match struck and the wick of the candle caught. The shoya was alone, grey with fatigue and a fear he tried hard to hide. On the low table were flasks of sak`e, and a little food.
Hiraga and Akimoto wolfed the food and emptied two of the flasks in seconds. "Thank you, shoya," Hiraga said. "I will not forget you."
"Here, Otami-sama." The shoya gave him a small bag containing coins. "Here are a hundred gold oban and twenty Mex."
A brush was on the table, the ink tablet prepared beside the paper. Hiraga signed the receipt.
"What about my cousin?"
"So sorry, this was all I could get so quickly," the shoya said with a sidelong glance at Jamie the others missed.
"Never mind." Hiraga did not believe him but then Akimoto had no credit, nor anyone to repay the loan as he did.
"Thank you. And please see my guarantor gets this safely." He gave him a small scroll. It was a painstakingly coded farewell note to his mother and father, telling them his plan, and giving them news about Sumomo. For safety it contained no real names. In English he said, "Taira-sama, ready. Here finish."
"Ready, Jamie?" Tyrer asked, feeling peculiar, nauseous, not knowing if it was caused by excitement or fright, tiredness or despair.
Since the fire, every few minutes Fujiko's face would weld up from his subconscious, screaming and in flames. "Best hurry, Otami-sama," he said to Hiraga. Both had agreed never to use Hiraga or Nakama again.
"Pull your cap more over your face. Domo, shoya, mataneh." Thank you, shoya, good night.
He went out on to the street again. When it was safe he signalled the others. "You lead, Jamie," he whispered. In sudden panic they slid into the shadows as a Grenadier patrol approached and passed by. Breathing once more Tyrer muttered, "They're on the watch for looters, thieves, wakarimasu ka?"
"Wakarimasu."
Once more Jamie hurried ahead, turned and twisted through the rubble towards the jetty on the other side of the promenade, near the site where the Guardian building had stood. Many men were wandering about, gawking at the damage to the village and Yoshiwara and Drunk Town, or just numb, too early to sleep yet. Recognizing some of them, he slowed his pace, not wanting to attract attention. Dmitri was amongst them, heading homewards, and he smiled wryly. This morning Dmitri, beaming, had sought him out to say he had found Nemi in the early hours and that she was all right, just a few bruises and hardly touched.
"Thank God for that, Dmitri."
"The first thing she said was, Jami-san okay? I said yes and she gave me a hug for you. Then I gave her your message, that you'd find her as soon as possible."
"Thanks, that's a load off my mind. I was afraid she was a goner. Eventually I found her Inn but it was a heap of ash, our house included.
Never did find anyone... Thank God."
"You remember what I--"' "I remember, but first I've got to talk to her. She's not a piece of furniture, for God's sake."
"Hey, easy old buddy, perish the thought, didn't mean to imply anything..."
Jamie sighed, picking his way through the wreckage of a sak`e still, now not far from the promenade. Dmitri's a good enough fellow, he thought, but Nemi was special and... "Oh my God, look!" He pointed. A group of weary samurai fire fighters were squatting around a bonfire beside the jetty, brewing tea. Quickly he weighed the alternatives. There were none. "Can't help it, come on."
As they reached the promenade Lunkchurch reeled out of the darkness. "Jamie," he said dully, "wot you going to do? You're wiped out like me..." He glanced at Phillip, hardly noticing the other two. They looked like ordinary Asian seamen of a type abundant in the merchant fleet. "It's a bastard..."
"Maybe it won't be so bad, Barnaby, I've a few ideas, I'll find you tomorrow."
Jamie brushed past and walked for the jetty, raised his hat politely to the fire fighters and their officer who absently acknowledged them. The rickety jetty pilings and its wooden walkway went fifty metres into the sea. His heart sank. No waiting cutter, and none approaching from the Struan jetty, to the north. Out in the bay Atlanta Belle was alight, swarming with rowboats arriving and leaving.
Earlier this afternoon Jamie had asked MacStruan if he could borrow the cutter for a quick trip this evening to see the captain of the Belle, Johnny Twomast, an old friend.
Phillip, after leaving Sir William who had confirmed Hiraga's supposed death, had rushed over to see him. Stumbling over his words with excitement, Phillip told him, to his delight, that Hiraga was alive, hidden in a Drunk Town well, how the man had saved his life last night, laying out his scheme to save him. "We just sneak him aboard the Belle and no one's the wiser."
"He's alive? I'd heard about him dying in the fire--he's alive?"' "Yes. All we have to do is sneak him aboard."
"I'll ask Johnny Twomast to hide them but only if you get Willie's approval.
Hiraga is still a murd--"' "Hiraga's dead, Nakama, Hiraga, it's all the same, officially. Willie said it, the Sergeant confirmed his death in the fire.
Nakama's dead and gone forever, so's Hiraga.
Getting him out on a ship is the perfect solution and he's worth saving! We're only helping two samurai students to see the world, our world, for a year or so, one of them called Otami."
"If we get caught, Willie will spit blood, our blood."
"There's no reason we should. Otami is Otami, it's his real name and he's told me about you and the shoya cooking up all sorts of business deals, you'll be the winner when he comes back, we all will. We've got to help him!"
Finally Jamie had agreed and had seen the shoya to arrange the loan that he had also guaranteed. By then it was sunset. At sunset Tyrer had gone to the well to prepare Hiraga and Akimoto and now they waited on the jetty.
"Where's the cutter Jamie?" Tyrer said nervously.
"It'll arrive." Feeling highly exposed, the four men waited at the end of the jetty near the wobbly, seaweed slicked steps, all too aware of the nearby samurai, their captain idly swaggering up and down.
Hiraga whispered, "Taira-sama, that captain, remember? He Enforcer. Remember him, captain at gate?"