James Clavell - Gai-Jin

That afternoon the four perspiring Japanese porters put down the iron-banded chest watched by three Bakufu officials of no import, Sir William, interpreters, an officer from the army accounting department, the Legation shroff, a Chinese, and Vargas, to check him.

They were in the main Legation reception room, the windows open and Sir William was hard put not to beam. Laboriously one of the officials produced an ornate key and unlocked the chest.

Within were silver Mexican dollars, a few tael bars of gold--about an ounce and a third in weight--and some of silver.

"Ask why the indemnity isn't all in gold as agreed?"

"The Official says they could not obtain the gold in time but these are clean Mex and legal currency, and will you please give him a receipt." "Clean" coins meant those that were unshaved, or unclipped, a common practice, and sloughed off on to the unwary.

"Begin counting."

Happily his shroff tipped the contents onto the carpet. At once he spotted a clipped coin, Vargas another and another. These were put to one side. Every eye stayed on the carpet, on the neatly stacked, growing piles of coins. Five thousand pounds sterling was an immense sum when the salary of a full-time interpreter was four hundred a year and pay your own lodgings, a shroff a hundred (though a good percentage of everything that passed through his hands would somehow stick there), a servant in London twenty pounds a year and all found, a soldier five pennies a day, a sailor six, an Admiral six hundred pounds a year.

The counting was quickly done. Both shroffs checked the weight of each small bar of gold twice, then the weight each of the stacks of chipped coins, then used an abacus to calculate the total against the current rate of exchange.

Vargas said, "It comes to four thousand and eighty-four pounds, six shillings and seven pence farthing, Sir William, in clean coin, five hundred and twenty pounds in gold, ninety-two pounds sixteen in clipped coins for a grand total of four thousand, six hundred and ninety-seven pounds, two shillings, and seven pence farthing."

"Sorry, eight pence, Mass'er." The Chinese bowed and nodded his head, his pigtail long and thick, making the slight, face-saving adjustment as agreed in advance with Vargas, deciding that the amount that his Portuguese counterpart had deducted for their fee, two and a half percent, or one hundred and seventeen pounds, eight shillings and sixpence between them, was less than what he would have maneuvered, but passable for half an hour's work.

Sir William said, "Vargas, put it back in the chest, give them a receipt with a note that the underpayment will be added to the last installment. Johann, thank them, and say we will expect the full amount, in gold, in nineteen days."

Johann obeyed. At once the other interpreter began a long statement. "They now ask for an extension, sir, and--"

"No extension." Sir William sighed, dismissed the others and prepared for another hour, closing his ears until he was astonished to hear Johann say, "They've suddenly come to the point, sir: it's the Yedo meeting, sir. They ask that this be delayed another thirty days to make it fifty days from now... the exact words are: the Shogun will return from Kyoto then and he has informed the Council of Elders to advise the Foreign Ministers that he would grant them an audience on that day."

To give himself time to think, Sir William called out, "Lun!" Lun appeared instantly.

"Tea!"

Within seconds the trays arrived. And cigars, snuff and pipe tobacco. Soon the room was filled with smoke and everyone coughing and all the time Sir William was considering options.

First and foremost I'm probably dealing with low-level officials, so anything agreed will be subject to further negotiation. Next, in any event the fifty days will surely extend into two months, even three, but if we have an audience with the Ultimate Power, of course under British leadership, we will have taken a lasting step forward.

Actually, I don't mind if the delay goes to three, even four months. By then I'll have Lord Russell's approval for war, reinforcements will be en route from India and Hong Kong, the Admiral will have his damned authority, and we'll have the forces to invest, hold and fortify Yedo if we have to.

I could say, let us have the meeting as planned and then the Shogun meeting. That would be best, but I feel they won't go against the mystical Shogun's wishes and somehow they'll wheedle and twist and mesh us again.

Johann said, "The spokesman says, as that's agreed, we will bid you farewell."

"Nothing is agreed. A thirty-day extension is not possible for many reasons. We have already arranged a date for the Council of Elders that will take place as planned and then, ten days later we will be pleased to meet the Shogun."

After an hour of sucked-in breaths, aghast silences, blunt Anglo-Saxonese, Sir William allowed himself to be whittled down and got his compromise position: The meeting with the Council of Elders to take place as planned, and the meeting with the Shogun twenty days after that.

Once alone again with Sir William, Johann said, "They won't abide by it."

"Yes, I know. Never mind."

"Sir William, my contract's up in a couple of months. I won't renew."

Sir William said sharply, "I can't do without your services for at least six months."

"It's time to go home. This place is going to be a bloodbath soon and I've no want to have my head on a spike."

"I'll increase your salary by fifty pounds a year."

"It's not the money, Sir William. I'm tired. Ninety-eight percent of all the talk is sheiss. I've no patience now to sift the kernel of wheat from the barrel of dung!"

"I need you for these two meetings."

"They'll never take place. Two months odd, then I'm off, the exact day is on the paper. Sorry, Sir William, but that's the end, and now I am going to get drunk." He left.

Sir William went across the hall to his office window and searched the horizon. It was nearing sunset now. No sign of any of the fleet. My God, I hope they're safe. Must keep Johann somehow. Tyrer won't be ready for a year at least. Who can I get that I can trust? God damn it!

Light from the dying sun illuminated the sparsely furnished room, not enough to see by so he lit an oil lamp, adjusting the wick carefully. On his desk were neat piles of dispatches, his edition of All the Year Round --long since read from cover to cover, with all the newspapers from the last mail ship, several editions of Illustrated London News and Punch. He picked up the advance copy of Turgenev's Fathers and Sons in Russian sent to him by a friend at the Court of St.

Petersburg, amongst other English and French books, started to read it then, distracted, put it aside and began the second letter of the day to the Governor of Hong Kong, giving details of today's meeting, and asking for a replacement for Johann. Lun came in silently, closing the door.

"Yes, Lun?"

Lun came up to his desk, hesitated, then dropped his voice. "Mass'er," he said cautiously, "hear trou'bel, trou'bel soon Yedo Big House, big trou'bel."

Sir William stared up at him. Big House was what the Chinese servants called their Yedo Legation. "What trouble?"

Lun shrugged. "Trou'bel."

"When trouble?"

Again Lun shrugged. "Whisk'y water, heya?"

Sir William nodded thoughtfully. From time to time Lun whispered rumors to him with an uncanny knack of being right. He watched him pad over to the sideboard and make the drink, just as he liked it.

Phillip Tyrer and the kilted Captain were watching the same sunset from an upstairs window of the Legation at Yedo, the usual groups of samurai stationed outside the walls and in all approaches up the hill. Dark reds and orange and browns on the empty horizon mixed with a strip of blue above the sea. "Will the weather be good tomorrow?"