James Clavell - Gai-Jin

"Ours has only his swords left, no house, just a hut," Joun said. "We're so deep in debt from great-grandfather's time we can never repay the loans. Never."

"I know how to settle those filthy money worshippers, cancel their debts or kill them," another said. "If daimyos sometimes pay off their debts like that, why not us?"' "A fine idea," Akimoto agreed, "but it would cost you your head. Lord Ogama would make an example of you, in case his own lenders stopped advancing money against--what is it now, against four years taxes ahead."

Another said, "My family stipend hasn't changed since Sekigahara, and the cost of rice up a hundred times since then. We should become merchants or sak`e brewers. Two uncles and Elder Brother have given up their swords and done that."

"Terrible, yes, but I've thought of it too."

"Daimyos betrayed all of us."

"Most have," Hiraga said. "Not all."

"True," Akimoto said. "Never mind, we'll choose our own daimyo when we've expelled the barbarians and broken the Toranaga Shogunate. The new Shogun will give us enough to eat, us and our families, and better weapons, even some of the gai-jin rifles."

"He'll keep them for his own men, whoever he is."

"Why should he, Hiraga? There'll be enough for everyone. Don't the Toranagas hoard five to ten million koku yearly? That's more than enough to arm us properly. Listen, if we're split up in the dark, where do we regroup?"' "The House of Green Willows, south of Fourth Bridge, not here. If that's too difficult, hide somewhere and make your way back to Kanagawa..."

Now on the veranda, listening carefully for danger, enjoying the sensation, Hiraga smiled, his heart beating well, feeling the joy of life and approaching death, every day nearer. In a few moments we move again. Action at long last...

For days he had been in the temple beside the English Legation, waiting impatiently for an opportunity to fire it but always too many enemy troops, foreign and samurai. Each day acting the gardener, spying, listening, planning--so easy to kill the tall barbarian there who escaped the Tokaido attack. Astonishing that only one barbarian was killed out of the easy target of three men and a woman.

Ah, Tokaido! Tokaido means Ori and Ori means Shorin, and they mean Sumomo who is seventeen next month and I will not consider my father's letter. I will not! I will not accept Ogama's pardon if I have to recant sonno-joi. I will follow its lodestone to whatever death it steers.

Just me alive now. Ori is dead or will die tomorrow. Shorin gone. And Sumomo?

Last night tears had wet his cheeks, tears from the dream that she was in, her bushido and fire and perfume and body and beckoning and lost to him forever.

Impossible to sleep so sitting in the Lotus seat, the Buddha position, using Zen to fly his mind to peace.

Then this morning, a gift of the gods, the furtive, coded message from Koiko's mama-san about Utani who had heard it, equally secretly, from Koiko's maid. Eeee, he thought gleefully, I wonder what Yoshi would do if he knew our tentacles reached out even to his bed, even around his balls?

Confident now they were still undetected, he jumped up and went to the door, used his knife, sliding the bar back. Inside quickly. Akimoto stayed on guard in the sentry's uniform. The others followed Hiraga noiselessly up the stairs towards the women's quarters, the route already given to him. Everything was lavish, best woods, finest tatamis, purest oiled paper for shoji and most fragrant oils for lamps and candles. Turning a corner. The unsuspecting guard stared at him blankly. His mouth opened but no sound came out. Hiraga's knife had stopped it.

He stepped over the body, went to the end of this corridor, hesitated a moment to get his bearings. Now a cul-de-sac. Either side were walls of sliding shoji, rooms behind them. At the end just one, bigger and more ornate than all the others. An oil lamp burned within, also in some of the other rooms. A few snores and heavy breathing. Silently he motioned for Todo and Joun to follow and the others to guard, then went forward again like a night-hunting beast. The sound of heavy breathing increased.

A nod to Joun. At once the youth slipped past him, crouched at the far door then, at another sign from Hiraga, slid the shoji open.

Hiraga leapt into the room, then Todo.

Two men were prone on the exquisite silk quilts and futons, naked and joined, the youth spread, the older over him, clutching him and thrusting, panting and oblivious. Hiraga stood over them, reared his sword on high and with two hands gripping the hilt drove the point through the back of both bodies just above the heart, burying it into the tatami floor, impaling them.

The old man gasped and died instantly, his limbs quivering beyond death. The youth clawed impotently, unable to turn, unable to move his trunk, only his arms and legs and head but, even so, he still could not twist enough to see what had happened nor could he understand what had happened, only that his life was somehow seeping away as all his body opened. A howl of terror gathered in his throat as Todo leapt forward and twined the garrote to choke it back--just too late. Part of the cry hung in the now fetid air.

Instantly he with Hiraga whirled for the door, all senses frenzied. Hiraga with knife poised. Todo, Joun and those in the corridor swords raised, hearts pounding, all ready to charge, flee, fight, rush, die, but battle and die proudly. Behind Hiraga the delicate hands of the youth tore at his neck, his long, perfect and painted nails gouging the flesh around the wire. The fingers shuddered and stopped and fluttered and stopped and fluttered. And were still.

Silence. Somewhere a sleeper stirred noisily, then returned to sleep. Still no alarms or warning shouts. Gradually the raiders wrenched themselves from the brink, numbed and sweat-stained. Hiraga signalled the retreat.

At once they obeyed except for Joun who ran back into the room to recover Hiraga's sword. He straddled the bodies but with all his strength he could not pull the sword out or ease it out. Hiraga waved him away, tried himself and failed. On a low lacquered sword stand were the weapons of the dead men. He picked one up. At the door he looked back.

In the clean, steady light of the oil lamp the two bodies seemed like a single monstrous, multilegged human-headed dragonfly, the crumpled quilts its gorgeous wings, his sword a giant silver pin. Now he could see the face of the youth--it was quite beautiful.

Yoshi was strolling on the battlements, Koiko beside him, easily a head taller than her. A chill was on the small wind and smell of the sea at low tide. He did not notice it.

Again his eyes flicked from the city below to the moon and he watched it, brooding. Koiko waited patiently. Her kimono was the finest Shan-tung with a scarlet under-kimono and her hair, loosed informally, fell to her waist. His kimono was ordinary, silk but ordinary and swords ordinary, ordinary but sharp.

"What are you thinking about, Sire?" she asked, judging it time to dispel his gloom. Though they were quite alone she kept her voice down, well aware that nowhere within the castle walls was really secure.

"Kyoto," he said simply. As quietly.

"Will you accompany Shogun Nobusada?"

He shook his head though he had already decided to go to Kyoto before the formal party--the deception habitual.

Somehow I must stop that young fool and become the sole channel between Emperor and Shogunate, he had been thinking, his mind assaulted with the difficulties surrounding him: the madness of this state visit, Anjo whose hold over the Council had forced approval, Anjo with his hatred and plotting, the trap I'm in here in the castle, the multitude of enemies throughout the land, the chief of them Sanjiro of Satsuma, Hiro of Tosa and Ogama of Choshu who now holds the Gates that are our birthright. And added to all of those and waiting to pounce like salivating wolves are the gai-jin.