Shōgun

Blackthorne had brought Vinck with him from Yokohama and sent the others back to Yedo, leaving Erasmus safely harbored and guarded under Naga’s command. His crew had been happy to go—as he had been happy to see the last of them. There had been more quarreling that night and a violent argument over the ship’s bullion. The money was company money, not his. Van Nekk was treasurer of the expedition and chief merchant and, jointly with the Captain-General, had legal jurisdiction over it. After it had been counted and recounted and found correct, less a thousand coins, van Nekk supported by Jan Roper had argued about the amount that he could take with him to get new men.

“You want far too much, Pilot! You’ll have to offer them less!”

“Christ Jesus! Whatever it takes we have to pay. I must have seamen and gunners.” He had slammed his fist on the table of the great cabin. “How else are we going to get home?”

Eventually he had persuaded them to let him take enough, and was disgusted that they had made him lose his temper with their pettifogging. The next day he had shipped them back to Yedo, a tenth of the treasure split up among them as back pay, the rest under guard on the ship.

“How do we know it’ll be safe here?” Jan Roper asked, scowling.

“Stay and guard it yourself then!”

But none of them had wanted to stay aboard. Vinck had agreed to come with him.

“Why him, Pilot?” van Nekk had asked.

“Because he’s a seaman and I’ll need help.”

Blackthorne had been glad to see the last of them. Once at sea he began to change Vinck to Japanese ways. Vinck was stoic about it, trusting Blackthorne, having sailed too many years with him not to know his measure. “Pilot, for you I’ll bathe and wash every day but I’ll be God-cursed afore I wear a poxy nighty!”

Within ten days Vinck was happily swinging the lead half-naked, his wide leather belt over his paunch, a dagger stuck in a sheath at his back and one of Blackthorne’s pistols safely within his clean though ragged shirt.

“We don’t have to go to the castle, do we, Pilot?”

“No.”

“Christ Jesus—I’d rather stay away from there.”

The day was fine, a high sun shimmering off the calm sea. The rowers were still strong and disciplined.

“Vinck—that’s where the ambush was!”

“Christ Jesus, look at those shoals!”

Blackthorne had told Vinck about the narrowness of his escape, the signal fires on those battlements, the piles of dead ashore, the enemy frigate bearing down on him.

“Ah, Anjin-san.” Yabu came to join them. “Good, neh?” He motioned at the devastation.

“Bad, Yabu-sama.”

“It’s enemy, neh?”

“People are not enemy. Only Ishido and samurai enemy, neh?”

“The castle is enemy,” Yabu replied, reflecting his disquiet, and that of all those aboard. “Here everything is enemy.”

Blackthorne watched Yabu move to the bow, the wind whipping his kimono away from his hard torso.

Vinck dropped his voice. “I want to kill that bastard, Pilot.”

“Yes. I’ve not forgotten about old Pieterzoon either, don’t worry.”

“Nor me, God be my judge! Beats me how you talk their talk. What’d he say?”

“He was just being polite.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We dock and wait. He goes off for a day or two and we keep our heads down and wait. Toranaga said he’d send messages for the safe conducts we’d need but even so, we’re going to keep our heads down and stay aboard.” Blackthorne scanned the shipping and the waters for dangers but found none. Still, he said to Vinck, “Better call the fathoms now, just in case!”

“Aye!”

Yabu watched Vinck swinging the lead for a moment, then strolled back to Blackthorne. “Anjin-san, perhaps you’d better take the galley and go on to Nagasaki. Don’t wait, eh?”

“All right,” Blackthorne said agreeably, not rising to the bait.

Yabu laughed. “I like you, Anjin-san! But so sorry, alone you’ll soon die. Nagasaki’s very bad for you.”

“Osaka bad—everywhere bad!”

“Karma.” Yabu smiled again. Blackthorne pretended to share the joke.

They had had variations of the same conversation many times during the voyage. Blackthorne had learned much about Yabu. He hated him even more, distrusted him even more, respected him more, and knew their karmas were interlocked.

“Yabu-san’s right, Anjin-san,” Uraga had said. “He can protect you at Nagasaki, I cannot.”

“Because of your uncle, Lord Harima?”

“Yes. Perhaps I’m already declared outlaw, neh? My uncle’s Christian—though I think a rice Christian.”

“What’s that?”

“Nagasaki is his fief. Nagasaki has great harbor on the coast of Kyushu but not the best. So he quickly sees the light, neh? He becomes Christian, and orders all his vassals Christian. He ordered me Christian and into the Jesuit School, and then had me sent as one of the Christian envoys to the Pope. He gave land to the Jesuits and—how would you say it—fawns on them. But his heart is only Japanese.”

“Do the Jesuits know what you think?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do they believe that about rice Christians?”