Shōgun

“The Council has ordered wives and families to wait for their husbands, who must return for the Ceremony. The great Lord General feels ‘the responsibility of their safety too gravely to allow them to wander.’ The castle’s locked tighter than an old oyster.”

“So is the outside, Kiri-san. There are many more barriers than before on the Tokaidō, and Ishido’s security’s very strong within fifty ri. Patrols everywhere.”

“Everyone’s frightened of him, except us and our few samurai, and we’re no more trouble to him than a pimple on a dragon’s rump.”

“Even our doctors?”

“Them too. Yes, they still advise us not to travel, even if it were permitted, which it will never be.”

“Is the Lady Sazuko fit—is the baby fit, Kiri-san?”

“Yes, you can see that for yourself. And so am I.” Kiri sighed, the strain showing now, and Mariko noticed there was much more gray in her hair than before. “Nothing’s changed since I wrote to Lord Toranaga at Anjiro. We’re hostages and we’ll stay hostages with all the rest until The Day. Then there’ll be a resolution.”

“Now that His Imperial Highness is arriving . . . that makes everything final, neh?”

“Yes. It would seem so. Go and rest, Mariko-chan, but eat with us tonight. Then we can talk, neh? Oh, by the way, one piece of news for you. Your famous barbarian hatamoto—bless him for saving our Master, we heard about that—he docked safely this morning, with Kasigi Yabu-san.”

“Oh! I was so worried about them. They left the day before I did by sea. We were also caught in part of the tai-fun, near Nagoya, but it wasn’t that bad for us. I was afraid at sea . . . Oh, that’s a relief.”

“It wasn’t too bad here except for the fires. Many thousands of homes burned but barely two thousand dead. We heard today that the main force of the storm hit Kyushu, on the east coast, and part of Shikoku. Tens of thousands died. No one yet knows the full extent of the damage.”

“But the harvest?” Mariko asked quickly.

“Much of it’s flattened here—fields upon fields. The farmers hope that it will recover but who knows? If there’s no damage to the Kwanto during the season, their rice may have to support the whole Empire this year and next.”

“It would be far better if Lord Toranaga controlled such a harvest than Ishido. Neh?”

“Yes. But, so sorry, nineteen days is not time enough to take in a harvest, with all the prayers in the world.”

Mariko finished her saké. “Yes.”

Kiri said, “If their ship left the day before you, you must have hurried.”

“I thought it best not to dawdle, Kiri-chan. It’s no pleasure for me to travel.”

“And Buntaro-san? He’s well?”

“Yes. He’s in charge of Mishima and all the border at the moment. I saw him briefly coming here. Do you know where Kasigi Yabu-sama’s staying? I have a message for him.”

“In one of the guest houses. I’ll find out which and send you word at once.” Kiri accepted more wine. “Thank you, Mariko-chan. I heard the Anjin-san’s still on the galley.”

“He’s a very interesting man, Kiri-san. He’s become more than a little useful to our Master.”

“I heard that. I want to hear everything about him and the earthquake and all your news. Oh yes, there’s a formal reception tomorrow evening for Lady Ochiba’s birthday, given by Lord Ishido. Of course you’ll be invited. I heard that the Anjin-san’s going to be invited too. The Lady Ochiba wanted to see what he looks like. You remember the Heir met him once. Wasn’t that the first time you saw him too?”

“Yes. Poor man, so he’s to be shown off, like a captive whale?”

“Yes.” Kiri added placidly, “With all of us. We’re all captives, Mariko-chan, whether we like it or not.”

Uraga hurried furtively down the alley toward the shore, the night dark, the sky clear and starlit, the air pleasant. He was dressed in the flowing orange robe of a Buddhist priest, his inevitable hat, and cheap straw sandals. Behind him were warehouses and the tall, almost European bulk of the Jesuit Mission. He turned a corner and redoubled his pace. Few people were about. A company of Grays carrying flares patrolled the shore. He slowed as he passed them courteously, though with a priest’s arrogance. The samurai hardly noticed him.

He went unerringly along the foreshore, past beached fishing boats, the smells of the sea and shore heavy on the slight breeze. It was low tide. Scattered over the bay and sandy shelves were night fishermen, like so many fireflies, hunting with spears under their flares. Ahead two hundred paces were the wharves and jetties, barnacle encrusted. Moored to one of them was a Jesuit lorcha, the flags of Portugal and the Company of Jesus fluttering, flares and more Grays near the gangway. He changed direction to skirt the ship, heading back into the city a few blocks, then cut down Nineteenth Street, turned into twisting alleys, and came out onto the road that followed the wharves once more.

“You! Halt!”

The order came out of the darkness. Uraga stopped in sudden panic. Grays came forward into the light and surrounded him. “Where’re you going, priest?”