Shōgun

“Aye. Karma.” Then Blackthorne heard danger seaward and his body moved before his mind ordered it and he was twisting as the arrow swooshed past, missed him fractionally to shudder into the bulkhead. He lunged at Uraga to pull him down to safety as another arrow of the same volley hissed into Uraga’s throat, impaling him, and then they were both cowering in safety on the deck, Uraga shrieking and samurai shouting and peering over the gunwale out to sea. Grays from the shore guard poured aboard. Another volley came out of the night from the sea and everyone scattered for cover. Blackthorne crawled to the gunwale and peeped through a scupper and saw a nearby fishing boat dousing its flare to vanish into the darkness. All the boats were doing the same, and for a split second he saw scullers pulling away frantically, light glinting off swords and bows.

Uraga’s shrieking subsided into a burbling, gut-shattering agony as Grays rushed onto the quarterdeck, bows ready, the whole ship now in an uproar. Vinck came on deck fast, pistol ready, ducked over as he ran. “Christ, what’s going on—you all right, Pilot?”

“Yes. Watch out—they’re in the fishing boats!” Blackthorne slithered back to Uraga, who was clawing at the shaft, blood seeping from his nose and mouth and ears.

“Jesus,” Vinck gasped.

Blackthorne took hold of the arrow’s barb with one hand and put his other on the warm, pulsing flesh and pulled with all his strength. The arrow came out cleanly but in its wake blood gushed in a pumping stream. Uraga began to choke.

Now Grays and Blackthorne’s own samurai surrounded them. Some had brought shields and they covered Blackthorne, heedless of their own safety. Others quaked in safety though the danger was over. Others were raging at the night, firing at the night, ordering the vanished fishing boats back.

Blackthorne held Uraga in his arms helplessly, knowing there was something he should do but not knowing what, knowing nothing could be done, the frantic sick-sweet-death smell clogging his nostrils, his brain shrieking as always, ‘Christ Jesus, thank God it’s not my blood, not mine, thank God.’

He saw Uraga’s eyes begging, the mouth working with no sound but choking, the chest heaving, then he saw his own fingers move of themselves and they made the sign of the cross before the eyes and he felt Uraga’s body shuddering, fluttering, the mouth howling soundlessly, reminding him of any one of the impaled fish.

It took Uraga a hideous time to die.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Now Blackthorne was walking in the castle with his honor guard of twenty vassals surrounded by ten times that number of escorting Grays. Proudly he wore a new uniform, Brown kimono with the five Toranaga ciphers and, for the first time, a formal, huge-winged over-mantle. His golden wavy hair was tied in a neat queue. The swords that Toranaga had given him jutted from his sash correctly. His feet were encased in new tabi and thonged sandals.

Grays in abundance were at every intersection, covering every battlement, in a vast show of Ishido strength, for every daimyo and general and every samurai officer of importance in Osaka had been invited tonight to the Great Hall that the Taikō had built within the inner ring of fortifications. The sun was down and night arriving quickly.

It’s terrible luck to lose Uraga, Blackthorne was thinking, still not knowing if the attack had been against Uraga or himself. I’ve lost the best source of knowledge I could ever have.

“At noon you go castle, Anjin-san,” Yabu had said this morning, when he had returned to the galley. “Grays come for you. You understand?”

“Yes, Yabu-sama.”

“Quite safe now. Sorry about attack. Shigata ga nai! Grays take you safe place. Tonight you stay in castle. Toranaga part of castle. Also next day we go Nagasaki.”

“We have permission?” he had asked.

Yabu shook his head with exasperation. “Pretend go Mishima to collect Lord Hiro-matsu. Also Lord Sudara and family. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Sleep now, Anjin-san. Don’t worry about attack. Now all boats ordered stay away from here. It’s kinjiru here now.”

“I understand. Please excuse me, what happens tonight? Why me to castle?”

Yabu had smiled his twisted smile and told him he was on show, that Ishido was curious to see him again. “As a guest you’ll be safe,” and he had left the galley once more.

Blackthorne had gone below, leaving Vinck on watch, but the moment he was deeply asleep Vinck was tugging him awake and he rushed on deck again.

A small Portuguese twenty-cannon frigate was barreling into harbor, the bit between her teeth, heeled over under a full press of canvas.

“Bastard’s in a hurry,” Vinck said, quaking.

“Got to be Rodrigues. No one else’d come in with all that sail.”

“If I was you, Pilot, I’d get us the hell away from here on the tide, or without the tide. Christ Jesus, we’re like moths in a grog bottle. Let’s get out—”