Shōgun

“In return for safe conducts for you and the Anjin-san, you’d see she was disarmed during the ambush on your journey. . . . Please don’t touch your sword, Yabu-san, there are four archers waiting for an invitation!”

“How dare you challenge me? What ambush?” he had bluffed, feeling weak at the knees, for there was no doubt now that the man was Ishido’s intermediary. Yesterday afternoon he had made the secret offer through his own intermediaries, in a desperate attempt to salvage something from the wreckage Mariko had caused to his plans for the Black Ship and the future. At the time he had known that it was a wild idea. It would have been difficult, if not impossible, to disarm her and stay alive, therefore fraught with danger to both sides, and when Ishido, through intermediaries, had turned it down he was not surprised.

“I know nothing of any ambush,” he had blustered, wishing that Yuriko were there to help him out of the morass.

“Even so, you’re invited to one, though not the way you planned it.”

“Who are you?”

“In return you get Izu, the barbarian and his ship—the moment the chief enemy’s head is in the dust. Providing, of course, she’s captured alive and you stay in Osaka until the day and swear allegiance.”

“Whose head?” Yabu had said, trying to get his brain working, realizing only now that Ishido had used the request for him to fetch the safe conducts merely as a ruse so the secret offer could be made safely and negotiated.

“Is it yes or no?” the samurai asked.

“Who are you and what are you talking about?” He had held up the scroll. “Here’s Lord Ishido’s safe conduct. Not even the Lord General can cancel these after what’s happened.”

“That’s what many say. But, so sorry, bullocks will shit gold dust before you or any are allowed to insult the Lord Yaemon. . . . Please take your hand away from your sword!”

“Then watch your tongue!”

“Of course, so sorry. You agree?”

“I’m overlord of Izu now, and promised Totomi and Suruga,” Yabu had said, beginning to bargain. He knew that though he was trapped, as Mariko was trapped, so equally was Ishido trapped, because the dilemma Mariko had precipitated still existed.

“Yes, so you are,” the samurai had said. “But I’m not permitted to negotiate. Those are the terms. Is it yes or no? . . .”

Yabu finished cleaning his sword and arranged the sheet over the seemingly sleeping figure of Sumiyori. Then he toweled the sweat off his face and hands, composed his rage, blew out the candle, and opened the door. The two Browns were waiting some paces down the corridor. They bowed.

“I’ll wake you at dawn, Sumiyori-san,” Yabu said to the darkness. Then, to one of the samurai, “You stand guard here. No one’s to go in. No one! Make sure the captain’s not disturbed—he needs rest.”

“Yes, Sire.”

The samurai took up his new post and Yabu strode off down the corridor with the other guard, went up a flight of steps to the main central section of this floor and crossed it, heading for the audience room and inner apartments that were in the east wing. Soon he came to the cul-de-sac corridor of the audience room. Guards bowed and allowed him to enter. Other samurai opened the door to the corridor and complex of private quarters. He knocked at a door.

“Anjin-san?” he said quietly.

There was no answer. He pulled the shoji open. The room was empty, the inner shoji ajar. He frowned, then motioned to his accompanying guard to wait, and hurried across the room into the dimly lit inner corridor. Chimmoko intercepted him, a knife in her hand. Her rumpled bed was in this passageway outside one of the rooms.

“Oh, so sorry, Sire, I was dozing,” she said apologetically, lowering her knife. But she did not move out of his path.

“I was looking for the Anjin-san.”

“He and my Mistress are talking, Sire, with Kiritsubo-san and the Lady Achiko.”

“Please ask him if I could see him a moment.”

“Certainly, Sire.” Chimmoko politely motioned Yabu back into the other room, waited until he was there, and pulled the inner shoji closed. The guard in the main corridor watched inquisitively.

In a moment the shoji opened again and Blackthorne came in. He was dressed and wore a short sword.

“Good evening, Yabu-san,” he said.

“So sorry to disturb you, Anjin-san. I just want see—make sure all right, understand?”

“Yes, thank you. No worry.”

“Lady Toda all right? Not sick?”

“Fine now. Very tired but fine. Soon dawn, neh?”

Yabu nodded. “Yes. Just want make sure all right. Understand?”

“Yes. This afternoon you say ‘plan,’ Yabu-san. Remember? Please what secret plan?”

“No secret, Anjin-san,” Yabu said, regretting that he had been so open at that time. “You misunderstood. Say only must have plan . . . very difficult escape Osaka, neh? Must escape or . . .” Yabu drew a knife across his throat. “Understand?”

“Yes. But now have pass, neh? Now safe go out Osaka. Neh?”

“Yes. Soon leave. On boat very good. Soon get men at Nagasaki. Understand?”

“Yes.”