Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [436]
“Sure I’ll fetch them, but later, eh, Baccus? I don’t want to miss nothing.”
“All right.”
Jan Roper’s thin smile was taunting. “Swords and kimonos—like a real heathen! Perhaps you prefer heathen ways now, Pilot?”
“The clothes are cool, better than ours,” Blackthorne replied uneasily. “I’d forgotten I was dressed differently. So much has happened. These were all I had so I got used to wearing them. I never thought much about it. They’re certainly more comfortable.”
“Are those real swords?”
“Yes, of course, why?”
“We’re not allowed weapons. Any weapons!” Jan Roper scowled. “Why do they allow you to have ’em? Just like any heathen samurai?”
Blackthorne laughed shortly. “You haven’t changed, Jan Roper, have you? Still holier than thou? Well, all in good time about my swords, but first the best news of all. Listen, in a month or so we’ll be on the high seas again.”
“Jesus God, you mean it, Pilot?” Vinck said.
“Yes.”
There was a great roaring cheer and another welter of questions and answers. “I told you we’d get away—I told you God was on our side! Let him talk—let the Pilot talk …” Finally Blackthorne held up his hand.
He motioned at the women, who still knelt motionless, more abject now under his attention. “Who’re they?”
Sonk laughed. “Them’s our doxies, Pilot. Our whores, and cheap, Christ Jesus, they hardly cost a button a week. We got a whole house of ’em next door—and mere’s plenty more in the village—”
“They rattle like stoats,” Croocq butted in, and Sonk said, “That’s right, Pilot. ’Course they’re squat and bandy but they’ve lots of vigor and no pox. You want one, Pilot? We’ve our own bunks, we’re not like the monkeys, we’ve all our own bunks and rooms—”
“You try Big-Arse Mary, Pilot, she’s the one for you,” Croocq said.
Jan Roper’s voice overrode them. “The Pilot doesn’t want one of our harlots. He’s got his own. Eh, Pilot?”
Their faces glowed. “Is that true, Pilot? You got women? Hey, tell us, eh? These monkeys’re the best that’s ever been, eh?”
“Tell us about your doxies, Pilot!” Sonk scratched at his lice again.
“There’s a lot to tell,” Blackthorne said. “But it should be private. Less ears the better, neh? Send the women away, then we can talk privately.”
Vinck jerked a thumb at them. “Piss off, hai?”
The women bowed and mumbled thanks and apologies and fled, closing the door quietly.
“First about the ship. It’s unbelievable. I want to thank you and congratulate you—all the work. When we get home I’m going to insist you get triple shares of all the prize money for all that work and there’s going to be a prize beyond …” He saw the men look at each other, embarrassed. “What’s the matter?”
Van Nekk said uncomfortably, “It wasn’t us, Pilot. It was King Toranaga’s men. They did it. Vinck showed ’em how, but we didn’t do anything.”
“What?”
“We weren’t allowed back aboard after the first time. None of us has been aboard except Vinck, and he goes once every ten days or so. We did nothing.”
“He’s the only one,” Sonk said. “Johann showed ’em.”
“But how’d you talk to them, Johann?”
“There’s one of the samurai who talks Portuguese and we talk in that—enough to understand each other. This samurai, his name’s Satosama, he was put in charge when we came here. He asked who were officers or seamen among us. We said that’d be Ginsel, but he’s a gunner mostly, me and Sonk who—”
“Who’s the worst pissing cook that—”
“Shut your God-cursed mouth, Croocq!”
“Shit, you can’t cook ashore let alone afloat, by God!”
“Please be quiet, you two!” Blackthorne said. “Go on, Johann.”
Vinck continued. “Sato-sama asked me what was wrong with the ship and I told him she had to be careened and scraped and repaired all over. Well, I told him all I knew and they got on with it. They careened her good and cleaned the bilges, scrubbed them like a prince’s shit house—at least, samurai were bosses and other monkeys worked like demons, hundreds of the buggers. Shit, Pilot, you’ve never seen workers like ’em!”
“That’s true,” Sonk said.