Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [556]
“Better, thank you. Please excuse me, but where my guards?”
“I am ordered to tell you, when you wake up, that you’re to go back to your ship. Here’s your pass.” The captain took the paper from his sleeve and gave it to him and pointed contemptuously at Michael. “This fellow’s to be your guide.”
Blackthorne tried to get his head working, his brain screeching danger. “Yes. Thank you. But first, please must see Lord Ishido. Very important.”
“So sorry. Your orders are to go back to the ship as soon as you wake up. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Please excuse me, but very important I see Lord Ishido. Please tell your captain. Now. Must see Lord Ishido before leave. Very important, so sorry.”
The samurai scratched at the pockmarks on his chin. “I will ask. Please dress.” He strode off importantly to Blackthorne’s relief. The four samurai remained. Blackthorne went back and dressed quickly. They watched him. The priest waited in the corridor.
Be patient, he told himself. Don’t think and don’t worry. It’s a mistake. Nothing’s changed. You’ve still the power you always had.
He put both swords in his sash and drank the rest of the cha. Then he saw the pass. The paper was stamped and covered with characters. There’s no mistake about that, he thought, the fresh kimono already sticking to him.
“Hey, Anjin-san,” one of the samurai said, “hear you kill five ninja. Very, very good, neh?”
“So sorry, two only. Perhaps three.” Blackthorne twisted his head from side to side to ease the ache and dizziness.
“I heard there were fifty-seven ninja dead—one hundred and sixteen Browns. Is that right?”
“I don’t know. So sorry.”
The captain came back into the room. “Your orders are to go to your ship, Anjin-san. This priest is your guide.”
“Yes. Thank you. But first, so sorry, must see Lady Ochiba. Very, very important. Please ask your—”
The captain spun on Michael and spoke gutturally and very fast. “Neh?” Michael bowed, unperturbed, and turned to Blackthorne. “So sorry, senhor. He says his superior is asking his superior, but meanwhile you are to leave at once and follow me—to the galley.”
“Ima!” the captain added for emphasis.
Blackthorne knew he was a dead man. He heard himself say, “Thank you, Captain. Where my guards, please?”
“You haven’t any guards.”
“Please send my ship. Please fetch my own vassals from—”
“Order go ship now! Understand, neh?” The words were impolite and very final. “Go ship!” the captain added with a crooked smile, waiting for Blackthorne to bow first.
Blackthorne noticed this and it all became a nightmare, everything slowed and fogged, and he desperately wanted to empty himself and wipe the sweat off his face and bow, but he was sure that the captain would hardly bow back, perhaps not even politely and never as an equal, so he would be shamed before all of them. It was clear that he had been betrayed and sold out to the Christian enemy, that Kiyama and Ishido and the priests were part of the betrayal, and for whatever reason, whatever the price, there was nothing now that he could do except wipe off the sweat and bow and leave and they would be waiting for him.
Then Mariko was with him and he remembered her terror and all that she had meant and all that she had done and all that she had taught him. He forced his hand onto the broken hilt of his sword and set his feet truculently apart, knowing that his fate was decided, his karma fixed, and that if he had to die he preferred to die now with pride than later.
“I’m John Blackthorne, Anjin-san,” he said, his absolute commitment lending him a strange power and perfect rudeness. “General of Lord Toranaga ship. All ship. Samurai and hatamoto! Who are you?”
The captain flushed. “Saigo Masakatsu of Kaga, Captain, of Lord Ishido’s garrison.”
“I’m hatamoto—are you hatamoto?” Blackthorne asked, even more rudely, not even acknowledging the name of his opponent, only seeing him with an enormous, unreal clarity—seeing every