Shōgun полностью

Blackthorne ordered a servant to saddle his horse and mounted awkwardly from the right side, as was custom in Japan and China. Don’t think there’d be much future in letting him teach me swordsmanship, he told himself, his right hand nudging the concealed pistol safer, its pleasing warmth reassuring. This confidence vanished when Omi reappeared. With him were four mounted samurai.

Together they all cantered up the broken road toward the plateau. They passed many samurai companies in full marching gear, armed, under their officers, spear pennants fluttering. When they crested the rise, they saw that the entire Musket Regiment was drawn up outside the camp in route order, each man standing beside his armed horse, a baggage train in the rear, Yabu, Naga, and their officers in the van. The rain began to fall heavily.

“All troops go?” Blackthorne asked, perturbed, and reined in his horse.

“Yes.”

“Go Spa with Toranaga-sama, Omi-san?”

“I don’t know.”

Blackthorne’s sense of survival warned him to ask no more questions. But one needed to be answered. “And Buntaro-sama?” he asked indifferently. “He with us tomorrow, Omi-san?”

“No. He’s already gone. This morning he was in the square when you left the Tea House. Didn’t you see him, near the Tea House?”

Blackthorne could read nothing untoward in Omi’s face. “No. Not see, so sorry. He go Spa too?”

“I suppose so. I’m not sure.” The rain dripped off Omi’s conical hat, which was tied under his chin. His eyes were almost hidden. “Now, why did you want me to come here with you?”

“Show place, like I say.” Before Omi could say anything more, Blackthorne spurred his horse forward. With his most careful sea sense he took accurate bearings from memory and went quickly to the exact point over the crevasse. He dismounted and beckoned Omi. “Please.”

“What is it, eh?” Omi’s voice was edged.

“Please, here Omi-san. Alone.”

Omi waved his guards away and spurred forward until he towered over Blackthorne. “Nan desu ka?” he asked, his hand seemingly tightening on his sword.

“This place Toranaga-sama . . .” Blackthorne could not think of the words, so explained partially with his hands. “Understand?”

“Here you pulled him out of the earth, neh? So?”

Blackthorne looked at him, then deliberately down at his sword, then stared up at him again saying nothing more. He wiped the rain out of his face.

“Nan desu ka?” Omi repeated more irritably.

Still Blackthorne didn’t answer. Omi stared down at the crevasse and again at Blackthorne’s face. Then his eyes lit up. “Ah, so desu! Wakarimasu!” Omi thought a moment then called out to one of the guards, “Get Mura here at once. With twenty men and shovels!”

The samurai galloped off. Omi sent the others back to the village, then dismounted and stood beside Blackthorne. “Yes, Anjin-san,” he said, “that’s an excellent thought. A good idea.”

“Idea? What idea?” Blackthorne asked innocently. “Just show place—think you want know place, neh? So sorry—don’t understand.”

Omi said, “Toranaga-sama lost his swords here. Swords very valuable. He’ll be happy to get them back. Very happy, neh?”

“Ah so! No my idea, Omi-san,” Blackthorne said. “Omi-san idea.”

“Of course. Thank you, Anjin-san. You’re a good friend and your mind’s fast. I should have thought of that myself. Yes, you’re a good friend and we’ll all need friends for the next few months. War’s with us now whether we want it or not.”

“Please? So sorry. I don’t understand, speak too fast. Please excuse.”

“Glad we’re friends—you and me. Understand?”

“Hai. You say war? War now?”

“Soon. What can we do? Nothing. Don’t worry, Toranaga-sama will conquer Ishido and his traitors. That’s the truth, understand? No worry, neh?”

“Understand. I go now, my house. All right?”

“Yes. See you at dawn. Again thank you.”

Blackthorne nodded. But he did not leave. “She’s pretty, neh?”

“What?”

“Kiku-san.” Blackthorne’s legs were slightly apart and he was poised to jump back and pull out the pistol, and aim it and fire it. He remembered with total clarity the unbelievable, effortless speed that Omi had used to decapitate the first villager so long ago, and he was ready as best he could be. He reasoned his only safety was to precipitate the matter of Kiku. Omi would never do it. Omi would consider such bad manners unthinkable. And, filled with shame at his own weakness, Omi would lock his very un-Japanese jealousy away into a secret compartment. Because it was so alien and shame-filled, this jealousy would fester until, when it was least expected, Omi would explode blindly and ferociously.

“Kiku-san?” Omi said.

“Hai.” Blackthorne could see that Omi was rocked. Even so he was glad he had chosen the time and the place. “She’s pretty, neh?”

“Pretty?”

“Hai.”

The rain increased. The heavy drops spattered the mud. Their horses shivered uncomfortably. Both men were soaked but the rain was warm and it ran off them.