Shogun

my rutters.’ We argued back and forth as usual—you know how it is. Then I swore by the Madonna and we both swore on the Cross and that was that. We had a good voyage and some fat Spanish merchantmen fell into our wake. When we were off Lisbon he asked me to stay aboard, gave me the usual message from Good Queen Bess, how she’d pay a princely bounty to any Portuguese pilot who’d join her and teach others the skill at Trinity House, and give five thousand guineas for the rutter of Magellan’s Pass, or the Cape of Good Hope.” His smile was broad, his teeth white and strong, and his dark mustache and beard well groomed. “I didn’t have them. At least that’s what I told him. Morrow kept his word, like all pirates should. He put me ashore with my rutters—of course he’d had them copied though he himself couldn’t read or write, and he even gave me my share of the prize money. You ever sail with him, Ingeles?”

“No. The Queen knighted him a few years ago. I’ve never served on one of his ships. I’m glad he was fair with you.”

They were nearing Erasmus. Samurai were peering down at them quizzically.

“That was the second time I’d piloted for heretics. The first time I wasn’t so lucky.”

“Oh?”

Rodrigues shipped his oars and the boat swerved neatly to the side and he hung on to the boarding ropes. “Go aloft but leave the talking to me.”

Blackthorne began to climb while the other pilot tied the boat safely. Rodrigues was the first on deck. He bowed like a courtier. “Konnichi wa to all sod-eating samas!”

There were four samurai on deck. Blackthorne recognized one of them as a guard of the trapdoor. Nonplussed, they bowed stiffly to the Portuguese. Blackthorne aped him, feeling awkward, and would have preferred to bow correctly.

Rodrigues walked straight for the companionway. The seals were neatly in place. One of the samurai intercepted him.

“Kinjiru, gomen nasai.” It’s forbidden, so sorry.

“Kinjiru, eh?” the Portuguese said, openly unimpressed. “I’m Rodrigu-san, anjin for Toda Hiro-matsu-sama. This seal,” he said, pointing to the red stamp with the odd writing on it, “Toda Hiro-matsu- sama, ka?”

“Iye,” the samurai said, shaking his head. “Kasigi Yabu-sama!”

“IYE?” Rodrigues said. “Kasigi Yabu-sama? I’m from Toda Hiro-matsu-sama, who’s a bigger king than your bugger and Toady-sama’s from Toranaga-sama, who’s the biggest bugger-sama in this whole world. Neh?” He ripped the seal off the door, dropped a hand to one of his pistols. The swords were half out of their scabbards and he said quietly to Blackthorne, “Get ready to abandon ship,” and to the samurai he said gruffly, “Toranaga-sama!” He pointed with his left hand at the flag which fluttered at his own masthead. “Wakarimasu ka?”

The samurai hesitated, their swords ready. Blackthorne prepared to dive over the side.

“Toranaga-sama!” Rodrigues crashed his foot against the door, the latch snapped and the door burst open. “WAKARIMASU KA?”

“Wakarimasu, Anjin-san.” The samurai quickly put their swords away and bowed and apologized and bowed again and Rodrigues said hoarsely, “That’s better,” and led the way below.

“Christ Jesus, Rodrigues,” Blackthorne said when they were on the lower deck. “Do you do this all the time and get away with it?”

“I do it very seldom,” the Portuguese said, wiping the sweat from his brow, “and even then I wish I’d never started it.”

Blackthorne leaned against the bulkhead. “I feel as if someone’s kicked me in the stomach.”

“It’s the only way. You’ve got to act like a king. Even so, you can never tell with a samurai. They’re as dangerous as a pissed priest with a candle in his arse sitting on a half-full powder keg.”

“What did you say to them?”

“Toda Hiro-matsu is Toranaga’s chief adviser—he’s a bigger daimyo than this local one. That’s why they gave in.”

“What’s he like, Toranaga?”

“Long story, Ingeles.” Rodrigues sat on the step, pulled his boot off, and rubbed his ankle. “I nearly broke my foot on your lice-eaten door.”

“It wasn’t locked. You could have just opened it.”

“I know. But that wouldn’t have been as effective. By the Blessed Virgin, you’ve got a lot to learn!”

“Will you teach me?”

Rodrigues pulled his boot back on. “That depends,” he said.

“On what?”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we? I’ve done all the talking so far, which is fair—I’m fit, you’re not. Soon it’ll be your turn. Which is your cabin?”

Blackthorne studied him for a moment. The smell below decks was stiff and weathered. “Thanks for helping me come aboard.”

He led the way aft. His door was unlocked. The cabin had been ransacked and everything removable had been taken. There were no books or clothes or instruments or quills. His sea chest too was unlocked. And empty.

White with rage, he walked into the Great Cabin, Rodrigues watching intently. Even the secret compartment had been found and looted.

“They’ve taken everything. The sons of plague-infested lice!”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. I thought—with the seals—” Blackthorne went to the strong room. It was bare. So was the magazine. The holds contained only the bales of woolen cloth. “God curse all Jappers!” He went back to his cabin and slammed his sea chest closed.

“Where are they?” Rodrigues asked.

“What?”

“Your rutters. Where are your rutters?”

Blackthorne looked at him sharply.

“No pilot’d worry about clothes. You came for the rutters. Didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why’re you so surprised, Ingeles? Why do you think I came aboard? To help you get more rags? They’re threadbare as it is and you’ll need others. I’ve plenty for you. But where are the rutters?”

“They’ve gone. They were in my sea chest.”

“I’m not going to steal them, Ingeles. I just want to read them. And copy them, if need be. I’ll cherish them like my own, so you’ve no need to worry.” His voice hardened. “Please get them, Ingeles, we’ve little time left.”

“I can’t. They’ve gone. They were in my sea chest.”

“You wouldn’t have left them there—not coming into a foreign port. You wouldn’t forget a pilot’s first rule—to hide them carefully, and leave only false ones unprotected. Hurry up!”

“They’re stolen!”

“I don’t believe you. But I’ll admit you’ve hidden them very well. I searched for two hours and didn’t get a fornicating whiff.”

“What?”

“Why are you so surprised, Ingeles? Is your head up your arse? Naturally I came here from Osaka to investigate your rutters!”

“You’ve already been aboard?”

“Madonna!” Rodrigues said impatiently. “Yes, of course, two or three hours ago with Hiro-matsu, who wanted to look around. He broke the seals and then, when we left, this local daimyo sealed her up again. Hurry up, by God,” he added. “The sand’s running out.”

“They’re stolen!” Blackthorne told him how they had arrived and how he had awakened ashore. Then he kicked his sea chest across the room, infuriated at the men who had looted his ship. “They’re stolen! All my charts! All my rutters! I’ve copies of some in England, but my rutter of this voyage’s gone