Cloud of Sparrows (12 page)

“What’s happening?”

“Let me see, let me see!”

“It’s the crazy man, I bet. He must have got loose again.”

“Jimbo! Jimbo! Jimbo!”

“Shut up, stupid! We know his name.”

“Go home now,” Jimbo said, “or tomorrow I won’t come to the village.”

“Oh, if we leave now, we’ll miss all the fun!”

“Yeah, last time the crazy man threw people over the wall!”

Jimbo looked sternly at the children. “I won’t come to the village the day after tomorrow either.”

“Oh, all right. Come on, let’s go.”

“But you’ll come tomorrow?”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Jimbo said.

The two littlest girls each took one of Goro’s hands. If he’d resisted they wouldn’t have been able to budge him. But Goro always obeyed women. Old women, young women, little girls. Perhaps some lesson harsh or gentle his mother had taught him had comfortably lodged in his porous mind. When the little girls pulled, he went along with them without resistance.

“Jimbo!”

He stood and watched until the children disappeared down the narrow path to the valley below. He didn’t turn away until the last one was gone. Daylight faded with the hour of the monkey. It was time to prepare the evening gruel. He proceeded directly to the kitchen. He had no curiosity about the extraordinary situation. If it was necessary for him to know, the abbot would tell him.

With care and gratitude, he washed the wild grasses he had collected in the mountains. Soon, the long green blades would be chopped into tiny slivers. They would garnish the gruel, adding a small portion of celebratory flavor and color to the simple meal. During his time at the monastery, he had lost track of the months and days. Seasons were easier to recognize. It was winter now. Christmas was in winter. This very day, perhaps. Jimbo was no longer a Christian, but he saw no harm in remembering Christmas. The words of Buddha and Christ were very different, but how different were their messages? Not so different, he thought.

“Jimbo, the abbot wants to see you.” Taro looked in through the doorway. He was dressed for travel, with leggings and a riding jacket in place of monk’s robes. Two swords were in his sash. Outside, a horse whinnied.

Jimbo followed Taro to the armory. The abbot motioned for Jimbo to join him. To Taro he said “Go.” Taro bowed, leaped on his horse, and galloped out of the gate. Nightfall was near. Taro would ride through darkness into the hostile territory of neighboring Yoshino Domain. Jimbo said a silent prayer for his friend’s safety.

“Great metal beasts spitting gouts of flame.” Shigeru’s voice came from the barricaded building. “The smell of burning human flesh is everywhere.”

Sohaku said, “Do those words sound like prophecy to you, Jimbo?”

“I don’t know what prophecy sounds like, Reverend Abbot.”

“I thought Christianity was a religion of prophets.”

“I wouldn’t know. I am not a Christian.”

“But you were,” Sohaku said. “Listen to him. Is that prophecy?”

“Prophets are sometimes madmen,” Jimbo said, “but not all madmen are prophets.”

Sohaku snorted. “I am neither mad nor a prophet. That’s my problem.” Lord Genji had left explicit instructions. When his uncle began prophesying, he was to be summoned without delay. How he knew his uncle would begin prophesying at all was undoubtedly also a matter of prophecy. Or madness. How much simpler life would be as the vassal of a lord who only saw yesterday in the past, today in the present, and tomorrow in the future. The late Lord Kiyori at least had the virtue of being a disciplined warrior. His grandson and heir spent far too little time, in Sohaku’s opinion, studying the ways of the samurai.

“No Shogun,” Shigeru said. “No swords. No topknots. No kimono.”

“I have decided this is prophecy,” Sohaku said, “and I have sent word to Lord Genji. Taro will reach Edo in a night and a day. He will be back with our lord within seven days’ time. You will meet him then.”

“I wonder if I deserve such an honor. I am not necessarily the outsider of Lord Kiyori’s prophecy.”

The prophecy Jimbo spoke of was the one that said that in the New Year an outsider would appear holding the key to the survival of the Okumichi clan. It was a prophecy Sohaku put little stock in. He put little stock in any prophecy. After all, if Lord Kiyori could see the future so well, why had he not prevented his own assassination? He was not required to believe any prophecies, however. He was only required to follow the commands of his liege lord. And even that was somewhat open to question. How open, Sohaku had not yet decided.

Sohaku said, “You are the only outsider known to our clan. The New Year is nearly upon us. Who else can it be?” Right now, he was far more interested in Shigeru. There was a chance Sohaku could take him by surprise and recapture him. Otherwise, they would be in a most awkward position when Lord Genji arrived. They were supposed to be the clan’s best cavalrymen. Yet, here they were, locked out of their own armory by one insane and babbling man, a man they had been entrusted to guard.

“I will prepare Lord Shigeru’s meal.” Jimbo bowed and made his way back to the kitchen. He had learned their ways remarkably well in a short time. Sohaku was most impressed with how he had grasped their language. The American consul, Townsend Harris, had been resident in Japan for over four years and still could not speak more than a few poorly enunciated words of Japanese. Sohaku had witnessed this for himself when he accompanied Lord Kiyori on a visit to the diplomat’s new Edo lodgings. After only one year, Jimbo sounded almost Japanese.

“Deformity everywhere. By birth, by accident, by design.” Sohaku listened to the continued muttering from within. If he failed to recapture Shigeru now, he would certainly do so during the next day or two. Even madmen had to sleep.

Miracles followed unceasingly one upon the other, miracles of visions, understandings, and powers.

He walked with Jesus upon the waters.

He stood with Moses before the burning bush.

He flew with Gabriel above the battlefield of Armageddon.

Reinvigorated with holy zeal, he awoke to another place and found bestowed upon himself the ability to decipher the Japanese tongue. When the effeminate warlord next spoke, Cromwell was blessed with comprehension.

“Shall we retire to the next room?” Genji said. “These maids will attend Mr. Cromwell. They will call us if there is any change.”

Emily shook her head. “If he wakes, it may comfort him to see me.”

“Very well,” Genji said. “Then let us be seated.”

Accustomed as he had become to miracles, Cromwell was astounded by what he heard. He didn’t know which surprised him more. That Emily, like him, found meaning in the mutilated alien syllables, or that the warlord understood the English words that came from her lips. Of great signs and portents, was not the undoing of Babel’s curse among the greatest? Cromwell opened his eyes.

Emily smiled at him. Why did tears roll down her cheeks? She said “Zephaniah.”

He tried to say her name. Instead of words, hot liquid filled his mouth.

“Oh, God,” Emily said. Her hands, balled tightly into fists, shot to her mouth. She would have fallen backward out of her chair if Stark hadn’t caught her.

“Sit him up,” Stark said, “or he’ll drown in his own blood.”

Genji took Cromwell in his arms and lifted the shuddering torso from the bed. Where his arm crossed the wounded man’s chest, the sleeve of his kimono was already black with the dark gouts spewing from the spasm-wracked throat.

“Lord!” Saiki sprang forward. “Please don’t touch him! The outsider’s foulness will pollute you!”

“It is his life’s blood,” Genji said, “no different from yours or mine.”

Stark felt Emily’s body, already tight with fear, grow ever tighter. She was going into shock.

“Emily,” he said. He rested her head on his shoulder and turned her away from Cromwell. He felt her soften. Her arms went around him. She buried her face against his chest and wept. Stark walked with her from the room. A short distance away was a small garden. He would take her there. “Come. There is nothing more we can do.”

In the hallway leading to the garden, Stark and Emily crossed paths with two men hurrying toward the room they had just left. Both wore the two swords of samurai, but the second man’s head was shaven, and his clothing was rough and simple. He must have come some distance in a great hurry. Dust mixed with sweat turned to mud on his face.

“No, Brother Matthew,” Emily said. “I cannot leave Zephaniah alone.”

“Brother Zephaniah is no longer alone,” Stark said. “He is with the hosts of the righteous in his Savior’s home.”

Saiki was horrified. The outsider had coughed out his bloody guts all over Lord Genji. Worse, he had died in his arms. Shinto priests would have to be called immediately to cleanse the lord. Then, as soon as the body was removed, the room would have to be exorcised as well. Sheets, bedding, furniture, tatami mats, all must be removed and burned. Saiki himself didn’t care. All religions were fairy tales to him. Some of the men, however, were vulnerable to old superstitions.

“Lord,” Saiki said, “the outsider is beyond your help. Please let others deal with his body.”

“He’s not dead,” Genji said, “only sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” Impossible. Saiki leaned closer. The awful odors rising from the outsider nauseated him. But he saw the chest slowly rising and falling, and he heard the faint whistle of air moving through the huge nose.

Genji turned Cromwell over to Hanako and the other maid. “Keep him sitting up until Dr. Ozawa returns. If he begins to choke again, do whatever is necessary to clear his throat, including reaching in with your hand if you must.”

“Yes, lord,” the two maids said. They struggled not to gag at the foul reek rising from the outsider’s body. To show displeasure at anything in their lord’s presence would be an unforgivable breach of etiquette.

“Look at the calm in his face,” Genji said to Saiki. “He dreams healing dreams. I believe he will survive.”

“That would be a miracle.”

“He is a Christian. His religion is a religion of miracles.”

“He’s not yet dead, lord, but that hardly means he will survive. All about him is the stench of death.”

“Perhaps not. I doubt he bathed during his entire sea voyage. That is probably the source of the stench.”

A samurai from the perimeter watch waited at the door. When Genji glanced in his direction, he bowed.

“Lord, a rider has brought an urgent message.”

“Bring him.” He would have preferred to strip himself of these bloody clothes and bathe immediately. It would have to wait.

Despite the rough clothing and the shaven head, the messenger was familiar. His name was Taro. Six months ago, he and two dozen more of Akaoka Domain’s best cavalrymen had taken holy orders with their former captain. Taro could only have come from his present station, Mushindo Monastery, and coming from there, he could have only one message to deliver. Genji did not have to hear it to know what it was.

“Lord,” Taro said. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. “Captain Tanaka . . .” He stopped again and bowed apologetically. “That is, Abbot Sohaku requests instructions.”

Genji nodded. “What is the situation in the countryside?”

“Much movement of troops in Yoshino Domain, lord. I was forced to leave the road for concealment several times.”

“Be more precise, Taro,” Saiki said sternly. “Were you trained as a scout or not?”

“Yes, sir.” Taro calculated quickly in his head. “Five hundred mounted musketeers with four siege cannons went south on the main highway toward the Inland Sea. Three thousand troops on foot, in three brigades, traveled by night in the same direction.”

“Very good, Taro. Take refreshment and be ready to ride in one hour.”

“Yes, lord.”

Saiki hissed. “Yoshino is an ally of Kurokawa. That domain is separated from yours by the narrowest stretch of the Inland Sea. They may be plotting to take advantage of your grandfather’s recent death.”

“I doubt it. The Shogun would not give his permission for an attack on Akaoka. He’s too worried about outsiders to risk any unnecessary internal distractions.”

“The Shogun is a joke,” Saiki said. “His title of Great Barbarian Subduing Generalissimo is more weighty than himself, a fourteen-year-old boy with cowards and idiots for advisors.”

“He may lack the power of his ancestors,” Genji said, “but no lord would dare flaunt his authority in such a blatant way. The Shogun’s army is still the strongest in Japan. And no one else has any navy to speak of.” He paused thoughtfully. “This is actually good news. With so much attention to the west, travel to the north will be less hazardous.”

“Lord, surely you don’t intend to go to the monastery yourself?”

“I must. ‘Abbot Sohaku requests instructions’ means something has arisen that requires my personal attention. Don’t worry, Saiki. I won’t travel in state. That will attract too much attention. I’ll go incognito, with Taro.” Genji looked around the room. “Hidé and Shimoda, too.”

The two men bowed. “Yes, lord. Thank you. We will prepare for the journey.”