Cloud of Sparrows (21 page)

Jimbo had been James Bohannon, and Ethan Cruz, and he still was. At the same time, he was none of them anymore.

Jimbo related none of this to Genji. He was about to begin when the lord smiled and said, “Truly? You have succeeded in escaping from yourself? Then you must share the enlightenment of Gautama Buddha himself.”

“Enlightenment is a word whose meaning I don’t know,” Jimbo said. “I know the meanings of fewer and fewer words with every breath. Soon the only sensible thing I will be able to say is nothing at all.”

Genji laughed and turned to Sohaku. “He is a more suitable successor to Zengen than you ever were. It’s just as well you’re leaving and he’s staying.”

“Is he not the outsider for whom you have been waiting, my lord?”

“I think not. That one is presently at Quiet Crane Palace.”

“You have welcomed more outsiders?” Sohaku frowned, unable to keep his displeasure from showing.

“It was our late lord’s recent policy to offer hospitality to missionaries of the True Word. I am only continuing what he began.” Genji turned to Jimbo. “That is why you are here, is it not?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You will be together with them shortly,” Genji said. “They came to help construct the mission house. It will be a difficult task. Your companions here have perished, and of the three who came, it is likely only two are still alive.”

“One is ill, my lord?”

“I am sorry to say he was accidentally struck by an assassin’s bullet meant for me. He may be a friend of yours. Zephaniah Cromwell.”

“I don’t know him, my lord. He must have arrived in San Francisco after I departed.”

“A shame to come so far only to die a senseless death. Is there anything you need, Jimbo?”

“No, my lord. Abbot Sohaku has provisioned the temple well.”

“When your former coreligionists arrive, what will you do?”

“I will help them build the mission house,” Jimbo said. “Those who cannot hear the words of Buddha may hear the words of Christ and come to the same salvation.”

“A healthy attitude. I wish you well, Jimbo. Or do you prefer James? Or Ethan?”

“A name is just a name. Any will do as well as none.”

Genji laughed. “If more of us felt that way, the history of Japan would be far less bloody than it has been. And will be, still.”

Genji stood. The assembled samurai all bowed and maintained their bows until the lord left the tent, escorted by Shigeru, to prepare for his departure.

Sohaku said, “Will you be well here alone?”

“Yes, Abbot, I will,” Jimbo said. “And I will not always be alone. The children will not permit it.”

“I am not abbot any longer,” Sohaku said. “You are abbot now. Perform the rites. Maintain the meditation schedule. See to the spiritual needs of the villagers, to their births and deaths, their mournings and celebrations. Can you do that?”

“Yes, lord, I can.”

“Then it is indeed fortunate that you entered among us, Jimbo, and became who you have become. Otherwise, with Zengen’s death and my departure, this temple would be abandoned. It is never good to abandon a temple. Bad karma always follows.”

Sohaku and Jimbo exchanged bows, and the cavalry commander rose. “Recite the sutras for me as well. I enter a time of much peril, and am more likely to fail and die than succeed and live.”

“Those who succeed and those who fail are both destined to die,” Jimbo said. “Nevertheless, I will recite sutras for you daily.”

“My thanks,” Sohaku said, “for those true words.” He bowed again and departed.

Jimbo remained seated where he was. He must have slipped into meditation without knowing it, for when he next had a conscious thought, he was alone, enveloped by the deep darkness. The cry of a single distant night bird passed through him.

Above, the winter stars moved across the sky in their set orbits.

Though the doors were open to allow the passage of air, there was no escaping the fetid atmosphere of the room. The two maids, Hanako and Yukiko, sat stolidly at the edge of the room. They had requested permission to wear scented scarves across their faces two days ago, but Saiki had forbidden it.

“If the outsider woman can stand it, then you can stand it. You will shame us if you appear weaker than she is.”

“Yes, lord.”

But when was the last time Saiki had visited this breathing corpse?

Hanako and Yukiko watched the outsider woman speaking to the unconscious man. She sat close to the source of the foul emanations and showed no signs of gagging. Should they admire her for her self-discipline, or pity her for her desperation? She was so repulsive, Hanako and Yukiko conjectured, she must despair of ever finding another husband. Who could deny that her fears were well justified? That must be why she clung so pathetically to a man who was already as good as dead.

“What about the other?” Hanako had asked. “Might he not step forward after this one dies?”

“No,” Yukiko had replied. “He does not look at women.”

“He prefers his own sex?”

“He does not look at men or boys, either. Not in that way. I believe he is a true monk of their religion. He seeks only souls to save, not bodily gratification.”

The other had looked in on the woman and the dying man. Hanako did not recall seeing any passion in his eyes. Yukiko was right. He was intent on another purpose. After a few moments, he had walked away, perhaps to pray or to study their sacred text.

Heiko knelt beside the two maids. “My, my. This odor truly tests resolve, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Lady Heiko,” Hanako said. “It’s terrible.”

“I would think some of our brave samurai should be in attendance, strengthening their will,” Heiko said, “yet only we weak women are here.”

The two maids giggled behind their hands.

“Just so,” Yukiko said.

“You may go for now,” Heiko said. “Return at the end of the hour.”

“Lord Saiki ordered us to remain,” Hanako said reluctantly.

“If he complains, tell him I asked you to leave, in order that I might fully follow Lord Genji’s command to put the outsiders at ease.”

“Yes, Lady Heiko.” The two maids bowed gratefully, and withdrew.

Heiko shut down her sense of smell. She could do this because she had been trained since childhood to control the balance of her senses. How, she wondered, did Emily manage? She bowed to her and took the adjoining chair. If she perched on its very edge, she could just touch the floor with the tips of her toes.

“How is he?” Heiko asked.

“Brother Matthew believes sometime today, Zephaniah will fall asleep and not awake again.”

“I am sorry.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. “I am sorry, too.”

Cromwell’s eyes snapped open. He looked past Emily, past the ceiling of the room, to somewhere far distant. He took a deep breath and half rose from the bed.

“The angels of resurrection and damnation are come,” he said, a blissful smile brightening his face. “To whom will ye flee for help? And where will ye leave your glory?”

“Amen.” Emily leaned forward to comfort him.

And the room exploded with white light and thunder.

The force of the blast lifted Cromwell from the bed and flung him skyward through the disintegrating roof.

As he had prophesied, he did not die of the gunshot wound.

“He seems completely normal now,” Taro said.

“Three days of peacefulness prove nothing,” Abbot Sohaku said. “Even a madman can restrain himself for three days.”

The small party threaded its way through Edo toward Quiet Crane Palace. Taro and Sohaku were at the rear. Hidé and Shimoda led the way, with Genji and Shigeru in the center. They wore no crests and flew no banners, and shadowed their faces with large basketlike hats of woven reeds. By the conventions of incognito travel, this meant they were unrecognizable, so the crowds in the streets were not obligated to cease all activity and prostrate themselves as they were required to do with any appearance of a Great Lord. Passersby simply bowed as they would to any samurai.

“I’ve never seen him this quiet,” Taro said. “Perhaps Lord Genji’s presence has a curative effect on him.”

“You don’t believe those stories, do you?” Sohaku said.

“Which ones?” Taro said. “There are so many of them.”

Sohaku snorted. “About our lord’s supposed magical powers. His ability to control the thoughts of others.”

“Maybe not everyone’s thoughts,” Taro said, “but look at Shigeru. You can’t deny he’s changed since he’s been with Lord Genji.”

“Three days of peacefulness prove nothing,” Sohaku said again. He looked ahead to where Genji and Shigeru rode together, separated enough from the others to allow them to speak privately. As if it mattered what they said. More babble, Sohaku thought, more useless babble.

“As you predicted, Hidé chose Shimoda as his lieutenant,” Shigeru said. “And Taro will be chosen next?”

“It wasn’t that kind of prediction,” Genji said. “Hidé is unimaginative in the extreme. Not necessarily a defect in a bodyguard. I simply assumed he would do the natural thing, which is to select his best friends.”

“You shouldn’t allow him to name Taro. He’s Sohaku’s direct vassal. His father and Sohaku were comrades in arms during the time of the peasant uprisings. He himself took almost all his advanced martial instruction from Sohaku. You can’t trust him.”

“If Hidé trusts him, then I trust him,” Genji said. “It is important to know when to delegate authority.”

“It is error to take too much comfort in your first prophecy,” Shigeru said. “For all you know, you might be in a coma for the next ten years, thanks to an attack by Taro, then wake up to be killed in that place you envisioned.”

“I realize that.”

“Do you? Then why have you so lightly dismissed the possibility that Jimbo could be the outsider to whom Lord Kiyori alerted you? He may be the one yet to save your life.”

“An outsider met in the New Year has already done so.”

“Only if you were, in fact, the target of the attack,” Shigeru said, “and it is not yet the New Year.”

“It is for the outsiders. You doubt that I was the intended victim?”

“I am certain you were not.”

“Oh? You were not there, yet you know? Through a vision of your own, perhaps?”

“No, my lord,” Shigeru said, responding to Genji’s irritated manner with increased formality. “I am convinced by the nature of the attack. You were walking in plain view, yet it was the palanquin that was struck, not any person walking near you.”

“We Japanese have not yet mastered firearms, yet we insist on using them, even when a bow would be the more effective weapon. We have always been easy prey for foreign fads.”

“The assailant not only escaped capture but disappeared unseen.”

“He was a considerable distance away. By the time the men got there, he was gone. Nothing unusual about that.”

“It bears all the marks of a ninja act,” Shigeru said. “He shot whom he intended to shoot. The leader of the missionaries.”

“To cause unrest and heighten suspicion?”

“Exactly.”

“Possible. Perhaps I will look into it.”

Further conversation was prevented by loud noises echoing out of Edo Bay. It sounded like huge tree trunks were being snapped in two. Then the shoreline ahead of them exploded.

“Cannonade!” Shigeru shouted. “Ships are firing on the palaces!”

Genji spurred his horse through the panicking crowd and sped toward Quiet Crane at full gallop.

“Wait!”

“Lord!”

Genji ignored them. Shigeru, Hidé, and Shimoda kicked their horses and dashed after him.

Taro looked to Sohaku for orders.

“Is this the best we can do?” Sohaku said. “Rush into the muzzles of the outsiders’ cannons?”

“Sir!” Taro worked hard to restrain his horse, which was eager to join its galloping companions.

“Our leaders are going in the wrong direction,” Sohaku said.

“Sir, your orders!” Taro was as eager to go as his horse. Six months posing as a monk had not made him one.

Sohaku nodded.

Taro released the restraining pressure on the bit and his horse bolted forward. Taro sped away, a monk with two incongruous swords in his sash, poised in his saddle like a charging cavalryman.

Sohaku was alone in the street. The populace had fled indoors. A wise reaction when warfare was a matter of swords and arrows. Potentially suicidal now. Almost as suicidal as riding into cannon fire. Sohaku kicked his horse and chased after his lord.

Stark hadn’t fired a gun in over a year. After he joined the True Word Mission in San Francisco, he told Emily and Cromwell he’d thrown his weapons into the Pacific Ocean. That put an end to target practice. Since he couldn’t shoot, he concentrated on drawing his guns as fast as he could. He did this in his room at the mission and, on the voyage, in his cabin aboard the
Star of Bethlehem
. His aim was probably off some by now. There was only one way to stay sharp, and that was actually firing bullets. Feeling the gun kick backward as the gunpowder exploded and the lead went flying. Not letting the movement or noise or flash or smell or smoke distract him. He was confident he could still hit the center of a man’s chest at ten paces. Twenty might be a stretch now. His speed was definitely up, though. He was a notch or two quicker than he had been before, when he was famous for a time out in west Texas.