Part 25 (2/2)

Steve stripped off his walking skins and stood s.h.i.+vering in his blue wingman's underpants. n.o.buro motioned to him to take those off too.

The sight of the hair that ran down from his navel then spread out across his pelvis brought some muttered comments from the d.i.n.ks standing around him. Someone handed him a square block of fat and made rubbing motions as another guy emptied some of the water over his head.

Steve worked up a rich lather. The block was a solid version of the liquid soap the Federation provided in push-b.u.t.ton dispensers. More water was thrown over him. Christopher, it was cold! He worked the soap over his body until he reached his toes, got another drenching, then was handed a towel. A good hard rub got rid of most of the goose pimples.

n.o.buro sniffed the air coming from Steve's direction and gave a nod of approval. 'Now you dress in different manner.”

One of the ronin handed Steve a cotton loincloth and showed him how to wrap it around his private parts, then another guy brought over a sack to put his dirty clothes and his other belongings in. With that task completed, Steve was provided with a pair of white cotton socks, a brown, loose-fitting cuffed jacket and trousers like those worn by Clearwater's minders and a pair of flat-soled shoes. A square straw mask with two eye-slits was placed over his face and fastened at the back of his head and round his throat, then a hooded waist-length cape made of woven straw was draped over his shoulders and closed by means of a loop and toggle just below the collarbone.

Finally, another pair of white socks was slipped over his hands and tucked up his sleeves to hide the telltale patches of coloured pigment.

Steve's wrists were tied together again, but his horse-riding days were over. Two ronin who had changed into red-stripe outfits rode up as n.o.buro remounted. All three horses had been dolled up by the addition of ta.s.sels attached to the harness, their tails had been partly braided and the body of n.o.buro's mount was now draped with a black cloth decorated to match the outfit of its rider.

One of the red-stripes took the free end of the rope that ran around Steve's wrists and hitched it to his saddle; the other took charge of the sack containing his old outfit. n.o.buro's party waved goodbye to the nine ronin they were leaving behind and set off towards the distant points of light. Steve didn't have time to wave.

He was too busy trying to keep up.

Near midnight, as the inhabitants of the now-silent post-house slumbered, a figure swathed in black, with only his eyes visible through a gap in the strip of cloth wound around his head, entered the darkened pavilion through the half-open screen that gave on to the garden, and sat down cross-legged opposite the waiting ronin.

It was Tos.h.i.+ro Hase-Gawa. A small lantern placed on the floor to n.o.buro's left provided the only illumination.

Revealing his face to the ronin, the Herald exchanged the customary greetings and then listened intently to n.o.buro's account of the raid and his subsequent discoveries.

The loss of some forty men was regrettable, but it was rea.s.suring to know his informants had not lied. The love-object was indeed a long-dog.

As requested, the ronin had sent separate confirmation of this fact directly to the Shogun by courier pigeon.

n.o.buro then announced that the kami who had s.n.a.t.c.hed them from the jaws of death following the raid on the convoy had intervened in their favour yet again. The Herald could now examine the merchandise himself: 'Yoko Mi-s.h.i.+ma' and her two chaperones had rejoined the road convoy and were spending the night at the same post-house!

Mastering his surprise, the Herald asked how the examination could be conducted without giving the game away.

n.o.buro explained the arrangement he had made with the innkeeper and his wife who, if she was as good as her last whispered word, was now abed with one ear c.o.c.ked for the three owl-hoots which would summon her to the silent steam-laden bath-house and into n.o.buro's arms. She was destined to be cruelly deceived, but n.o.buro intended to make a handsome apology in the morning. He would blame his non-appearance on the need to guard the ill-starred couple during their midnight tryst, then leave with a backward glance that hinted at unfinished business.

Tos.h.i.+ro listened with an amused smile and laughed in all the right places, but his light hearted manner concealed mixed feelings at learning of the long-dog's presence in the post-house. The fact that she was now here and, thanks to n.o.buro, could be viewed whenever he desired called into question the wisdom of his original plan. Had it been a rash and futile action? Had men's lives been uselessly squandered?

He decided they had not. Gazing surrept.i.tiously at the body of the long-dog through a bath-house screen, or from behind the door to her bedchamber with n.o.buro beside him as an independent witness, would have proved his accusations were well founded but it would not have thrown the conspirators into disarray.

That was the real purpose of the kidnapping. It raised doubts, it hinted at the possibility that at least one of their secrets was now known to others and fuelled the ever-present anxiety that their conspiracy had been uncovered.

Perhaps Lord Yama-s.h.i.+ta would decide that the long-dog was now too great a risk and arrange to have her a.s.sa.s.sinated.

That would certainly eliminate one problem - but it would also end his hold over Nakane Toh-s.h.i.+ba. It might even cause the Consul-General to turn against him.

Yes... either way there were interesting times ahead.

Tos.h.i.+ro maintained his show of good humour and congratulated the ronin on his artful handling of the situation. 'So when may I be permitted to see the lady who has led me to risk all for a last pa.s.sionate encounter?”

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