Part 56 (1/2)

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, the clerks and roadrunners were ordered to a.s.semble in the yard.

The Mute washerwomen, cooks and cleaners were told to stay indoors and keep out of sight until it was all over.

At the appointed hour, the post-master and his six senior clerks positioned themselves facing the gateway.

Behind them, the rest of their staff stood in three ranks with their toes touching the rear edge of a line of straw mats. With a sudden flourish of unseen trumpets, Nakane Tohos.h.i.+ba swept into the yard on horseback, escorted by ten mounted samurai and a troop of foot-soldiers. The senior staff bowed from the waist, the lower echelons went down on their knees and bowed their heads and the roadrunners put their noses to the ground.

Toh-s.h.i.+ba dismounted along with five of his samurai and strode forward to meet the post-master. The other riders stayed watchfully in their saddles while the troop commander deployed the foot-soldiers around the yard and outside the gate. The Consul-General's life was not in danger - as far as anyone knew. All senior government officials travelled with armed escorts, no matter how friendly the local domain-lord might be. With errant bands of ronin looking for ransom opportunities, one could never be too careful.

Having bowed the requisite number of times, the post-master greeted Toh-s.h.i.+ba in the usual effusive manner, but his words were aimed at the samurai who stood between them. Since Toh-s.h.i.+ba was a high-ranking n.o.bleman and related by marriage to the Shogun, it would have been an unthinkable breach of etiquette to have spoken to him directly. The samurai had no need to repeat what was said; he was merely the conduit through which superior and inferior could address each other.

Toh-s.h.i.+ba made a perfunctory reply via the same circuitous route and accepted the offer of refreshments. A tray of cool drinks was produced and offered with great ceremony.

What a way to run a country! thought Steve. If they waste as much time as this when a war is on, it'll be a pushover.

A barked command in j.a.panese caused the lower ranks to rise and stand with heads bowed. A clerk who was fluent in Basic ordered the roadrunners to sit back on their heels, hands on thighs, chin on chest.

Accompanied by the post-master, Toh-s.h.i.+ba and his escort inspected the two lines of clerks, each one bowing from the waist as the Consul-General reached him.

Nakane Toh-s.h.i.+ba was above average height for an Iron Master and, while not exactly fat, was quite heavily built. The broad-shouldered, padded kimono he was wearing made it hard to gauge his physique accurately, but he had plump short fingers and a pudgy face. Steve, who had been studying his target out of the corner of his eyes, decided the Consul-General looked pampered and overfed.

Despite his bulk, Toh-s.h.i.+ba was light on his feet and moved with regal a.s.surance - as well he might. Like all of the high ranking j.a.ps, he wore a wig of Mute hair with the usual samurai top-knot, and he had a small funny-looking hat perched on the front of his head. Since Steve had never seen one like it during his travels he concluded it must signify Toh-s.h.i.+ba's rank - which it did.

The Consul-General's party turned towards the line of kneeling roadrunners.

This is it! thought Steve. But it wasn't. He waited until the last moment before putting his nose on the mat, but Toh-s.h.i.+ba strode past followed by his samurai-bodyguard and the postmaster.

Shrill, simultaneous commands from the senior clerks sent the staff scurrying away to their posts - a move that had already been rehea.r.s.ed several times. Steve and the other roadrunners formed their usual line along the veranda to the left of the post-house door. Thanks to his position near the end of the line in the yard, this move put Steve close to the entrance. But once again, in deference to their visitor, they were required to kneel and touch the floor with their noses as the Consul-General's party went inside to view the postal clerks going about their work.

With Toh-s.h.i.+ba's disappearance, the roadrunners were allowed to sit on the log bench. s.h.i.+t! Steve cursed his luck and vented his frustration by slamming a fist against his open palm. Once again, the fat-fingered d.i.n.k had walked past without giving the line of Mutes a second glance.

So much for Mute magic. If Clearwater had failed to do something as simple as this, she might not be able to deliver when the real crunch came. What a pill! And just when he needed to show the Man in Black he could manage without him!

Within fifteen minutes of entering the post-house, Toh-s.h.i.+ba - who had begun to wonder what he was doing there in the first place - had seen and heard more than enough about the receipt and onward transmission of private and official doc.u.ments. The Consul-General did not believe in cluttering his head with knowledge of procedures that his staff were expected to know about and deal with.

As a n.o.bleman, Toh-s.h.i.+ba had never once in his life concerned himself with the problems of laundering; he merely expected to find a clean set of clothes laid out for his use whenever they might be required. It was the same with letters: you ordered them written, applied your seal, and they were delivered. What happened to them between leaving your hand and reaching that of the recipient was the concern of lesser mortals - such as the obsequious, tiresome pip-squeak now hovering at his elbow.

Toh-s.h.i.+ba, who had been languidly fanning himself to alleviate the late summer heat, snapped the fan shut against his left palm; a signal to his aide-de-camp that he wished to leave - without delay. The samurai silenced the post-master with a raised hand and announced that the visit had been most instructive. His master was extremely pleased with the alertness and dedication of the postal-staff. Et cetera, et cetera...

The post-master and his clerks hurried on to the veranda, and bowed Toh-s.h.i.+ba's party out of the post-house. In doing so, they blocked his view of the roadrunners, but, as he descended the steps and moved towards his waiting horse, the Consul-General was aware of something niggling away inside his brain. It was something he had intended to do - connected with his visit to the post-house - but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was.

The mental pressure to perform some action built up rapidly and was translated into a stabbing pain.

Toh-s.h.i.+ba shook his head in an effort to clear it, then mounted his horse. His samurai guards followed suit, forming up around him with their colleagues.

Steve's heart sank.

Toh-s.h.i.+ba gathered the reins and wheeled his horse The pain inside his skull reached a new crescendo, causing one hand to fly to his forehead.