“Yes. They change guard three or four times. Has anyone seen a sentry asleep?” van Nekk asked.
They shook their heads.
“We could be aboard tonight,” Jan Roper said. “With the help of God we’ll overpower the heathen and take the ship.”
“Clear the shit out of your ears! The pilot’s just got through telling you! Don’t you listen?” Vinck spat disgustedly.
“That’s right,” Pieterzoon, a gunner, agreed. “Stop hacking at old Vinck!”
Jan Roper’s eyes narrowed even more. “Look to your soul, Johann Vinck. And yours, Hans Pieterzoon. The Day of Judgment approaches.” He walked away and sat on the veranda.
Van Nekk broke the silence. “Everything is going to be all right. You’ll see.”
“Roper’s right. It’s greed that put us here,” the boy Croocq said, his voice quavering. “It’s God’s punishment that—”
“Stop it!”
The boy jerked. “Yes, Pilot. Sorry, but—well . . .” Maximilian Croocq was the youngest of them, just sixteen, and he had signed on for the voyage because his father had been captain of one of the ships and they were going to make their fortune. But he had seen his father die badly when they had sacked the Spanish town of Santa Magdellana in the Argentine. The plunder had been good and he had seen what rape was and he had tried it, hating himself, glutted by the blood smell and the killing. Later he had seen more of his friends die and the five ships became one and now he felt he was the oldest among them. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“How long have we been ashore, Baccus?” Blackthorne asked.
“This is the third day.” Van Nekk moved close again, squatting on his haunches. “Don’t remember the arrival too clearly, but when I woke up the savages were all over the ship. Very polite and kind though. Gave us food and hot water. They took the dead away and put the anchors out. Don’t remember much but I think they towed us to a safe mooring. You were delirious when they carried you ashore. We wanted to keep you with us but they wouldn’t let us. One of them spoke a few words of Portuguese. He seemed to be the headman, he had gray hair. He didn’t understand ‘Pilot-Major’ but knew ‘Captain.’ It was quite clear he wanted our ‘Captain’ to have different quarters from us, but he said we shouldn’t worry because you’d be well looked after. Us too. Then he guided us here, they carried us mostly, and said we were to stay inside until his captain came. We didn’t want to let them take you but there was nothing we could do. Will you ask the headman about wine or brandy, Pilot?” Van Nekk licked his lips thirstily, then added, “Now that I think of it, he mentioned ‘daimyo’ too. What’s going to happen when the daimyo arrives?”
“Has anyone got a knife or a pistol?”
“No,” van Nekk said, scratching absently at the lice in his hair.
“They took all our clothes away to clean them and kept the weapons. I didn’t think anything about it at the time. They took my keys too, as well as my pistol. I had all my keys on a ring. The strong room, the strongbox, and the magazine.”
“Everything’s locked tight aboard. No need to worry about that.”
“I don’t like not having my keys. Makes me very nervous. Damn my eyes, I could use a brandy right now. Even a flagon of ale.”
“Lord Jesus! The sameree cut him into pieces, did he?” Sonk said to no one in particular.
“For the love of God, shut your mouth. It’s ‘samurai.’ You’re enough to make a man shit himself,” Ginsel said.
“I hope that bastard priest doesn’t come here,” Vinck said.
“We’re safe in the good Lord’s hands.” Van Nekk was still trying to sound confident. “When the daimyo comes we’ll be released. We’ll get our ship back and our guns. You’ll see. We’ll sell all our goods and we’ll get back to Holland rich and safe having gone round the world—the first Dutchmen ever. The Catholics’ll go to hell and that’s the end of it.”
“No, it isn’t,” Vinck said. “Papists make my skin crawl. I can’t help it. That and the thought of the conquistadores. You think they’ll be here in strength, Pilot?”
“I don’t know. I’d think yes! I wish we had all our squadron here.”
“Poor bastards,” Vinck said. “At least we’re alive.”
Maetsukker said, “Maybe they’re back home. Maybe they turned back at the Magellan when the storms scattered us.”
“I hope you’re right,” Blackthorne said. “But I think they’re lost with all hands.”
Ginsel shuddered. “At least we’re alive.”
“With Papists here, and these heathens with their stinking tempers, I wouldn’t give an old whore’s crack for our lives.”
“Goddamn the day I left Holland,” Pieterzoon said. “Goddamn all grog! If I hadn’t been drunker than a fiddler’s bitch I’d still be heads down in Amsterdam with my old woman.”
“Damn what you like, Pieterzoon. But don’t damn liquor. It’s the stuff of life!”
“I’d say we’re in the sewer, up to our chins, and the tide’s coming in fast.” Vinck rolled his eyes. “Yes, very fast.”
“I never thought we’d reach land,” Maetsukker said. He looked like a ferret, except he had no teeth. “Never. Least of all the Japans. Lousy stinking Papists! We’ll never leave here alive! I wish we had some guns. What a rotten landfall! I didn’t mean anything, Pilot,” he said quickly as Blackthorne looked at him. “Just bad luck, that’s all.”
Later servants brought them food again. Always the same: vegetables—cooked and raw—with a little vinegar, fish soup, and the wheat or barley porridge. They all spurned the small pieces of raw fish and asked for meat and liquor. But they were not understood and then, near sunset, Blackthorne left. He had wearied of their fears and hates and obscenities. He told them that he would return after dawn.
The shops were busy on the narrow streets. He found his street and the gate of his house. The stains on the earth had been swept away and the body had vanished. It’s almost as though I dreamed the whole thing, he thought. The garden gate opened before he could put a hand on it.
The old gardener, still loinclothed although there was a chill on the wind, beamed and bowed. “Konbanwa.”
“Hello,” Blackthorne said without thinking. He walked up the steps, stopped, remembering his boots. He took them off and went barefoot onto the veranda and into the room. He crossed it into a corridor but could not find his room.
“Onna!” he called out.
An old woman appeared. “Hai?”
“Where’s Onna?”
The old woman frowned and pointed to herself. “Onna!”
“Oh, for the love of God,” Blackthorne said irritably. “Where’s my room? Where’s Onna?” He slid open another latticed door. Four Japanese were seated on the floor around a low table, eating. He recognized one of them as the gray-haired man, the village headman, who had been with the priest. They all bowed. “Oh, sorry,” he said, and pulled the door to.
“Onna!” he called out.
The old woman thought a moment, then beckoned. He followed her into another corridor. She slid a door aside. He recognized his room from the crucifix. The quilts were already laid out neatly.
“Thank you,” he said, relieved. “Now fetch Onna!”
The old woman padded away. He sat down, his head and body aching, and wished there was a chair, wondering where they were kept. How to get aboard? How to get some guns? There must be a way. Feet padded back and there were three women now, the old woman, a young round-faced girl, and the middle-aged lady.