The Amtrack Wars - Earth Thunder Part 51

Tokimasa, nervously perspiring and anxious to please, backed in ahead of him and swept his arm around the room.

'As you see everything is in order, sire. I hope you find it to your Ii -' Tokimasa dried as he caught sight of a wooden head block sitting on top of a black lacquered table.

Seated on the block was a female wig, combed and pinned in the swept-up style used by high-ranking ladies of the court on formal occasions. It had not been there during his last tour of inspection some forty minutes ago.

He gasped with annoyance and apologised profusely.

'A thousand pardons, sire! I cannot think how that came to be in your room. One of the maids must have - I' He turned to the junior of his two a.s.sistants. 'Remove that object at once!" 'No, leave it!" said Yoritomo sharply. His voice softened.

'It doesn't upset me in the least, Tokimasa. So no more apologies are required. You and your staff have done splendidly. Please convey my thanks to them for all their hard work. Now be so good as to leave me.

I wish to spend a few moments alone."

Tokimasa and his staff bowed from the waist. 'Sire."

Yoritomo turned to his valet. 'Go and prepare my bath. I will call you when I am ready."

Everyone withdrew. The door screens slid shut behind them.

Yoritomo took a deep breath and turned towards the wig. He had recognised it immediately. It belonged to his sister Mishiko. He walked over to the table and circled it slowly then carefully lifted up the wig. Pinned inside it was a small, folded piece of paper. He took it out, replaced the wig on the block, unfolded the paper and read the message several times before burning it on one of the charcoal braziers that warmed the room.

The five samurai stationed outside the bedchamber leapt to their feet as Yoritomo slid back one of the doorscreens. 'Find Captain Kamakura and bring him here at once. He is to enter alone!" The screen closed again.

A few minutes later, Kamakura reached the anteroom.

Outwardly calm, but inwardly filled with trepidation, he handed his two swords over to Ryoku, the chief bodyguard, and was admitted into the bedchamber.

Yoritomo stood by the black table on which the block bearing Mishiko's wig had been been placed. Kamakura fell to his knees and greeted his sovereign lord with the usual deep bow then when Yoritomo motioned him to relax, he sat back, crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees with his arms splayed outwards.

The Shogun approached, gazed at him thoughtfully, then paced slowly from side to side. Kamakura followed him with his eyes. 'You have embarked on a dangerous game, Captain."

'The danger to my life is of no importance, sire. If I lose it trying to preserve your honour then that will be reason enough for my existence."

Yoritomo accepted this with a nod then walked over to the low table and brushed the fingertips of his right hand over the wig. 'Who else knows my sister is in the palace?"

'Only my wife and daughters, sire. The secret is safe with them."

'And where is Lady Mishiko?"

'She is waiting for you to admit her, sire."

Yoritomo looked puzzled for a moment then his eyes swung towards the fake vertical wall beam. 'You mean... ?"

Kamakura dropped his head onto his chest and kept it there. It was a polite way of saying 'yes', and by lowering his eyes, withdrawing himself symbolically from the scene that was to follow.

Yoritomo went over to the fake beam, released the hidden catch and opened the narrow door. Mishiko knelt on the step beyond the narrow opening, silhouetted in the glow of a lantern, her hands clasped together in a gesture of supplication.

'At last! Oh, my dearest brother, master, lord! Grant me leave to speak for I have a strange and terrible tale to tell!" Mishiko threw herself forward through the opening and slid her hands across the floor to touch her brother's feet.

It was only then that Yoritomo realised she was not alone. For the light from the hidden lamp now fell on the striped faces of two hairy gra.s.s-monkeys crouching on the steps below ....

An hour-long soak in a hot tub and some underwater s.e.x with Steve helped Fran regain most of her former zip and even gave her an appet.i.te. Nothing fancy - just a bowl of clear soup and a small dish of plain boiled rice, but it stayed down. Having exhausted the views from their shuttered apartments, they stretched out side by side on the bed and browsed through the briefing doc.u.ments which listed the proposals they had come to place before Ieyasu and the Shogun.

The Iron Masters manufactured and used huge quant.i.ties of paper for their written records but it was the first time Steve had held sheets of paper printed with lines of text in Basic. Apart from the plasfilm issued to overground units, all data in the Federation was displayed on video screens, or portable LCDs. These sheets were a rare example of what was known as 'hard copy', and as far as he knew, doc.u.ments in this form were only made available to members of the First Family.

Steve watched Fran scan the text, her grey eyes fastening avidly on each line. She looked up. 'I can't see them buying this idea of us loaning them signal units, do you?"

Steve shrugged. 'Depends on how far they're willing to bend the rules.

Let's face it, privately, Ieyasu has broken every one in the book, but after ramming their Sacred Edict down everybody's throats for centuries, even a limited turn-around on the Dark Light might be hard for the nation at large to swallow."

'It would also cut the ground away from under the Toh-Yota. Isn't the upholding of the Sacred Edict their main claim to fame?"

'Yeah. That's why they let us blow up the Heron Pool."

'That's what I thought." Fran re-read the proposal.

'This was one of Karlstrom's ideas. But not one of his better ones. I think we should kill it - okay?"

'You're the boss."

In Steve's eyes, Fran's saving grace was her intelligence.

That, plus the fact she was also physically attractive, made the relationship bearable. And to be fair, the negative aspects of her personality had their positive side. She might be mean and overbearing, but she was also strong and forceful. It was an interesting combination and not unappealing, because on her better days she could be good company.

It was in those moments she became almost likeable.

Karlstrom had warned him that an intimate relationship with her was like riding a greasy pole, but it had been the wrong thing to say.

Steve had always been unable to resist a challenge. Fran could damage his career prospects but she couldn't hurt him emotionally because, deep down, she meant absolutely nothing to him. His one real, true and lasting attachment was to Clearwater. Fran Jefferson was just part of his survival plan - and there were plenty of worse ways of staying alive. The difference between the two was that Clearwater, without saying anything, made him aware of his failings. Fran, on the other hand, brought out the worst in him and that, perversely, made him feel better.

Around three o'clock in the afternoon, they heard the clatter of hooves on cobbles followed by a series of shrill commands then a tumultuous roar. Fran, who had run to the windows at the sound of the horses, listened intently then said: 'They've arrived! That shouting at the end was the troops giving the Shogun a standing ovation."

Steve scrambled to his feet. Fran fisted his chest.

'C'mon. Let's get dressed! Show 'em what we're made of!" The gleam in her eye told him she was back in the driving seat.

When their guide Fujiwara reappeared with Watanabe and Ichiwara in tow, he found Steve and Fran dressed in the silver grey uniforms that marked them out as members of the First Family. The high collared tunic with its inverted triangular dark blue trim running down from the shoulders to a point at the waist and with matching rank stripes on the sleeves, flared grey riding breeches, supple mid-grey leather jackboots rising high on the calf, dark blue cavalry caps and silver topped canes.

Steve and Fran sized up the opposition. Unlike Skull-Face, who was clearly an old hand, Watanabe and Ichiwara had sleekly rounded features and were of indeterminate age. They were both soberly dressed in long black robes, and wore oddly shaped pill-box hats on top of their samurai wigs. In Ne-Issan, hats were a status symbol, and when Skull-Face made the introductions, Watanabe, the j.a.p with the fanciest headgear, was revealed as being the senior paper-pusher.

Looking at them, Steve was reminded of the smooth executives who lived in the Black Tower at Houston/GC.

White or yellow, these guys were all the same. Fran had told him not to emulate their hosts when exchanging the usual bows of welcome. They were to be courteous and correct, but there was to be no kow-towing.

Steve tried to argue, but Fran was not disposed to listen. As a result, they both remained erect, responding to their hosts with a polite nod of the head. If their hosts were miffed, it didn't show.

At Ichiwara's invitation, Steve and Fran followed Skull-Face across the corridor into another room where two pairs of low tables and sets of cushions had been placed opposite each other, and a pale-faced j.a.panese girl in a printed silk kimono knelt ready to serve jasmine tea.