Shogun - Clavell James (бесплатные полные книги .TXT) 📗

"Eh?" Van Nekk blinked myopically into the darkness at Blackthorne, who stood with the samurai under the flares. "JesusGodinheavensamurai!" He gathered himself with a grunt and bowed awkwardly from the waist. "Gomen nasai, samurai-sama. Ichibon gomen nasai to all monkey-samas." He straightened, forced a painful smile, and muttered half to himself, "I'm drunker'n I thought. Thought the bastard sonofawhore spoke Dutch! Gomen nasai, neh?" he called out again, reeling off toward the back of the house, scratching and groping at the codpiece.

"Hey, Baccus, don't you know better than to foul your own nest?"

"What?" Van Nekk jerked around and stared blindly toward the flares, desperately trying to see clearly. "Pilot?" he choked out. "Is that you, Pilot? God damn my eyes, I can't see. Pilot, for the love of God, is that you?"

Blackthorne laughed. His old friend looked so naked there, so foolish, his penis hanging out. "Yes, it's me!" Then to the samurai who watched with thinly covered contempt, "Matte kurasai." Wait for me, please.

"Hai, Anjin-san."

Blackthorne came forward and now in the shaft of light he could see the litter of garbage everywhere in the garden. Distastefully he stepped out of the clogs and ran up the steps. "Hello, Baccus, you're fatter than when we left Rotterdam, neh?" He clapped him warmly on the shoulders.

"Lord Jesus Christ, is that truly you?"

"Yes, of course it's me."

"We'd given you up for dead, long ago." Van Nekk reached out and touched Blackthorne to make sure he was not dreaming. "Lord Jesus, my prayers are answered. Pilot, what happened to you, where've you come from? It's a miracle! Is it truly you?"

"Yes. Now please put your cod in place and let's go inside," Blackthorne told him, conscious of his samurai.

"What? Oh! Oh sorry, I . . ." Van Nekk hastily complied and tears began to run down his cheeks. "Oh Jesus, Pilot . . . I thought the gin devils were playing me tricks again. Come on, but let me announce you, hey?"

He led the way back, weaving a little, much of his drunkenness evaporated with his joy. Blackthorne followed. Van Nekk held the door open for him, then shouted over the raucous singing, "Lads! Look what Father Christmas's brought us!" He slammed the door shut after Blackthorne for added effect.

Silence was instantaneous.

It took a moment for Blackthorne's eyes to adjust to the light. The fetid air was almost choking him. He saw them all gaping at him as though he were a devil-wraith. Then the spell broke and there were shouts of welcome and joy and everyone was squeezing and punching him on the back, all talking at the same time. "Pilot, where've you come from - Have a drink - Christ, is it possible - Piss in my hat, it's great to see you - We'd given you up for dead - No, we're all right at least mostly all right - Get out of the chair, you whore, the Pilot-sama's to sit in the best sodding chair - Hey, grog, neh, quick - Godcursed quick! Goddamn my eyes get out of the way I want to shake his hand...."

Finally Vinck hollered, "One at a time, lads! Give him a chance! Give the Pilot the chair and a drink, for God's sake! Yes, I thought he was samurai too . . . .

Someone shoved a wooden goblet into Blackthorne's hand. He sat in the rickety chair and they all raised their cups and the flood of questions began again.

Blackthorne looked around. The room was furnished with benches and a few crude chairs and tables and illuminated by candles and oil lamps. A huge sake keg stood on the filthy floor. One of the tables was covered with dirty plates and a haunch of half-roasted meat, crusted with flies.

Six bedraggled women cowered on their knees, bowing to him, backed against a wall.

His men, all beaming, waited for him to start: Sonk the cook, Johann Vinck bosun's mate and chief gunner, Salamon the mute, Croocq the boy, Ginsel sailmaker, Baccus van Nekk chief merchant and treasurer, and last Jan Roper, the other merchant, who sat apart as always, with the same sour smile on his thin, taut face.

"Where's the Captain-General?" Blackthorne asked.

"Dead, Pilot, he's dead . . . ." Six voices answered and overrode each other, jumbling the tale until Blackthorne held up his hand. "Baccus?"

"He's dead, Pilot. He never came out of the pit. Remember he was sick, eh? After they took you away, well, that night we heard him choking in the darkness. Isn't that right, lads?"

A chorus of yesses, and van Nekk added, "I was sitting beside him, Pilot. He was trying to get the water but there wasn't any and he was choking and moaning. I'm not too clear about the time - we were all frightened to death - but eventually he choked and then, well, the death rattle. It was bad, Pilot."

Jan Roper added, "It was terrible, yes. But it was God's punishment."

Blackthorne looked from face to face. "Anybody hit him? To quieten him?"

"No - no, oh no," van Nekk answered. "He just croaked. He was left in the pit with the other one - the Japper, you remember him, the one who tried to drown himself in the bucket of piss? Then the Lord Omi had them bring Spillbergen's body out and they burned it. But that other poor bugger got left below. Lord Omi just gave him a knife and he slit his own God-cursed belly and they filled in the pit. You remember him, Pilot?"

"Yes. What about Maetsukker?"

"Best you tell that, Vinck."

"Little Rat Face rotted, Pilot," Vinck began, and the others started shouting details and telling the tale until Vinck bellowed, "Baccus asked me, for Chrissake! You'll all get your turn!"

The voices died down and Sonk said helpfully, "You tell it, Johann."

"Pilot, it was his arm started rotting. He got nicked in the fight - you remember the fight when you got knocked out? Christ Jesus, that seems so long ago! Anyway, his arm festered. I bled him the next day and the next, then it started going black. I told him I'd better lance it or the whole arm'd have to come off - told him a dozen times, we all did, but he wouldn't. On the fifth day the wound was stinking. We held him down and I sliced off most of the rot but it weren't no good. I knew it wasn't no good but some of us thought it worth a try. The yellow bastard doctor came a few times but he couldn't do nothing either. Rat Face lasted a day or two, but the rot was too deep and he raved a lot. We had to tie him up toward the end."

"That's right, Pilot," Sonk said, scratching comfortably. "We had to tie him up."

"What happened to his body?" Blackthorne asked.

"They took it up the hill and burned it, too. We wanted to give him and the Captain-General a proper Christian burial but they wouldn't let us. They just burned them."

A silence gathered. "You haven't touched your drink, Pilot!"

Blackthorne raised it to his lips and tasted. The cup was filthy and he almost retched. The raw spirit seared his throat. The stench of unbathed bodies and rancid, unwashed clothing almost overpowered him.

"How's the grog, Pilot?" van Nekk asked.

"Fine, fine."

"Tell him about it, Baccus, go on!"

"Hey! I made a still, Pilot." Van Nekk was very proud and the others were beaming too. "We make it by the barrel now. Rice and fruit and water and let it ferment, wait a week or so and then, with the help of a little magic...." The rotund man laughed and scratched happily. "'Course it'd be better to keep it a year or so to mellow, but we drink it faster than..." His words trailed off. "You don't like it?"

"Oh, sorry, it's fine - fine." Blackthorne saw lice in van Nekk's sparse hair.

Jan Roper said challengingly, "And you, Pilot? You're fine, aren't you? What about you?"

Another flood of questions which died as Vinck shouted, "Give him a chance!" Then the leathery-faced man burst out happily, "Christ, when I saw you standing at the door I thought you was one of the monkeys, honest - honest!"