第73节
while Cadillac and Clearwater passed themselves off as Trackers. The
reversal in their roles had struck him forcibly during the brief moment
he had spent in her arms. It showed that, in the final analysis, it
was not the colour of the skin that mattered, but the person
underneath.
On his return to the post-house, Steve found himself caught up in the
frenzied preparations for a tour of inspection by the
Consul-General.
He felt a surge of excitement. Had Clearwater worked her magic - or
had all this been planned long ago? He would only know for sure when
TohoShiba walked down the line and gave him his marching orders.
All the roadrunners were mobilized to help with the cleaning, and extra
labour was drafted in to sweep and scrub, scrape and polish. Every
speck of loose dirt and rubbish was carefully removed from the
post-house yard, hollows and car-ruts were filled, the gate was freshly
painted, signs and emblems refurbished. Walls were cleaned - even the
tiled roofs were washed down, and in the laundry, the team of Mute
women worked through the night preparing spotless sets of uniforms and
bedding to be worn and displayed in the roadrunners' bunkhouse.
On the following day, three hours before the Consul-General was due,
the post-master and his senior clerks emerged, impeccably dressed in
their best clothes, and inspected every inch of the post-house and the
other ancillary buildings within its official boundaries. The Chinese
and Korean staff who made up the middle and lower echelons of the
organisation stood like statues at their usual place of work, moving
only to bow from the waist when the party of Japs came upon them.
Satisfied that everything was as it should be, the clerks and
roadrunners were ordered to assemble 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 TohoShiba 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-Shiba 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-Shiba in the usual effusive manner, but his words were aimed at the
samurai who stood between them. Since Toh-Shiba was a high-ranking
nobleman 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-Shiba 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 Japanese 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-Shiba and his escort inspected the
two lines of clerks, each one bowing from the waist as the
Consul-General reac