The Pure Land by Alan Spence Page A

handful of green leaves into the pot, scalding them with more hot water. She looked up and caught Glover’s eye, held his gaze, gave a flick of a smile just as Chan and Wang-Li seemed to come to some kind of agreement, gave a gruff little laugh.
    One of Chan’s guards dragged a crate through from the warehouse, levered it open, showed it was packed full with rifles, wrapped around with wadding. The lamplight glinted on a metal barrel, a polished wooden stock. Chan lifted out one of the guns, passed it to Glover, who felt the weight of it, squinted along the sights, handed it back.
    ‘We agree price,’ said Wang-Li. ‘We pay and take.’
    ‘No haggling?’ said Glover.
    ‘Hag-ling?’ said Wang-Li.
    ‘No arguing over the price? No trying to beat him down?’
    ‘Not this time,’ said Wang-Li, a wee shrewd glimmer in his eyes. ‘Good price. Not good to argue. Maybe next time when we buy more, make bigger business.’
    ‘Right,’ said Glover. ‘Next time.’
    He raised his cup of fragrant tea to Chan, took a sip.
    ‘Next time!’ said Chan, grinning, carefully shaping the English words. Then he called out to the girl again and she brought through three pipes.
    ‘Best Patna?’ said Glover.
    ‘Turkish,’ said Wang-Li.
    Glover smiled at Chan. ‘A pleasure doing business!’
    *
    It was only when his head was clear, a full day into the return voyage, that Glover realised perhaps it hadn’t exactly been prudent to share the pipe with Chan, might have left him vulnerable. But he’d trusted in Wang-Li, followed his lead. Clearly too it had been a signal to Chan, a way of sealing the deal.
    The clipper slipped into Nagasaki harbour towards evening after six days at sea. The tides had been favourable and they’d made good time. The Shogun’s agent was waiting at the quayside, this time accompanied by a whole troop of armed soldiers.
    With the same brusqueness, verging on hostility, that he’d demonstrated at their previous meeting, the agent came on board, checked every crate of merchandise, every rifle and pistol, every box of ammunition. Grudgingly satisfied, he nodded at Glover, supervised the transfer of the consignment directly onto one of the Shogun’s ships, an antiquated junk riding at anchor. It would sail directly to Osaka, through the Inland Sea.
    Through the agent’s translator, Glover said if the Shogun was ever of a mind to import modern ships to replace his worn-out fleet, Glover could arrange it through his contacts in Scotland. Theagent’s only response was to take umbrage at the implied slight to Japan, and he said if the Shogun ever did want to engage in such an undertaking then he would be the one to initiate negotiations. 
    *
    The money was paid into Glover’s account at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. He had more of a swagger than usual as he walked into his office after checking that the payment had gone through. But he’d no sooner settled at his desk than Mackenzie came barging in. He’d heard rumours of the deal; now they were confirmed and he was raging.
    ‘This is madness, Tom!’ He banged the desk.
    ‘I know what I’m doing, Ken,’ said Glover, keeping calm though the attack unsettled him.
    ‘You’re going against Jardine’s restrictions. You’re defying the British Government. You’re messing in local politics. That’s what you’re doing!’
    ‘Do you think I want to sit on my arse selling silk and tea the rest of my life! There’s real money to be made here, Ken, and you know it.’
    ‘And I also know if you sup with the Devil you need a long spoon.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘The Shogun’s a powerful man, Tom.’
    ‘That’s why I’m doing business with him.’
    ‘He has enemies.’
    ‘Hell, I’ll trade with them too!’
    ‘You’re dealing with forces beyond your control!’
    Glover stood his ground. ‘I know fine what I’m dealing with, and I’m not afraid to take risks.’
    ‘Ach, Tom,’ said Mackenzie, shaking his head.