“Admiral?” The brown-haired captain stuck his head in the door. Captain Fleisingen was young for his position, but Bieldeers had liked what he had seen so far. Opdorf had sponsored the young man's captaincy. Another plus for Fleisingen, at least in Bieldeers' estimation.
“Well, how goes the landing, Captain?” Bieldeers carefully placed his pen to the side, so as not to smear the ink, and regarded Fleisingen calmly. “Any resistance?”
“Admiral, there is little opposition near the docks. I left orders with Major Colijn to halt after securing the dockside, to allow the Emperor time for a favorable response.”
“Well, I suppose that is promising, Captain, but the Japanese response is somewhat puzzling.”
“How so, Admiral, if I may?” Fleisingen was checking his enthusiasm, at least. Bieldeers hid a smile.
“Captain, any reasonable ruler would decide quickly how to deal with us. The Japanese should either try to repulse our landing or accede to our demands. That this Osahito has decided to do neither worries me. He is acting as if he knows something we do not.”
“A bluff, sir?”
“Perhaps. Likely. It is a miscalculation on his part. It is not my intention for his people to suffer, but they will. Even an army with the best of men and intentions cannot be completely blameless in this respect. No. He has just not realized that I hold all the cards. At least for now.”
“Sir?”
Bieldeers sighed deeply. “Captain, in case you haven't been paying attention in your briefings, there is a British force to the south of us.” Fleisingen winced at the reproach. “They are not in a position to intervene yet, but they will. I need this settled by the time they are.”
“Yes, sir!” Fleisingen saluted the Admiral, turned, and left the Admiral staring southward at his British adversaries, wondering what their commander was up to.
Dutch marines filtered through the cobbled streets of the Edo waterfront district. Though it was the middle of the day, the streets were quiet. The whole city was quiet. Within a house, an old woman began crying, softly. Her son heard it, and ground his teeth, knowing his mother's frustration and sadness. Could the traditionalists be right? Had Osahito abandoned the guidance of his ancestors?
He turned to his mother. “I will fight them.” Her tears splashed on the floor in answer. He bowed deeply to her. “Think on me fondly, mother. I hope to acquit myself honorably.” With that, he was gone.
The lantern light of the tavern flickered wildly in the night's wind. The marine was quite drunk. His sergeant would surely punish him in the morning, but this was the first land he had set foot on in months. He was entitled to a little fun. He yelled, “More Drinks!” to the elderly Japanese man behind the counter. Though not understanding Dutch, the tavernkeeper knew what the marine wanted.
He poured another cup of sake, and placed it on an old wooden tray. A hand closed on his. Two Japanese men stood before him. The shorter one who had touched him grabbed the tray. The other bowed to him.
“Remember Honor”. The tavernkeeper thought it odd, but acquiesced. The man with the tray walked over to the marine's table, and bowed deeply.
“What is this?” The marine shouted at his server, who removed the cup of rice wine from the tray, and placed it before him, spilling a little bit.
“Why...What...How?” The marine spluttered in indignation. The Japanese merely looked back serenely. The marine's face began growing very red, and then deposited the contents of his stomach on his server's feet, before falling to the ground, unconscious.
The server bowed once more, and addressed the marine. “You have soiled my shoes. You are an honorless dog, lacking in the most fundamental of courtesy, and I will find others who will act to help me remove your stain from our honor.” The servant walked back to his companions at the counter. He looked at them calmly. “Remember Honor.”