They struggled on through brush and trees, following a very awkward course well away from the road: but Laurence wanted only to find some coast, anywhere not settled, where they might approach Nagasaki cautiously. Any pursuit must expect the port to be his destination—the net would surely be waiting for him there, and his only hope should be to espy some European ship, or the Dutch commission, and strike out for it in some roundabout way. An improbable goal perhaps, but he had come nearer than he had looked to do, in cold rational consideration.
And then—and then—but there was no sense in contemplating that future, and all its blank impenetrability, until he had come to it.
They found a little brackish pool, and drank, in the late afternoon. Junichiro dug up some wild radish, which he recognized as edible, and they gnawed its woody toughness as they walked. A few times they had to hide a little while crouching in brush, to avoid notice from other foragers; once they came upon a well-traveled road, and scurried across it like rabbits making a dash for safety, in a brief empty gap between walking travelers and sedan-chairs and ox-carts. A dragon went by overhead once, but flying fast, not searching; they listened huddled under concealing branches until its wingbeats faded.
The sun was sinking again, beginning to throw long shadows and wink at them through the branches. Laurence was trudging onwards, mind full of counting and steps, when Junichiro put out a hand to stop him. He lifted his face into the wind; he breathed in salt, and recognized belatedly the distant low crash of waves and voices both, not far off.
The trees were thinning ahead, approaching a road: a busy road, crowded with travelers and cargo. They crept up to a curve and looking down it saw before them the harbor laid out in a neat half-curve: a small island full of Dutch houses sat divided from the town by a narrow canal, and a great many boats filled the harbor together.
“Oh,” Junichiro said, stifled, and Laurence followed the line of his gaze: there was a company of men standing off to the side of the road by a sort of tall signpost carved with characters, looking out upon the harbor. He at first did not understand Junichiro’s exclamation, and then he recognized abruptly one of the party, standing to the side, armed: it was Kaneko, and down in a cleared field beside the port he saw Lady Arikawa resting, a grey-green curve of dragon.
“I thought she would have liked to let us go,” Laurence said to Junichiro.
Junichiro made an impatient gesture: why would Laurence never understand? “Of course she wishes us to escape,” he said. “But she cannot openly allow it, and my—and the honorable Kaneko would not merely stand by, either: it ought to have been the duty of the magistrate to secure you, but you were held in his house.”
“Well, we must get around them, somehow,” Laurence said, “and try to get there,” indicating the tiny Dutch settlement. “They will hide us, I hope, even if they choose to ship me back to Europe a prisoner of war. Let us go south a distance, and see if we can get across the road: I would like a better look at the harbor.”
Junichiro followed him back into the trees, not without a lingering look, regretful, back at his former master.
Temeraire looked dully down at the sodden scrap: white linen, very fine, with Laurence’s mark plainly upon it; he had bought a dozen shirts like it, in Brazil, to repair his shipwrecked wardrobe, before they set out for China.
“I am sorry to give you bad news,” Wampanoag was saying, “but I don’t mind saying it is more than I hoped to turn up, whether bad or good. It must have washed up on the shore, I guess.”
Maximus nudged at his shoulder, gently, a warm butting of his nose; Temeraire was aware of it, he supposed, and grateful distantly. “Did they tell you where they found it?” he asked, formally; he would pursue all inquiry—he would—
“You’ll forgive my saying so,” Wampanoag said, “but they weren’t inclined to be talkative, after that show you lot put on. No-one could help but take it the wrong way: this whole city is full to the brim of warehouses, every last one of them built of nicely seasoned wood. I suppose if you just turned out this lady here,” he dipped his head towards Iskierka, “the whole place would be burnt to the waterline in a couple of hours, even if you didn’t care to lob over a few cannon-balls at the same time.”
“Oh,” Temeraire said, after a moment, “I am sorry to have occasioned them any concern. I hope—” He trailed off. He did not hope anything, really; he was only trying to be polite, since there was nothing else to do but try to behave in a civilized fashion, but he could not quite contrive something to say.