The Brazen Shark

by David Lee Summers

  Ramon had stepped in enough horse manure over the years to appreciate the idea. He liked Mesilla, New Mexico because they had an ordinance which prevented horses on the streets. Would such a town allow horseless carriages? He tried to imagine such vehicles rolling through the old town’s narrow streets, or through crowded cities such as Tokyo. His days as a sheriff told him new laws would have to be crafted to make such vehicles safe. Despite his earlier forebodings about note-taking, he wanted to delve into the books and explore the issue further.

  “You didn’t come here to discuss engines.” The Frenchman placed the chalk down in the tray. “What have you seen of Tokyo so far?”

  “To be honest, not much,” said Fatemeh. “We’ve been to a few shops and cafés near the Imperial Palace. This is our first time venturing further.”

  “Well, one of my favorite places in Tokyo is quite close. I’ll be happy to show you.” The professor led the way out to the hall. They went downstairs and out through the back door. Walking past two more buildings, they came to a wooded, wild area. They strolled along a trail until they came to a lake with a bridge spanning the middle. Ramon listened as hard as he could and just discerned a few distant street noises.

  “This is beautiful,” said Fatemeh. “A little wilderness in the middle of the city.”

  “It is called Ikutoku-en Shinjiike. The pond is shaped like the kanji for heart and this is a favorite spot for lovers.” The professor winked at Ramon. “This pond has been here for over 250 years. Osaka Castle’s shogun built it.”

  “Osaka’s a long way away,” remarked Ramon.

  “Nearly 200 miles,” confirmed the professor. “Nevertheless, the shogun controlled Edo, as Tokyo was known in those days.”

  “What is a shogun?” asked Fatemeh. “I’ve heard the word, but I don’t know what it means.”

  “Sort of a samurai general,” said the professor. “Until recently, shoguns held more power than the emperor himself.”

  Ramon considered the situation with the airship on Sakhalin Island. “Is this why the emperor wrested control of Japan from the samurai?”

  The professor shrugged. “Politics aren’t my forte, much as engines aren’t yours. Still, it’s a rather medieval system and Emperor Mutsuhito wants Japan to be part of the nineteenth century world. That’s why he founded the university…”

  “At Tokyo’s figurative heart.” Fatemeh knelt down by the lake.

  “Mutsuhito?” asked Ramon. “I thought Meiji was the emperor’s name.”

  “Mutsuhito is the emperor’s given name,” explained the physicist. “I gather Meiji is the reign’s name, so Mutsuhito is the Meiji Emperor.”

  Ramon scratched his head, realizing a diplomat needed to understand much. “I’d like to walk over to the bridge.”

  “You two take your time,” said the professor. “I should return to my notes. When you’re finished here, please come find me in my office and I’ll take you to a good place for dinner.” He turned and ambled back through the trees.

  Ramon reached out and took Fatemeh’s hand. They strolled along the lake, enjoying each other’s company. They reached the bridge and walked halfway across. Ramon took Fatemeh in his arms and kissed her. As the kiss went on, a voice spoke in the back of Ramon’s mind. “The samurai plan to attack Japan.”

  The sudden voice caused him to bite Fatemeh’s lip. “Ow,” she cried.

  “Sorry. I thought I heard something.”

  They looked around as a bird made a deep “whook” sound. Up in a tree stood a white-faced owl with ear-like feathers on its head. Fascinated, Fatemeh walked toward it, leaving Ramon in the center of the bridge.

  “Couldn’t this have waited until a better time?” whispered Ramon.

  “We thought you’d want to know as soon as we learned Imagawa’s plan,” said Legion. “Her goal is to start a war between Russia and Japan.”

  “Did you make the owl appear?”

  “We do not have powers of such magnitude. He was in the tree all along. We simply stimulated his auditory sensors so he would distract your mate.”

  Ramon snorted at the description of Fatemeh. “Let me consider what we should do. I may have a message for Professor Maravilla soon.”

  Ramon caught up with Fatemeh. “Legion just spoke to me,” he said.

  “That explains why you were talking to yourself.” She turned to face him. “It also explains who woke this owl.”

  “Be that as it may, I gather the samurai bandits plan to attack Japan itself. Since it’s a Russian airship…”

  Fatemeh frowned, not needing him to finish the thought.

  “The problem is, who do we tell?” Ramon looked toward the Imperial Palace. “If we just show up and tell them we know an attack is about to occur, they’ll want to know how we know.”

  “We need Hoshi’s advice,” said Fatemeh.

  “I’d feel better if Hoshi were here.”

  “Why couldn’t he be?” Fatemeh shrugged. “Captain Cisneros is on his way to America. He could meet Hoshi in Ensenada and bring him back.”

  “Do you think he would come?”

  “We will be glad to relay the question through Professor Maravilla,” said Legion.

  * * *

  Hoshi strolled down a row of chile plants, checking the peppers and picking those he deemed ripe. He worked alone, since Billy and Luther’s trial had not concluded. Although he supported Billy and wanted to see the outcome, he found the attorneys’ give and take tiresome. Moreover, he had no desire to lose his first crop. It was a miracle the chiles had not withered away during a recent mission he did for the United States Army. They employed him to track the outlaw Curly Bill Bresnahan through Northern Mexico and Southern Arizona and recover a lightning gun he stole from Fort Bliss in El Paso.

  Fortunately, the mission had paid well. Even if he lost this harvest, he had money for next year’s crop. Nevertheless, he relied on this year’s crop to establish his reputation as a farmer and to show he could produce a hot and flavorful pepper.

  A horse clomped down the road and nickered, attracting Hoshi’s attention. A tall, thin man with a bowler hat rode a brown horse. He realized it must be Maravilla. He adjusted the strap holding the basket around his shoulders and walked back down the row to the house.

  Hoshi saw Maravilla as a kindred spirit. They were each exiles from their respective countries. In many ways, Maravilla had lost more than Hoshi. He once had a wife, daughter, and property. He’d advised the Mexican military. During the revolution, soldiers killed Maravilla’s wife and daughter, then abandoned him in the desert. A lesser man would have given up and allowed the desert to take him. Maravilla resumed his research and sought a new home.

  Hoshi left Japan when he realized the samurai rebellion against the imperialists would fail. Many of Hoshi’s fellow samurai fought until death or they committed suicide. Though loyal to his daimyo and the shogun, Hoshi appreciated Mutsuhito’s attempts to end Japan’s isolation.

  Hoshi rebelled because he did not believe the emperor had an inherent right to rule. True, many shoguns inherited their titles, but there came a time they had to prove themselves through their swordsmanship. In a democracy a leader may not fight to prove themselves, but they did have to prove themselves capable to lead. Hoshi felt he could live with that system while he attempted to find a path in the modern world.

  Unfortunately, New Mexico would never be home.

  He set his basket on the porch as Maravilla tied the horse’s reins around the rail.

  “Have they reached a verdict yet?” asked Hoshi.

  Maravilla shook his head. “I’m convinced Mr. Fountain will save the day and they will be exonerated.”

  “If you are certain, they will be hung for sure.”

  Maravilla barked a laugh. “I’m never certain when you jest my friend, but I can tell you Mr. Catron sweated during the cross-examination today.”

  “Cross examination, objection, opening arguments, closing arguments. Why can’t these Americans
simply make their statements about what happened and let the jury make its decision?”

  “The process is supposed to assure fairness.” No humor brightened the professor’s face.

  Hoshi scowled but accepted his friend’s statement. If anyone had experienced an unfair justice system, it was him. “If you’re not here with news of the trial, you must have something else to tell me.” Hoshi held out his hand, inviting the professor inside.

  “I have had a message from Legion. Imagawa plans to attack Japan itself.”

  “Impossible,” declared Hoshi. “Imagawa is loyal to Japan. She would never attack her own country.” Hoshi removed his shoes, then cleared his throat when Maravilla made no move to take off his riding boots.

  “Imagawa was loyal to Shogun Tokugawa, not the emperor.” Maravilla bent over to remove his boots. “Just as Mexico underwent revolution, so did Japan. Today’s Japan is not the one you served.”

  Hoshi sighed. He went to the kitchen and started a fire in the cast iron stove. “What does Legion—or Ramon Morales, for that matter—want me to do? Imagawa will drop bombs where she will.”

  “Ramon wonders if you will travel to Japan.”

  Hoshi turned. “Do you have any idea how much time and money that will require? If I bought passage back to Japan, all the money I earned tracking Bresnahan would be exhausted. What’s more, Imagawa’s damage would be done by the time I got there.”

  “Not so, my friend. All you must do is travel to Ensenada. Captain Cisneros left Japan two days ago aboard an airship. He will meet you and take you back to Japan.”

  “A Japanese airship?” Hoshi’s eyes widened. The prospect of seeing such a thing almost tempted him to agree to the adventure without further discussion. The fire crackled and he breathed life into the flames. He stood and placed a kettle on the stove, then looked at the window and the fields beyond. “I must attend to the harvest.”

  “First of all, I think Billy will be free in just a few days. He can handle the harvest.”

  Hoshi narrowed his gaze. “Somehow, I doubt the first thing Billy McCarty will want to do after release from prison is attend to my chile harvest.”

  Maravilla held up his hand, then retrieved a paper from his coat pocket. “You may be right. I’ve been sketching plans for a chile harvester during the trial.” He unfolded the paper and set it on the table. It showed a machine with strong, pistoning legs for support and movement. Notes showed two claws to pluck the vegetables from the stems.

  “My crop will be destroyed!” declared Hoshi. “I’d rather let Billy at it in a drunken stupor. It looks like a monster! What will it do, eat my crops?”

  Maravilla leaned forward. “You have an opportunity to help your homeland and restore lost honor. You want to see this airship created by your countrymen. It’s a new era, my friend. Be a part of it.”

  “I will consider it,” said Hoshi. “As long as you promise not to build your infernal machine and destroy my crop.”

  Maravilla gave a lopsided smile as the tea kettle whistled. “I’ll promise not to destroy the harvest.”

  * * *

  Imagawa climbed down the ladder into the airship’s gondola. The samurai turned and bowed. She returned the courtesy, then waited for the report.

  “The weather is calm. The Russian scientist says this is a good day for travel,” reported Nanbu Daisuke.

  She grunted and nodded, then stepped to the window and peered out at the sky. High, thin clouds parted, revealing blue strips here and there. The ship stood steady at its mooring. How easy it would be just to sail away in this airship and leave her problems behind, but she had a duty to her homeland. If she didn’t act, Japan could become another country where men strove to acquire as many possessions as possible without demonstrating need or worthiness.

  Although her stomach burned at the prospect, they must attack Sapporo—Hokkaido Prefecture’s capital. She turned and strode to the charts at the gondola’s stern. She summoned Nanbu with a flick of the finger.

  “At this point, do we need to keep any Russian captives aboard?” asked Imagawa.

  Nanbu pursed his lips and considered. “I’d like to keep the two steam mechanics. They have skills our people do not have. Also, I think we should keep the Russian scientist aboard.”

  “Why?” She agreed, but she wanted to hear Nanbu’s reason.

  “I don’t believe he’s passed along everything he knows.”

  Again Imagawa grunted. Under different circumstances, the masculine sound would amuse her. Even in a light-hearted mood, she wouldn’t laugh in front of Nanbu. Masuda Hoshi warned her about ambitious men who exploited any weakness they found. To lead men like Nanbu, she must appear serious and strong.

  “I agree,” she said at last. “Instruct all but the mechanics and Mendeleev to disembark. Prepare for launch as soon as they’re off the ship.” She dropped a ruler on the chart, and measured fifteen western miles from their location to the nearest settlement. She performed a quick mental calculation. “We’re approximately two hundred chō northeast of Korsakov. On a pleasant day like this, they can be persuaded to make the hike.”

  “If they make the journey, won’t they alert the townspeople to our mooring?”

  She leaned in close. “I don’t want those men to live long enough to see Korsokov, but the men we keep should believe they have made the journey. What’s more, men who believe they are being freed will leave more quietly than men taken before a firing squad. Am I understood?”

  Nanbu swallowed, a momentary sign of weakness. “I’ll make sure our best snipers are readied.” He turned around and called to the bridge crew. “Prepare for launch!”

  Nanbu’s seamanship pleased Imagawa as she turned to the door leading outside. She climbed down to the grassy field, put her arms behind her back, and strode out away from the airship.

  Turning around, she gazed at the Cyrillic letters, which spelled out the airship’s name: Nicholas Alexandrovich. The name did not fit. A brazen owl adorning the airship’s keel near the bow better evoked its predatory nature. Its sleek lines reminded her of a sea predator. A name popped into her head: Atsukamashī same—The Brazen Shark.

  Within fifteen minutes, samurai lowered ladders from the passenger deck and the Russians descended. Half-dressed and sprouting stubble, they cursed in their native language. The Russian captain descended last—his wrist bandaged and his face pale. She wondered if he could actually survive the walk to Korsakov.

  The men looked around, some smiling, others perhaps suspecting a trap. Imagawa frowned at her own subterfuge, but an open confrontation would put her men at risk. She couldn’t afford that now. If the Russian airmen warned their superiors, her plans could fail. She glared at the men and forced herself to see them as the enemy. If they’d had honor, they should have felt shame at the airship’s capture. They should already be dead inside.

  She climbed the ladder into the gondola and studied the charts while her men continued their departure preparations. She gathered this brazen shark would only be able to make a few trips to Japan before it would need its hydrogen stores refreshed. That didn’t seem an insurmountable problem. She hoped two or three raids would be sufficient to convince her countrymen Russia had declared war. Once the Japanese army attacked, she would no longer need the airship.

  She walked to the window and watched as samurai released tethers from the ship’s side. Once done, the ground crew had sufficient time to run for the rope ladders and climb aboard. The helmsman released ballast water drawn from the nearby lake and the ship ascended faster. At this point, the mechanics would be engrossed in their engines and Mendeleev would be in his cabin. Imagawa gestured toward Nanbu who barked a one-word command into the speaking tube.

  Imagawa strode to the windows and looked to the ground. Her snipers picked off the Russian airmen as the ship rose. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the railing before her. The men falling to the ground had families and homes, but so did the men behind her. The samurai she led pledg
ed their lives to the people and the land, only to be tossed aside like garbage.

  Nanbu ordered the engines engaged. The Russians lay on the ground, their blood soaking into the soil—soil that should belong to Japan. The Russians called the island Sakhalin, but the Japanese knew it as Karafuto.

  She left the gondola and strode back through the ship, past the passenger cabins into a large hold situated between four large gas bags. Bombs stood in racks along the walls, ready to drop out through large doors below. According to Mendeleev, the Russians set out to test the ship and dedicate a hydrogen plant. She considered the reasons why the ship would be so well armed for a ceremonial mission. Perhaps the Russians wanted it ready to change missions at a moment’s notice. Perhaps Mendeleev lied about the mission to make her worry about the time before discovery. It didn’t matter. The armaments suited her purpose.

  She continued toward the airship’s tail, pleased to have time alone. She had not asked for power or responsibility. She had not asked to command men. Despite that, those traits defined her and she could not give them up because the emperor preferred an army of commoners to loyal samurai. She knew samurai who found powerful positions in the army, navy, and the imperial court, but those positions were reserved for those close to the emperor. Those positions were denied women altogether.

  At forty-years-old, Imagawa had no desire to marry, nor did she want to leave her home to become a peasant. Her samurai would be wasted as soldiers, merchants, or common laborers. This left few options.

  A sniper appeared from a small chamber and bowed.

  “You did well.” She bowed, projecting more confidence than she felt. She continued without awaiting a response. Reaching the tail, she frowned. Even if she succeeded in this quest, could she reclaim her home? In her home, she could disappear into her rooms, meditate, read, or practice sword forms without disturbance. She longed for such peace and solitude, but doubted she could reclaim them. In the Japan of her youth, a woman of skill could become samurai. Losing that home was unacceptable.