The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun

by Dirk van den Boom

  He was relieved that he didn’t have to stuff himself until further notice.

  Here he met Lady Tzutz, the wife of Prince Chitam, and therefore, if everything went according to plan, and Aritomo had some doubts about that, the future Queen of Mutal. She was the only one present, along with Chitam and a servant, and her personality filled the room in ways Aritomo had never experienced before. Lady Tzutz wasn’t beautiful. The young girls who had smiled at the Japanese on the ball court, looked much more attractive from the outside. She had no particularly attractive characteristic, and her face looked normal in an almost boring way. What made her so mesmerizing was her clear, melodic voice, which was able to conjure up an almost poetic sound even from the often harsh and choppy Mayan language. In addition, gestures and facial expressions were characterized by a dignity which was not trained and had nothing to do with her exalted status in the local society, but only with who she was.

  She spoke softly, but when she did, her voice was heard everywhere. Her words had a penetrating power that was not shrill. There was strength and certainty in them. Aritomo had once known a woman who, despite a modest outward appearance, had left the same impression on other people: his grandmother, who had died long ago. When she spoke, all the men were silent too, no matter how pompous they were with their manly rights as spokespersons or decision-makers. It had been a completely automatic reaction.

  And it was quite similar in this case.

  The Lady Tzutz was also eager to learn and intelligent. She had obviously had her husband repeat the lessons he had shared with Sawada and the priest Itzanami at home. It certainly helped Chitam to learn at a remarkably fast pace – knowledge was best understood by explaining it to someone else, as Aritomo knew – and helped his wife develop some simple English vocabulary. Anyway, she had greeted him with a clearly articulated “Good day!” once he had been led into the room.

  And their conversation, which otherwise would have been rather limited and short due to the language barrier, developed into another intense lesson, with Tzutz helping Aritomo to learn new vocabulary as well as helping her to develop her own language skills. Aritomo was amused to see how Prince Chitam was invited to participate by his wife only when it came to a correct pronunciation or discussion of a particular term. Aritomo felt the woman required more attention from him, than if Captain Inugami would’ve given him a difficult order. And he found himself struggling to concentrate on meeting the honorable lady’s high expectations.

  In addition to learning a great deal during those exchanges, there was also a second positive effect. Tzutz eventually declared the lesson ended, with a sincerely grateful smile toward Aritomo, which pleased him more than he wanted to. She clapped her hands, and servants began to serve the meal he had anticipated, and now he was feeling really hungry, which he had not thought to be possible only recently.

  It was early evening when Chitam finally brought him back to the submarine. Aritomo’s head was full of the impressions of the day, and he tried to draw some mental consequences. It was unmistakable that the Maya were expecting something from him. But were the expectations of this people compatible with those of Inugami? He demanded direct and unlimited power – Aritomo couldn’t interpret the statements of the captain in any other way. And Inugami would never be ready to develop much understanding for those he intended to control. No matter what they might present to him, the Maya would remain savages to Inugami, good enough as subjects but only to obey and serve. Aritomo was increasingly gaining a different picture, one that was more differentiated. Would a man like Prince Chitam – or a woman like Lady Tzutz – allow someone like Inugami to tell them what to do? Despite all the divine lineage attributed to the newcomers, this bonus was quickly lost if the “rule” of the Japanese turned out to be brutal and inconsiderate, but above all a government of contempt for one’s own subjects. Yes, the Maya joyfully submitted to their gods and were even willing, as they had learned from Itzanami, to sacrifice children for the grace of the heavenly masters – one of the gruesome practices in which Aritomo, in rare accord with Inugami, advocated the immediate abolition, should it ever be in their power. But the same Maya subjected these practices to a very specific understanding of nature, its environment, an eternal order. If the newcomers, the time travelers, could not fit into this nature or if they dared to destroy it, that could be fatal. And if they didn’t respect those who gave everything for the preservation of this order, then the rule of someone like Inugami would also lose respect – and one day he would suddenly be very dead.

  A destiny that Aritomo didn’t want to share.

  He said goodbye to Chitam, expressed an awkward thank-you for the day, which the Prince accepted with a majestic nod, and climbed the half-ruined pyramid to reach the boat. The guard on the bridge – as well as two sunbathing crew members on the forecastle – waved to him. When Aritomo reached the top, he saw baskets of fresh fruit standing there. The Maya had further contributed to the care of their guests. The good food would keep up the morale aboard the boat, especially for those who were still overwhelmed with disbelief.

  Inugami had a fair grip on this problem, Aritomo had to give him that. He left no doubt that it was unworthy of an Imperial Japanese soldier, in the presence of a prince, to lose one’s composure and let discipline falter for even a moment. And the men, who were already part of the elite of the fleet, carefully chosen for the occupation of the most important new vessel, widely accepted this view. It gave them support and orientation in a world that seemed to have lost both. And this approach forged the crew together – with each other and with the Captain. Aritomo profited as his second in command, but he wasn’t sure if the long-term consequences would be so easy to handle.

  He told Inugami and Sawada about his trip and the related impressions. The old teacher asked many questions. Inugami took his words in silence. Once the report was finished, Aritomo briefly considered what to do. He didn’t feel tired enough to go to sleep, and he felt many doubts and fears that he simply needed to digest.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he realized that his way had to lead him into the engine room, where he suspected Sarukazaki to be – and Robert Lengsley, the British engineer, who was not quite involved in the discipline of the boat, a guest, an outsider and someone who, though also from an Empire of its own right, had a more relaxed view on monarchy and the divine lineage of revered rulers.

  He needed someone with a relaxed view.

  So he went in search of someone to talk to.

  14

  Robert Lengsley considered himself a man of some sophistication. Born and raised in Liverpool, he started working temporary jobs in the yards at the age of 12, and there he smelled for the first time the scent of the big, wide world. His excellent technical knowledge and desire to absorb every detail of shipbuilding like a sponge were quickly noticed. His father, an employee of the city administration with a secure but very meager income, soon gave up trying to sell his son the benefits of civil service, and then supported him in his passion as much as he could with his modest means. Lengsley had worked from bottom to top until he became one of the city’s best ship engineers once he was almost 30 years old. When he moved to Vickers, he had already paid visits to many European countries and made a trip to the young United States, which also was interested in building a powerful navy. At Vickers, he was allowed to work on the development of submarines during a time that was exciting as he was allowed to do many things that had never been tried before. The urge of constant technical innovation, the race against other nations such as the German Reich, and the sometimes unrealistic wishes of the Admiralty constituted a combination of forces that only those survived who mastered not only technology but also the language of negotiation and endless meetings connected to naval politics.

  And someone was ready to expand his own limits.

  Robert Lengsley was such a man. After four years, he was loaned to Kawasaki in Japan for twelve months – a “loan”
for which his employer got paid handsomely. Lengsley had accepted the offer with pleasure. He had always been drawn to far places. The additional benefit was that he would earn three years salary in one. Japan was a fascinating country for him, and he had learned well, even studied Japanese intensively, although this language had been anything but easily accessible to him. The Japanese respected his knowledge and will to share it freely. Working with them had been one of the best times of his life. The crowning glory should have been the maiden voyage of the new boat. After that, Lengsley’s contract expired, and he was sure he would return to his old job, with new, exciting responsibilities for the future.

  Things had turned out to be a little differently now.

  Still, his duties were new and exciting.

  And he had definitely visited a far place. Geographically, but also in the sense of distant, a bygone era, a thought that Lengsley had neither fully intellectual nor emotionally processed until now. He had a bride at home, Edna, whom he sincerely missed and, he feared, would never see again. Most of his Japanese comrades had no problem with that. The marriage regime of the fleet was extremely strict. No one was allowed to think about a relationship without the permission of his superior, and most were arranged by the families involved. The majority on board thought of parents and siblings but not brides. Lengsley was almost envious of them but was careful not to discuss these things with anyone. He didn’t know the crew well enough. Just as the boat was a foreign object in the city of Mutal, he was one inside the boat. He was treated well. He was neither avoided, nor did anyone whisper behind his back, for the latter, he surely gave no reason. Conversations were always characterized by courtesy. But the cultural distance was palpable, every day, and if anyone felt alone in this strange, exotic and incomprehensible world, it was Robert Lengsley from Liverpool. That didn’t make his situation easier.

  The sergeant, who was the machinist aboard the boat, was named Sarukazaki and was likable to Lengsley. Unlike most other men on board, who treated him with a relatively cool courtesy, the man sometimes joked or tried to talk about something other than their strange and frightening situation. That was certainly the reason Lengsley spent every minute in the engine room, where he had set up his nightly camp alongside Sarukazaki and another mechanic. Now and then he climbed, like the others, on the foredeck and enjoyed the sun, but even there he felt mostly lost. He was bound by the passion for technology with these two men in the engine room, a band that was also able to bridge linguistic and cultural differences. Who knew, maybe one day even a Maya could be found, who, albeit from another level, shared the same enthusiasm. Then Lengsley might eventually feel comfortable here too.

  Until then, however, Lengsley realized he was one of the loneliest people of this era. He didn’t really listen to many of the Japanese conversations, because his language skills were simply insufficient. At the same time, he only picked up on the Mayan language what he learned from the two-hour lesson given by the old Sawada at the captain’s command – followed by the opportunity to learn another four or five hours with their Maya guests, which he subsequently did willingly. Lengsley learned as hard as he could. Feeling alone in the world awoke the urge to acquire as many things as possible that might once provide helpful protection. The ability to communicate was certainly one of them.

  But everything went so agonizingly slow. And Inugami very rarely gave permission for crew members to leave the vicinity of the boat. Lengsley hadn’t received any yet, and he didn’t associate any hopes with each renewed request for clearance. That didn’t stop him from trying again and again.

  Today he had renounced the attempt.

  He sat next to the diesel engine, which he had – for no reason other than occupational therapy – half dismantled, carefully cleaned, oiled and reassembled. Inugami had ordered that all machines be switched off to save gas. That brought with it certain dangers, at least in the midterm.

  Lengsley and Sarukazaki had used this time to do superfluous maintenance. The boat had just been put through its paces, and the subsequent journey hadn’t been too long. Much more interesting had been the inspection of the underside of the boat Lengsley had completed yesterday. The submarine had crashed into the pyramid from moderate height, and that was what the pressure hull had endured. But often the damages were hidden and not visible to the naked eye. Of course, they could only be sure if they could put the boat in a dry dock to look at it thoroughly. Lengsley was sure he could build a dry dock with local resources. But they were far from the coast, as Itzanami, the priest, had finally been able to convey. Mutal was somewhere in Central America, and the boat was literally a fish without water.

  However, the inspection had been successful and satisfactory, as far as it had been feasible. The boat was, of course, very sturdy. It seemed to be in a very good condition in general, which could not be consistently claimed by the crew and by Lengsley himself.

  “Mr. Lengsley? May I disturb you?”

  The Briton looked up and looked into the round face of Aritomo Hara, the boat’s first officer. While Lengsley secretly considered the captain of the mission as quite an asshole, he had gained a good impression of his deputy so far. Hara didn’t seem quite so … dogged. Maybe it was his full-moon face … or the fact that when this man smiled, the joy in his eyes was also visible, while every emotion – except anger – in Inugami seemed fake.

  But Lengsley reminded himself to be careful. He hadn’t lived long enough with the Japanese to really read them. It was a quite different culture than his, and emotionalism was a difficult topic. There were situations in which a Japanese man could cry, while a Briton would have considered this shameful and inappropriate, even effeminate. On the other hand, a man was expected to have self-restraint and immobility, where a Brit could have shown feelings. And everything was covered over again and again by this mask of politeness, through which Lengsley couldn’t always see through. What did the other really think of him? Was the praise meant seriously? And this or that remark – was that purposeful, but terribly congealed criticism, or was it just that? Lengsley was fascinated and confused by Japan. He still had much to learn.

  Not to mention the culture of the Maya to add.

  “Sure, Lieutenant Hara.”

  The full moon face smiled – and Lengsley was reasonably sure it was really smiling –, and the man squatted next to him on the floor next to the diesel engine.

  “How do you feel?”

  The officer’s English was carefully articulated, but not always grammatically correct, possibly because Japanese generally seemed to have difficulty with this language. On the other hand, Lengsley was pretty sure that his comrades didn’t laugh loudly about his attempts at Japanese, because they were far too polite and well-mannered.

  “Good, thanks … according to the circumstances. I’m running out of work, I’m starting to get bored.”

  Aritomo nodded. “Do not let Sarukazaki persuade you to play cards, especially real games for money.”

  “We played Hanafuda,” Lengsley admitted with a grin. “I realized he’d let me go first to make sure I felt safe.”

  “That’s what he does,” the officer said seriously. “He’s not afraid of robbing superiors, by the way. I have to warn you explicitly. He is ruthless.”

  Lengsley sighed playfully. “What use are my coins here? I can’t buy anything anyway.”

  “That’s true. But who knows – maybe money is one of the achievements we will give the Maya.”

  Lengsley said nothing. Hara certainly wanted something and hadn’t initiated to him to banish his own boredom or to chat about the dangers of playing cards. The Briton became curious. Was there something coming up?

  “Possibly,” he replied carefully. “Or they have no need for it. What are the local people offering when they want to pay for something of value?”

  “Cocoa beans, as far as I understand it. And also valuable other raw materials – obsidian, for example, if it is
of very good quality, both unprocessed and in the form of blades.”

  “Metals?”

  “Yes, they know what precious metals are. But they don’t use metal for everyday use. I haven’t seen any iron tools but gold jewelry. I suppose we could teach them something in this area too.”

  “Or the wheel. I haven’t yet seen a cart,” the Brit added.

  Aritomo nodded. “It’s a mystery if you look at the quality of their streets. Yet everything is laboriously transported by humans.”

  “It could be a complicated religious taboo,” Lengsley said, starting to warm up for the discussion. “It seems to me that the beliefs of these people are very diverse, and we may not even know the main underlying principles.”

  “That was my guess at first. But I think there’s a pretty simple explanation for that,” Aritomo replied. He spread his arms as far as the confined space allowed. “They lack of draft animals. There are no horses, donkeys, or cattle. Most animals are small or deer that can’t be domesticated to become a draft animal. Sawada says these animals didn’t come into the country until they were imported by the Spaniards. But that is still far in our – current – future. Without draft animals, a cart makes less sense.”

  “The wheel is still useful,” Lengsley said. “Even if we only have people as workers, it’s possible to carry more on a good cart than by a group of porters, not to mention other areas of application. I’m talking about the waterwheel, for example, to drive a mill. There are rivers with currents. Their power does not seem to be used systematically.”

  “There is probably no shortage of manpower. It’s like slavery. It means that technical advancement gets stuck, because the execution of all work by many available workers – at least for a time – is so cheap and simple.”