The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  “What is it?”

  “An excerpt from an ancient chronicle,” explained Nagomi. “The peak of Takachiho, where the August Grandchild Ninigi no Mikoto descended from Heavens, bearing the three Imperial Regalia. The Dwelling of the Gods. I never dreamed I would…”

  “It’s just over that summit,” the samurai said nodding south, where in the last rays of the setting sun they could see a tall volcanic cone hiding in the clouds, one of several in the chain of Islands in the Mist. “We should reach it by tomorrow. If you get well rested tonight, that is.”

  He stood up and stepped out of the shelter, immediately disappearing from sight into the rainy darkness.

  “Where are you going?” Bran asked nervously, but there was no answer. “I don’t like to have him around, but when he’s gone it makes me even more anxious,” he mumbled.

  “If he hasn’t killed us yet, I don’t think he will,” replied Satō.

  “He could be bringing his men now to capture us and carry us away to some dark prison.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “And you’re too trusting.You called me by my real name earlier.”

  I did! she realised only now. Luckily, it seemed like the samurai hadn’t noticed anything.

  “I have lived in this place for seventeen years. You only arrived a month ago,” she said, feeling her anger rising. How many times will we have to go through this? “I will choose my allies as I please, thank you very much.”

  “But I never — ”

  “Good night, Bran-sama.” She turned his back to him huffily, covering her head with a blanket.

  CHAPTER VI

  Chief Councillor finished reading the documents from the pile he had marked with a sign of a “Horse” and moved on to a pile marked with the sign of a “Ram”. As the head of the government, the matters of the Empire lay solely on his thin, bony shoulders. Without some kind of sorting system he would soon be buried under the weight of documents, missives, reports and letters. At first he had them divided into three categories of urgency, but by now he had twelve separate stacks of papers, each stamped with a character from the Qin zodiac.

  Even with this system, a lesser man would break down under the weight of single-handedly ruling the islands. Abe did not like to rely on secretaries and courtiers, like his predecessors. Their minds did not work fast enough for him. He had kept the ones he inherited with the job on court salaries, but never called on their services, leaving them largely to their own devices. That way, everybody was happy.

  He had retained only one man at his side, the personal aide to the previous Chief Councillor himself, Hotta Naosuke. Master Hotta had appeared in the Taikun’s court in service of one of Ogasawara lords and had risen to the top almost as fast as Abe. Naosuke’s unremarkable physiognomy, accented only by the cunning glint of his eyes, hid one of the brightest minds Abe had ever worked with. It almost seemed as if the Councillor needed no sleep, food or drink. He worked constantly and without fail.

  It was Naosuke who laboured on dividing the documents into zodiac-marked stacks as they arrived to the Chief Councillor’s office. The “Ram” pile was for all matters of coastal defence, and it had grown so large lately, that it had to be divided into two, one of the stacks dedicated solely to the defence of Edo and surroundings. He fingered through the letters from the many daimyos who had been ordered to provide Edo with men, supplies and arms.

  “A thousand samurai from Aizu with armour and horse, a dozen war boats and five battle mages,” he read to Naosuke, who scribbled down some notes. “Yes, the Aizu are reliable as always. The Matsuyama, the Takamatsu, the Kuwana... not as much as they could send. Note: admonish them for avarice.” He continued going through the stack until he reached the bottom.

  “Is there no answer from the southern provinces?”

  “No, tono. Only Nabeshima-dono has responded. The Saga province is sending a token force of samurai now and preparing a larger detachment for later.”

  “What about Tosa? Chōshu? Higo?”

  “They seem to have ignored your... the Taikun’s orders.” Naosuke’s face remained perfectly still, but his eyes glinted, betraying how satisfied he was with the news. Abe recognized a familiar ambition in the Councillor. He had no doubt that, sooner or later, Naosuke would replace him in the position. It did not matter in the long run; the court was like a boiling pot of oden — some would rise to the surface, others fall to the bottom. Such was the way of politics. If anyone were to take over the reins of government, Chief Councillor preferred it to be the wily, moderate Hotta rather than the hot-headed Kuze or one of the self-confident Matsudairas.

  “The Southerners have mingled with the Westerners too much. They are no better than the Barbarians. I don’t suppose Nariakira’s response was any different?”

  “He did not even bother with one.”

  Abe rubbed his eyes with a tired gesture.

  “I know you two used to be close. Why don’t you write him a personal letter? For old time’s sake.”

  Naosuke shrugged lightly. “I may try, but we have not spoken to each other in years. Not since he stopped coming to Edo.”

  “Ah, yes. That’s another thing. We will need to remind him about his duties. The Alternate Attendance system must be obeyed.”

  “He will not come,” said Naosuke firmly. “You would have to drag him by force.”

  Abe smiled knowingly.

  “That may not be necessary. Did you know he’s sending his daughter to the Castle?”

  Naosuke raised his eyes. “I didn’t even know he had a daughter.”

  “Adopted, I believe. I’m not sure what he’s planning exactly. Help with administrative duties, officially, but this is obviously just a ruse.”

  “Obviously.”

  For a moment they were both silent, pondering the mysterious plans of the Satsuma daimyo.

  “What about Kiyō?” Abe said, picking up another piece of paper. “What do the Rangaku wizards say? Will they help?”

  “Their answer is in the “Dog” pile, but I can tell they won’t be terribly committed to the cause. Not after how the Taikun treated them.”

  “I will change these laws. I need the cooperation of the wizards. If a war with the West were to break out… I know what might convince them. That scholar under house arrest, what’s his name — Takashima? I want him released.”

  “That might be difficult. He and his family have been outlawed.”

  “By whose orders?”

  “Bugyō of Kiyō.”

  Fool.

  “I will override it. Send the dispatch with the first post.”

  Naosuke nodded, but still looked doubtful. The wizards were notorious for their anti-government sentiments.

  “What will you do if that isn’t enough?”

  “Then whoever takes my place will have to find a way to deal with those rebellious half-barbarians, one way or another. Whatever the cost, we need national unity in these difficult times. We cannot share the fate of Qin just because of some petty squabbles.”

  The other man nodded again in silence. At least on this, they were both in agreement.

  Chief Councillor put away the bunch of papers and wiped the sweat off his brow.

  “Tell you what, Hotta-sama. Why don’t we leave this for now and go to get some saké?”

  Naosuke looked up in surprise.

  “Are you thirsty, Chief Councillor? Should I call for the servant?”

  “No, no. I meant going to an inn. Have some leisure time.”

  Abe realised how unusual his request must have sounded. Normally he was the last person to be seen drinking and merry-making when he should be working. But these were not normal circumstances.

  A smile slowly appeared on Naosuke’s face. “Very well, Abe-dono. I know just the place.”

  The girl finished her dance, picked up the fan from the floor, bowed and left, followed by the shamisen player. The two men remained alone with their flasks of saké in an octagonal, Qin-style pavili
on in the middle of a small garden at the back of an opulent guesthouse. A nightingale sang inside a large hydrangea bush; blue-tinted buds swayed in the wind.

  Chief Councillor picked up a strip of grilled chicken meat on a stick and chewed it for a while, deep in thought.

  “If we fail this test, history will know us as the last Councillors,” he said.

  “And who would write this history?” asked Naosuke.

  “The Barbarians, no doubt.”

  “That’s very pessimistic. Bordering on treason.”

  “We both know there are none more faithful servants to the Taikun than the two of us. But we must acknowledge the facts. The Qin fell to the Barbarians in two months. Do you remember when the news first broke out about the war?”

  Councillor Hotta nodded. “Of course. I will never forget it.”

  It had been ten years earlier almost to the day. Like many young idealists of the age, Hotta Naosuke had at the time been studying law and history at the famous Mito school, under Aizawa-sensei. He was just becoming aware of Yamato’s dreadful situation under the facade of the Taikun’s “peaceful reforms”.

  He had been late that day. He noticed from a distance that the students had gathered on the main courtyard in a great crowd, instead of attending lectures or working on the Great History as they should have been doing at that time of day.

  “Is this true? Is it really true? So fast... total rout!” He heard the voices as he approached the crowd. He grabbed one of his friends by the shoulder — it was Shimazu Nariakira, then son of the daimyo of Satsuma. They disagreed on matters of politics, but enjoyed each other’s company whenever copious amounts of saké — or better yet, shōchū, of which Nariakira had always plenty — were involved.

  “What’s going on?”

  “News from Qin. The Barbarians have destroyed their fleet and broken through the Barrier. They’ve captured Huating and Fan Yu.”

  “What? But the war’s only just started...”

  “And now it’s finished. The Barbarians are at the gates of Jiankang. The Empire is pleading for peace.”

  “Is this news confirmed?”

  “As much as any news from abroad can be.”

  The crowd hushed momentarily, as Aizawa-sensei walked into the courtyard. He was already an ancient man, wrinkle-faced, dry-skinned, his lips always pursed and twisted as if he had eaten something sour. He was a renowned scholar and tutor to the daimyos of Mito, but his greatest claim to fame had been an incident twenty years earlier, when he was delegated to translate for the Western barbarian sailors who got captured while shipwrecked on the coast of the province. This meeting shook him to the core and he had devoted the rest of his life to developing a way for the Yamato to deal with future foreign threats.

  The old headmaster approached the message board and squinted to read the black squiggly letters. He then harrumphed, shook his head and turned to the gathered students.

  “There will be no lectures today. You are free to ponder this momentous event however you see fit. If anyone wants to discuss anything with me, I’ll be in the garden, meditating.”

  “Say, Nariakira, do you still have that barrel of black yeast stuff you got for the harvest holiday?” Naosuke prodded his friend and, with a couple of other drinking and debating companions, Tenkō and Nobumitsu, moved in the direction of Shimazu’s lodgings, ostentatiously to discuss the latest news, but in reality to have a taste of the famous liquor.

  “Old Sourface must be overjoyed,” Naosuke said. “Isn’t this what he’s always predicted? That the Barbarians will come and gobble us all one by one, like a pack of wolves eating up a herd of deer?”

  “I don’t think being right makes him happy today,” replied Nariakira.

  “The Taikunate must react to this,” Tenkō said, banging his fist on the table. He had one cup too many and his face was flushed. “If they ignore even this news, then, then…”

  “Then what?” goaded Nariakira.

  “Well then they’re no longer fit to rule! And by the will of Heavens, they should be removed!”

  “Don’t you start with your Confucian fairy-tales,” Naosuke said, waving his hand, “will of Heavens indeed! That’s a traitor’s talk.”

  “A traitor to what? The nation? The Mikado? The Tokugawas gained their power by force, not by legacy or divine intervention. They can be removed by force.”

  “And what would you have instead? Civil war all over again? There is no daimyo strong enough to take the Taikun’s place.”

  “You know very well whom I would have instead. We all think alike here, except you, don’t we, lads?”

  Tenkō looked around himself, trying to find support for his rebellious words. Nobumitsu said nothing. He was an expert in deciphering ancient texts, but modern politics was not his strongest point. But Nariakira nodded and grunted in agreement.

  “There is a family that ruled Yamato for hundreds if not thousands of years,” said future lord of Satsuma, “their line is unbroken, and they still are nominally monarchs of this country. Their legitimacy to rule is much greater than that of any daimyo.”

  “I can’t believe you’re being serious,” Naosuke scoffed, “Bring the Mikado back to power? That puppet? You might as well put Butsu-sama on the throne, or Amaterasu herself! What good would that do?”

  “It would be a symbol behind which everyone could rally. You know this might work. There will be no war if we all unite behind the Chrysanthemum Throne.”

  “That’s just a dream. Tokugawas have half the daimyos supporting them, if not more. There would be a war. More bloody than the last one. And while we fight amongst each other, the Barbarians will swallow us up, just like they did in Bharata.”

  “Well then, what is your solution, o wise Hotta-dono?” Tenko mocked him, pouring himself yet another cup, not noticing the warning look he was given by Nariakira.

  “I don’t know yet. But I don’t believe the problem lies with the institution. It’s the people who are the problem. As long as they rule, Tokugawas guarantee peace. Peace and time is what we need right now, not hot-headed intellectuals pursuing dreams of divine legacy. But there is stagnation creeping in, and with it, indolence and corruption.”

  “That’s why we need a revolution!” Tenkō banged the table again.

  “A revolution is chaos, and chaos would be used by our enemies. We need better reforms, smarter reformers.”

  “How many reforms have there been in the past century? And after each one, things get worse.”

  “That’s why we need smarter people in the government. People like us. Isn’t that what we study here for? To learn how to rule the country better?”

  “We’ll never get anywhere near the government,” said Nariakira softly, his inner calm cooling the heads of the quarrelling friends, as always. “You’re the only one of us who is from a fudai family, and you’re what, thirteenth in line to succeed? The rest of us are tozama, outsiders. All our skill and knowledge will amount to nothing as long as the current system is in place.”

  “There must be another way than revolution,” Naosuke put down his cup, deep in thought. “And I would give anything to find it.”

  “And have you found it? The way, I mean,” asked the Chief Councillor having listened to the entire tale.

  “I like to think so,” Naosuke replied, but said nothing more, keeping the secret to himself.

  “So that’s what the conversations were like at Mito,” said Abe, looking into his saké cup. “I’ve often wondered.”

  “We were young and hot-headed, all of us. Some have changed little — like Nariakira-dono.”

  “Do you think he still considers replacing the Taikun with the Divine Mikado?”

  “His mind is too fast to dwell on one idea for too long. No doubt he has come up with a dozen different plans since then.”

  “I used to dread waking up one day to see Satsuma’s banners at the gates of Edo. Now I would welcome them.”

  “They would certainly be of great help
against the Black Wings,” agreed Naosuke. “Unless, that is, Nariakira-dono deemed it more useful for his cause to join the invaders...”

  “He’d never… do you think…?”

  “He’s always been a patriot at heart, but his sense of what’s best for the nation can sometimes be… misguided.”

  Councillor Hotta’s crooked smile and raised eyebrows expressed his distrust much more strongly than his words. He reached for the saké flask, put it to his ear and shook it.

  “Alas! No more.”

  “Under the budding hydrangeas,

  I reach for the white clay bottle:

  Like my head, it is empty,” chanted Abe and both men erupted in drunken laughter.

  A hundred Qinese men stood in a loose column in the middle of the plain, holding on to their self-repeating rifles, their heads sweating under the green turbans in the sweltering sun. The navy blue of their uniforms stood out against the brick-brown of the muddy earth.

  On the other side of the plain waited a thousand or so soldiers, wearing mostly grey studded kaftans and red trousers. The men brandished an assortment of weapons of all sorts, broad swords, spears, halberds, pitch forks and a few matchlocks. The arrangement was supposed to imitate a rebel rabble, but Dylan had strong suspicions that this was how the Imperial Army really looked.

  “How ever did you convince old Pointy Beard to give us this demonstration?” asked Admiral Reynolds, observing the field.

  “It was his proposition. I tried to convince him for three days and then suddenly he came back in the morning with this.” Dylan waved his hand.

  He had been training the hundred men for a week, with the help of other dragoons. The blue uniforms they wore were spares from the Admiral’s stores, as were the rifles and ammunition. He knew the safety of the Concession depended on the success of this demonstration of the Western art of war — already the scouts were reporting that the rebels had been regrouping a large number of troops to the south of the Cheng River in preparation for a renewed assault.