As the boys grew up, the villagers accepted Tōru as someone unique, different somehow from the other village boys. Some said he was the son of some great lord, a bastard most likely, hidden away from a wife and a court somewhere. Or he was hidden away in their village to protect him from a curse or unfortunate prophecy, or a vengeful enemy of his house, although personal vendettas were rare these days under the strict peace of the Shogun’s iron-fisted rule.
No one had any facts on the matter, of course, and so a web of imagination and speculation hung around Tōru like a whispering cloud. His neighbors proposed many theories, each more absurd and impossible than the last, but no one knew for sure.
His mother kept to herself for the most part, except for the necessities of shopping in town, selling a few vegetables from her garden or selling exquisite hair ornaments she crafted each year for the major festivals. She never came out to dance at the festivals, or to watch the traveling shows visiting town, or to attend parties and weddings. She cared for the sick and birthed the local babies, armed with notable skills in herbs and medicine, but never accepted more than a small gift of sweets in thanks.
She owned a koto, and would sometimes play it in the evenings, the delicate melodies wafting down on the village from her tidy cottage on the hillside above. For possessing this rare talent, the villagers whispered she had been a geisha in one of the big cities, or a girl from a good family who had fallen into disgrace from an unfortunate lapse in behavior. Some of the more superstitious villagers even supposed she was a magical shapeshifting kitsune fox-woman or sea lion woman who had bewitched a lord and held him under an enchantment.
In the usual course of things, the villagers would have ostracized her for any of these reasons. Moral failings and magical beings both were considered exceptionally dangerous to their small and conservative society. However, Tōru’s mother was so beautiful, kind and generous to all that none dared mock or treat her badly. Over time, she had treated an illness or injury in every household in the village. Nearly every child younger than Tōru had come into the world with her watching over the laboring mother.
Instead, they treated her with quiet respect. She deflected any questions about her past, her people or Tōru’s father with soft questions to her questioner, never answering anything directly. They learned not to ask her anything. They came to accept her as she was, even to treasure proudly her presence among them, still and lovely, an exotic flower that had escaped her garden and wandered off into the wide world and found her way to their muddy coarse village.
And so an unspoken gap lay between Tōru and Jiro and the other village boys, even though they had all fished and swum and fought and wrestled together since birth and wore the same clothes and spoke with the same rough accent. Their parents worked the fields, or owned small businesses, or served as the local chief, or fished. They all knew each other and knew every detail of each other’s business, like folk in small towns the world over. The mystery of Tōru’s parents remained like a sturdy rock the flowing waters of village life rolled around but could not move or break or wear away in such a few short years. They teased him about his mysterious father, and addressed him with honorifics suitable for a lord, sarcastically and jokingly at first, and more seriously later, as they all grew to manhood.
Tōru had taken it all in stride. Strangely enough, by unspoken agreement among the boys, Tōru had always played the general or daimyō in their games, leadership hanging about him like an invisible cloak though he was clothed in the same ragged clothes as the other village boys. By the time Tōru was eighteen, and Jiro twenty, Jiro and the other boys always called him Himasaki-san or Himasaki-sama, after the surname Tōru’s mother went by. Few of the village commoners even had surnames, so the mere possession of one, no matter its source or possible taint, made Tōru unique among his friends. Jiro bowed to Tōru as he would to any upper-class personage who wandered into his forge. A joke had become a habit, and habit a reality. Tōru was Lord Himasaki to his childhood friends, whatever the reality of his birth or station.
“I’m glad to see you, old friend.”
Jiro grinned and mock bowed to his old friend. “Glad you are not dead, sir. Meet any pretty girls in America?”
The next morning, once everyone was mounted and ready to set out on the long journey home, Tōru rode to Lord Aya’s side. Lord Aya was deep in conversation with Lord Tōmatsu. Masuyo hovered nearby, listening to the men.
“I’m ready to go to Edo, my lord. None of the villagers know where my mother has gone or if she even lives. I thank you for giving me this chance to say farewell to her. I’m sorry I wasted your time.” Tōru bowed, acceptance of his fate and misery mingled in his young face.
The lords exchanged a glance.
Masuyo interrupted the awkward silence, filled with grief and the lords’ sympathy for their young prisoner. “O-tō-sama, this worthless boy is not worth the trouble of taking him all the way to Edo to execute. Better we keep him, and perhaps put him to work building some of his gadgets. Father, please hide him.” She bowed low, capable of maidenly humility and grace when it suited her.
Lord Aya nodded at his daughter. He sighed.
“We won’t be sending you to the Shogun, boy. Your story is true, or mostly so. You are a fisherman of this village, known to these people, though the full truth of you no one knows. Lord Tōmatsu and I are willing to neglect to report you to the Shogun’s men if you agree to remain quiet about your travels. We must hide your books and diagrams, above all the wretched Christian book, or all three of us will die. We find it cruel to punish an innocent man, and one of such talent and rare and precious knowledge, with death. We see you love our land,” Lord Aya gestured at the homely village surrounded by gently green and rolling hills, “as deeply as—as deeply as you loved your mother.”
Lords are not accustomed to asking favors of the lesser born. Lord Aya struggled to find the language to ask the young man to cross the line from helpless innocent shipwrecked fisherman, a position from which there might be found mercy for a commoner, even at the Shogun’s cruel court, to active defiance of the Shogun’s policies, for which the certain end was public and painful execution. He slipped into command, ordering with gruffness what they both knew to be a humble request for help. They all understood the penalty for exposure of their plans. They also understood the stakes for their land.
“Help us fight the Americans, and the other barbarians who snap and circle at our borders. Teach us what we need to do to defend our land. Prepare us for the battle to come.”
Tōru dismounted, knelt and bowed low before the two lords.
“I will not fail you. This is what I am meant to do.”
As they rode the long way home, Tōru and the lords discussed details of what must be done, arguing priorities and plans. Tōru had spent much time on the voyage home pondering how best to aid his country. He had strong opinions. Lords are lords and unused to being questioned or challenged, and Tōru was out of practice at appropriately subservient behavior after his time with the feisty and independent Americans, each convinced of their right to their opinions and actions no matter their rank or station. The discussions were heated, detailed and frequently loud. The retainers were stunned their lords allowed a young fisherman to speak to them like a peer. Masuyo followed every word from her norimono palanquin, beating on the roof in a near constant drumbeat to make her bearers keep pace with the mounted men.
Tōru held firm, for all his youth and inferior status, against all the power and authority of the two daimyōs. Over the long journey he convinced them of the need for major innovations in communication, transportation, manufacturing, military training and organization. Any one idea would be a major project. All of them together completely overwhelmed the lords.
Lord Tōmatsu sighed, after grumpily conceding the need for dedicated manufacturing to make weapons.
“I am no merchant, boy, yet you would have me build foundries and factories, and hire whole armies of blacksmiths a
nd seamstresses. Lady Tōmatsu will send me off for execution to the Shogun herself rather than permit such a thing on our land. With our money. Her money, the way she sees it. Worst of all, I’m forced to think about money at all. I’m a warrior, not a merchant.”
Lord Aya stared glumly at the ground as they rode.
“The mission is daunting, it is true,” he said. “But we have no choice. The foreigners can come any day. If we fail to prepare, the country will fall, like China to the British gunships.”
Tōru waited, wise enough to let the lords ripen by themselves into the decisions confronting them. They understood the facts, the urgency and the constraints now. The response required was undeniable once the facts were seen.
“We’ll need more men, more money, more skilled labor, more…daimyōs, other lords willing to join us. We cannot do it all by ourselves,” Lord Tōmatsu stated, knowing recruiting other lords crossed into full-blown treason. He grimaced. “They must become merchants, too, and share our shame.”
Tōru spoke up in agreement.
“No sir, we cannot do it by ourselves. We need to win to our plan every daimyō we can reach.”
Lord Tōmatsu shrugged. “Then we shall get them all. Or die trying.” For the first time that day, or even that week, Lord Tōmatsu grinned, like a young man, happy and free, unencumbered by the cares of lordship and middle-aged responsibility. “Come on, Aya. Can you even remember the last good fight you fought?”
Lord Aya nodded “no.” He too broke into a grin. “Well, if we are all going to lose our heads to the Shogun, we might as well make sure there are a lot of heads along with us. It’s a good fight. A battle worth fighting.”
“‘Give me liberty or give me death,’ the Americans say.” Tōru could not help but grin himself. “We fight for our liberty. From the foreigners, and from the Shogun. Let’s do this. And let us win.”
CHAPTER 5
MACHINES
“One machine can do the work of fifty ordinary men.
No machine can do the work of one extraordinary man.”
– Elbert Hubbard
They reached Lord Aya’s castle after a week of hard travel on roads made muddy and sodden by the spring rains, stopping only briefly overnight to refresh themselves at Lord Tōmatsu’s castle. Lord Tōmatsu accompanied them to Lord Aya’s home, over Lady Tōmatsu’s strenuous objections, along with a dozen key retainers.
When they arrived at Lord Aya’s castle, nestled in the heart of an ancient forest, Masuyo scurried to the kitchen to supervise the staff as they prepared the evening meal for the lords and their men. She couldn’t possibly meet Lady Tōmatsu’s culinary standards, but she could put up a good effort in honor of their esteemed guest and new ally, Lord Tōmatsu.
Tōru stood uncertainly in the courtyard. When they left, he had been a prisoner, sleeping in the stable. Now he was a treasonous co-conspirator with two daimyōs, planning a revolution. Where did co-conspirators sleep?
Lord Aya saw the question in his face and gestured to one of his men. “See that Himasaki gets bedding and a room with the other men. And move his belongings into my personal storage. Post a guard. No one is to touch them.”
After the perfectly adequate dinner, served silently to the men by Masuyo’s kitchen staff while Masuyo fretted over the quality of the meal back in the kitchen, caring for the first time in her life about the image she might present in the world as mistress of her father’s home. The serving trays were cleared away and the lords’ men sent off to bed. Lords Aya and Tōmatsu huddled with Tōru over a map of Japan. Lord Aya bellowed for more saké.
Instead of sending one of her ladies, Masuyo herself appeared almost instantly, carrying a tray with a tokkuri of perfectly warmed saké and three small cups. She bowed, ignoring her father’s surprise at her entrance, and served the three men their drinks. When she was done, she lingered by the map, examining it in detail.
“Thank you, daughter. You may go now.”
“No, O-tō-sama. I would like to stay.” Masuyo settled into the stubborn pose her father knew so well. Even Tōru recognized it already in their short week together. She turned to Lord Tōmatsu and bowed deeply. “My Lord Tōmatsu, please do not blame my father for my poor behavior.”
Masuyo’s contradiction of her father’s suggestion so startled Lord Tōmatsu he could find nothing to say. Masuyo continued.
“Father, Tōru, Lord Tōmatsu, I would like to help.”
“Enough! You may go now,” Lord Aya barked at her.
Lord Tōmatsu grinned. He settled back to watch the battle between his new ally and his exceptional daughter unfold.
“No, O-tō-sama, I must stay. I have been studying Tōru’s books and diagrams, and I know what to do to set up the lab and factory. I am deciphering the engineering books and designs. I can translate them into directions for our staff. You haven’t enough men who can read and write. You need my help.”
“I’ll not listen to one more word of this, especially not in front of Lord Tōmatsu. This is not work for a girl.” Her father roared at her again.
Lord Tōmatsu grinned at his new friend’s embarrassment.
“She’s certainly cut from a different cloth than my wife. Spirited girl you’ve got there, Aya.” Lord Tōmatsu said this as though he did not consider it a bad thing.
“I like this ‘engineering,’” Masuyo said, sounding out the English word Tōru had taught them all to explain how the Americans like to design and invent things. “And I am good at engineering, and with languages. I understand I cannot run around the countryside with you men. Even I agree with that, O-tō-sama. It would cause too much gossip, and we need to be discreet. But you need someone you can trust to work out the details of the designs, and direct the engineering and manufacture of the weapons while you organize the other lords.”
She glanced at Tōru for support. He nodded approval.
Lord Aya turned to his new friend Lord Tōmatsu, his hands outstretched in a gesture half helpless and half pleading. “My daughter is impossible. I have ruined her by over-educating her. Her head’s full of strange ideas from Western books she studies through her rangaku research. Her mother would never forgive me for what I have allowed her to become. No one can control her, least of all me. But she can help, and I trust her. Do you object to letting her join our team?”
Tōru and Masuyo flashed a smile of victory at each other. Lord Tōmatsu laughed. “Why not a woman engineer? We haven’t got any other of these engineers anyway. We need Himasaki organizing everything else. To your health, my lady, and to your designs.” He lifted his saké cup to toast, along with the others. Masuyo bowed low, victory complete, and slipped from the room.
She had no time for saké. She had designs to test and build.
Within a day, Masuyo had put together a preliminary list of the materials, equipment and skills they needed to build modern guns, an experimental dragon dirigible airship and the first pieces of equipment for a telegraph. The list was long. Many items were not available in Japan at all, but must be sourced from Western traders across the straits, quietly, illegally and treasonously.
She presented her list after the servants had cleared away the evening meal. She brought out another round of gently warmed saké to the men. Lord Tōmatsu proved quite adaptable for a man of his station and gender, chuckling at first as she presented her list. He marveled aloud that a creature of such beauty could know and speak so confidently of such technical matters. He admired the graceful way she carried herself, causing her to blush at the attention and her father to scowl. Soon, though, he was engrossed in the task and busy arguing over the list with a slip of a girl half his age who should have been, by all laws of custom and nature, pouring tea or practicing her koto, not arguing fiercely with him. Her father watched Lord Tōmatsu warily at first, but relaxed as he saw his new ally accepting his daughter’s unusual qualities.
“These are all the items we cannot make or buy here in Japan.” Masuyo paused to let the others respond to the prob
lem she had raised as she handed out her lengthy list.
Her father turned to Lord Tōmatsu. “How is your relationship with the Shimazus, of Satsuma? Didn’t you study with one of Lord Shimazu’s nephews?”
“Aye, but long ago. We haven’t kept in touch. They are—,” he sought the right polite word, “proud. Conscious they are the strongest family in the west. They don’t mix much with us lesser folk. And my wife…her family is quite close to the Tokugawa house.” He rapped his closed fists together to show Tokugawa and Shimazu in conflict.
Masuyo noticed Tōru had a most peculiar expression on his face at the mention of the Satsuma daimyō, Lord Shimazu. She could not ask him about it, for the lords continued their discussion.
“What about Shimazu’s top retainers? Can you get to them? The Shimazu trade with the Chinese, the Dutch, the Koreans, even Western traders. If we can get their help, this list is no problem.” Lord Aya topped off Lord Tōmatsu’s saké as he asked.
“It’s a delicate matter to ask the Shimazus to smuggle for us. They could turn us in, a cheap way to show loyalty to the Shogun. Besides, we’ll insult them if they believe we are treating them like merchants.”
“I doubt they would turn us in. No love lost there. The Shogun’s men know better than to linger in Satsuma territory long. Satsuma might even agree with the plan.”
“Risky to approach them if they don’t…”
“We don’t have a choice. The Shogun’s officers monitor the Dutch traders at Nagasaki too closely. The Shogun looks the other way when the Soh clan of Tsushima trades with Korea and gets repaid with their loyalty and access to the goods. We’d have no luck there, even if the Koreans had what we need. Our list would be in the Shogun’s hands within days. And our heads on pikes on Castle Chiyoda the next day.”
Toru: Wayfarer Returns (Sakura Steam Series Book 1) Page 5
