Earth-Thunder

by Patrick Tilley

  If the monkey-witches succeeded in turning the Lady Mishiko, they would have their traitor. One frail woman, but so well-placed, she was worth a thousand battle-hardened men.

  Shikobu Asakawa, one of a score of senior secretaries who, with the aid of their own staffs, handled the endless stream of paperwork passing through the Chamberlain’s office, hastened to welcome Lord Min-Orota on behalf of his master.

  Kiyo informed him he had come to deposit a further sum with the Court Treasurer for the upkeep of Lady Mishiko – for which he would like a receipt – then, lowering his voice, he requested a private audience with the Lord Chamberlain. He had, said Min-Orota, extremely urgent and vital information to impart, and it was essential for his own safety that the meeting be kept secret from everyone except the Shogun.

  Shikobu, who had already been briefed by his master Ieyasu to expect such a visit, said: ‘My lord, for reasons of state, the Chamberlain cannot receive you personally, but he has instructed me on this matter which’ – he paused then adopted the same conspiratorial tone – ‘I believe concerns a certain meeting at Sara-kusa.’

  ‘That is so,’ admitted Min-Orota.

  ‘Then you may tell me,’ said Shikobu. The secretary produced a slim scroll and passed it to Lord Min-Orota. ‘As you will see from this document, I am authorised to receive any information you wish to bring to the notice of the Chamberlain.’

  Kiyo undid the scroll and read its contents with a frown. It was a brief letter addressed to him, confirming what Shikobu had said, and it was signed and sealed by Ieyasu.

  Not good. Not good at all.…

  He rolled it up and handed it back to the secretary. ‘I recognise the authority this letter gives you, but the information I bring is too sensitive to be communicated to an underling – even one as trusted as you. Inform Lord Ieyasu that I must see him without delay. The fate of the nation hangs in the balance!’

  Ieyasu, having foreseen this possibility, had provided his secretary with a range of responses. ‘My lord, I regret that the Chamberlain has been called away from the palace.’

  Min-Orota concealed his disappointment beneath a snort of irritation. ‘I see. When will he return?’

  Shikobu shifted uncomfortably. ‘I am not at liberty to say.’

  Min-Orota exploded. ‘Impudent scribbler! Do you want the Toh-Yota to continue to rule this country?!’

  ‘W-Why, y-yes, my lord!’

  ‘Than I demand that you tell me! When will he return?!’

  ‘In-nin-nin ab-bout fourteen days, my lord!’

  ‘Fourteen days?! Merciful Heaven, we could be at war by then!’ Kiyo Min-Orota paced up and down with a great show of agitation. He was now quite enjoying his role. Planting himself in front of the secretary, he slowly pinched his lips together between his fingers then came to a weighty decision. ‘This can wait no longer. I must speak with the Shogun!’

  The unfortunate Shikobu wilted visibly.

  Min-Orota turned away in disgust then came back to the attack. This is incredible. Do you mean to tell me the Shogun is not here either?!’

  ‘They b-b-both left last n-night, sire!’

  ‘And won’t be back for fourteen days.…’ Min-Orota slammed his left hand down on the hilt of his sword. ‘Don’t just stand there, man! What are we going to do?!’

  ‘Well, my lord, if you will allow me into your confidence, I can send word to the Chamberlain by courier-pigeon. Or, if you are unwilling to do that, you can compose a message yourself and seal it in a message capsule.’

  Interesting, thought Min-Orota. It meant that Ieyasu and Yoritomo were on their way to one of the other palaces – all of which kept birds trained to fly to their home lofts in various parts of the country. But which palace were they going to? He could always try asking, but it would have to be done obliquely. He had succeeded in rattling Shikobu, but the man was clearly under instructions to say as little as possible.

  Min-Orota adopted a more conciliatory tone. ‘I could, but how many hands will it pass through before reaching your master? You say they left during the night. How soon will the message reach him?’

  Shikobu wilted again. As a member of Ieyasu’s private staff he enjoyed considerable standing within the court, but he was bound by etiquette to defer to a domain-lord. And in the case of Min-Orota, he had been instructed to be especially accommodating.

  He braced himself for another explosion. ‘Five days from now, my lord. At the earliest.’

  Kiyo Min-Orota swore loudly and paced up and down again. Five days.… He mentally calculated the distance they could travel in that time in an effort to figure out where Ieyasu and Yoritomo could be going. The Toh-Yota had a fortress at Beni-tana in their northern domain, Koneti-kuta; a long strip of forested hills that ran along the east bank of the Uda-sona to the Great Forest Lake and onward to the San-Oransa, the river border between Ne-Issan and the Fog-People.

  Koneti-kuta, the largest of the Toh-Yota’s three domains, was their original home before their rise to power, but the river and lakes strung along its western border also formed the major part of the front line between the Toh-Yota and the Yama-Shita. Since the deterioration in their relationship, the Shogun had never stayed in the palace at Beni-tana despite the number of troops stationed in the domain. Min-Orota had been told this by Yoritomo himself.

  Five days.… The only alternative was the Summer Palace on Aron-Giren. But why on earth were Ieyasu and Yoritomo going there? And why the secrecy? Min-Orota would have dearly loved to know the answers, but at this moment in time, where was more important than why. What mattered was that the Chamberlain and the Shogun were travelling without their usual massive retinues. If they were going to Aron-Giren as he surmised, they would only have a limited number of personal servants and guards around them, plus the basic permanent staff whose job it was to maintain the palace in readiness for a surprise visit such as this.

  With most of the Inner Court and Ieyasu’s front men still on the mainland, it would make Lady Mishiko’s task much easier. But she would have to move fast – and so would he.…

  Lord Min-Orota turned to face the secretary. ‘So … they have gone to the Summer Palace?’

  ‘My lord, I regret that I am –’

  Min-Orota cut him off with a wave. He had caught the tell-tale flicker in Shikobu’s eyes. That was enough. ‘Of course, of course. In any case, I cannot go there. Your masters may have begun their journey in secret but how long will it remain one? If I was seen to follow, I would be hopelessly compromised. And since you won’t confirm that is their destination, it could be a wild goose chase.’

  Shikobu bowed. The Chamberlain warned me that this situation might arise, my lord. If you will not pass on this information through me – as he has requested – then I must ask you to wait here until he returns.’

  Min-Orota drew himself up, a move which caused the secretary to retract even further – like a tortoise sensing trouble. That is one solution. On the other hand – seeing he cares so little for the future of this country – I could go home. And you could send him a message suggesting he might learn something to his advantage if he came to see me!’

  ‘Y-Yes, my lord!’

  ‘And now,’ said Min-Orota, ‘kindly conduct me to the Lady Mishiko. I would like to pay my respects before leaving.’

  Kiyo Min-Orota had missed Ieyasu and the Shogun by just under eight hours. Travelling in closed unmarked carriages, with a heavily-disguised armed escort, the two principal targets of Cadillac’s plan had left the palace through a secret underground tunnel in the dead of night and were now following a circuitous route to the Summer Palace for a meeting with two emissaries of the Federation.

  There was a quicker and more direct way to reach Aron-Giren from the Winter Palace, and that was by ocean-going junk from the nearby fishing port of Oshanasita. But the Shogun, who was an even worse sailor than Cadillac, hated boats, and avoided travelling by sea whenever possible.

  The last time he had been persuaded by Ieyas
u to go to Bo-sona by sea, the return journey had been so dreadful he had vowed never to do so again. The longest boat journeys he was prepared to undertake were the ferry crossings from Nyo-Jasei to Mana-tana and on to Aron-Giren. Going by road and travelling only during the hours of darkness, stretched the journey out over several days, but for the Shogun, the attendant discomforts were cancelled out by the peace of mind that came from knowing that his carriage wheels were rolling on a firm foundation.

  Apart from their immediate personal staff – riding ahead and behind the closed carriage – few people were aware that Yoritomo and Ieyasu had left the Winter Palace. The Shogun often cancelled his daily audiences and other scheduled court appearances when he felt the need to do so.

  Since his accession, the conflict between what he judged to be the good and bad sides of his character and the pressures of high office in one so young had led to frequent and sometimes extended bouts of introspection. The stone garden at the Summer Palace was a favourite place where he spent hours contemplating the harmonious arrangements of rocks set amongst a raked sea of gravel.

  From the age of five, Yoritomo had developed into a secretive, solitary child who preferred reading for hours on end to more active, outdoor pursuits with boys of his own age. Studious, intelligent and imaginative, he impressed his tutors with his learning, but alongside the textbooks on the shelves of his father’s library were other, less erudite but more enticing works, such as – for example – the bulging folios of delicately coloured prints depicting, in explicit detail, men and women engaged in every conceivable phase and variation of the sexual act. There is little doubt it was his avid study of this massive collection of erotica which inspired the febrile fantasies Yoritomo had woven around his sisters.

  Through fear, they had kept his secret, but the court and the whole country was awash with secrets and intrigue. In the upper reaches of Iron Master society, conspiracy was in the blood, and the Shogun was the focal point of the constant scheming – by those who sought to curry favour, and by those who sought to remove him. In a world where false friends lay on all sides, the ruler of Ne-Issan needed the clear and concentrated mind of a Grand Master playing simultanous games of chess with several opponents.

  The few friends he had at court also knew that these periods of contemplation were sometimes used to cover a brief sexual liaison. Unlike his late father, who positively enjoyed outraging people’s sensibilities, Yoritomo liked to keep these affairs secret, and anyone who openly referred to them soon felt the weight of his displeasure.

  Ieyasu, too, as the supreme puppet-master, preferred to do much of his work behind the scenes. The absence of either for a period of days inevitably raised a few curious eyebrows, but was not a cause for concern; Ieyasu, as the nominal head of the government, had a string of high-powered aides to front for him, and the layers of court officials ensured that the palace ran smoothly in the Shogun’s absence. It was, in other words, business as usual.

  But not for much longer.…

  By the time Lord Kiyo Min-Orota reached Lady Mishiko’s private apartments, she already knew the real reason for his visit. A trusted member of his staff had succeeded in delivering an invitation to pay an informal visit to the post-house. The letter stated that Min-Orota had uncovered new information concerning the death of the Herald Hase-Gawa, but because of its sensitive nature, it was essential that the proposed meeting took place without the knowledge of Ieyasu’s staff or any other palace official who did not enjoy her complete and utter trust.

  The lure proved irresistible.

  While refreshments were served, Lady Mishiko’s three children were summoned to pay their respects and receive several small presents from the domain-lord. Mishiko – obliged to speak in code because of Secretary Shikobu’s lurking presence – thanked Kiyo for his continued friendship and support, emphasised the pleasure this unexpected visit had brought her, and expressed the hope that it would not be too long before they saw each other again.

  ‘My children,’ said Mishiko, ‘are so excited by the toys and gifts you have brought them, they will not sleep tonight.’ Then with a slight change of emphasis she added. ‘And neither shall I – for your visit has revived fond memories of happier times.’

  There was no need to say more.

  After spending an hour in her company, Min-Orota – who had been closely shadowed by his personal guard – gathered up the remainder of his small retinue and returned to the main courtyard. As the palace grooms brought their horses out of the stables, Shikobu – who had excused himself from Min-Orota’s presence as soon as the audience with Lady Mishiko had ended – reappeared with the Chief Steward of the Royal Household, Kenzo Tokugami.

  Kenzo ranked immediately below the Chamberlain, but whereas Ieyasu ran the country on behalf of the Shogun, Kenzo was solely concerned with arranging the social and domestic activities of the court. It was his job to ensure everything ran smoothly. A flow chart would have shown Kenzo was responsible directly to the Shogun, but like most key appointees, he was in Ieyasu’s pocket.

  After exchanging the formal bows and greetings that prefaced all verbal exchanges between people of exalted rank, Kenzo Tokugami expressed his delight at being able to welcome Lord Min-Orota to the Winter Palace. The Court was honoured by his presence, and he – as Chief Steward – was deeply distraught to discover that the noble domain-lord was not staying within the safety of the palace walls.

  ‘Dare one express the hope,’ said Kenzo, ‘that my noble lord will accept the offer of an apartment befitting his station, in which he can rest and be entertained until the Shogun and the Chamberlain return?’

  A simple ‘yes’ was all that was needed, continued the Steward. He, Kenzo Tokugami, would take care of every detail, including the transfer of the noble lord’s retinue from the post-house to the palace.

  Kiyo Min-Orota thanked him, and answered with a simple ‘no’. The accommodation at the post-house had already been paid for, and although he was sure the Chief Steward would be happy to reimburse him, it was not a question of money.

  ‘I came here at considerable risk to myself to warn the Shogun of a serious threat that could topple the Toh-Yota only to suffer the indignity of being rebuffed by this ink-stained dung-worm.’

  Kiyo waved dismissively at Shikobu.

  ‘I find it deeply distressing that a trusted friend of your family cannot be privy to Lord Ieyasu’s movements, especially when – at this very moment – those movements might place him and the Shogun in even greater peril!’

  ‘M-My lord,’ stammered the hapless Shikobu, ‘I beg you to believe it was not my decision to withhold this information from you!’

  ‘Even I do not know where they have gone,’ added Kenzo.

  ‘That may be so,’ replied Min-Orota loftily. ‘For my part, I do not intend to impugn your honesty and reliability. But someone here knows. And I regret that they have seen fit to doubt mine!’ Min-Orota mounted his horse and gathered up the reins.

  ‘My lord!’ cried Kenzo. ‘Surely you do not intend to leave us!’ Without thinking, he grasped the chest harness of Min-Orota’s steed. A bad move – and a grave breach of etiquette.

  The atmosphere in the courtyard suddenly became charged with menace as Min-Orota’s escort went for their swords and the watching soldiers took a firmer grip on lance and bow.

  Min-Orota’s party was hopelessly outnumbered but Kiyo was equal to the situation. ‘Stand aside, sir!’ he boomed. ‘Or by the Gods, I’ll have your arm off at the shoulder!’

  The Chief Steward leapt away from the horse as Min-Orota made it rear up threateningly and launched into a frenzied apology. ‘Oh, my lord! My lord! A thousand pardons! It was never my intention to.…’ Coming out of a deep bow he caught sight of Min-Orota’s thunderous expression and lapsed into a cringing silence.

  ‘Good!’ said Kiyo. ‘Now let me inform you of my intentions! I am going to leave this place and return to the post-house at Be-isha to review my position. You have two days in whi
ch to re-examine yours. If I am offered suitable redress for this double affront, I will reconsider your offer of accommodation within the palace until the Shogun returns. If not…’

  He let the unspecified threat hang in the air.

  For a moment, it looked as if the palace guard – who were gathered in front of the draw-bridge – might bar their exit. Min-Orota did not hesitate. He signalled his retinue to advance with a confident wave and spurred his horse forward. In the absence of the Shogun and Ieyasu, he knew the Chief Steward did not have the authority to order him to stay. Min-Orota might have taken an oath of allegiance to the Shogun, but as one of the seventeen domain-lords of Ne-Issan he was also his social equal.

  Taking his cue from Kenzo, the guard commander quickly reformed his men into two ranks on either side of the main gate, and bowed in salute as Lord Min-Orota trotted proudly onto the bridge across the moat, preceded by his two flag-bearers.

  When his party reached the open road beyond the Outer Keep, Min-Orota breathed a sigh of relief. One false move in that courtyard and they could have all lost their heads.

  Fortunately he had kept his, and had called Kenzo’s bluff. Ieyasu’s secretary had gone running to the Chief Steward in a last ditch effort to prevent him from leaving. By polite persuasion, of course – but it was no accident that a large number of guards just happened to be blocking the only exit. They were obviously hoping that the implied threat would help change his mind.

  Had Ieyasu been there, it would have worked, but he was the organ-grinder; Shikobu was just one of his monkeys, and Min-Orota knew that Kenzo, the Chief Steward, was a fat effeminate smoothie who became quite unnerved if he was shouted at.

  In Ieyasu’s absence, it was only natural for his staff to try and keep Min-Orota in their clutches. Now that the listening device in the palace at Sara-kusa had been destroyed, his testimony was invaluable. But not quite beyond price. He was prepared to reveal all to Shikobu in exchange for definite confirmation that Ieyasu and the Shogun were on their way to the Summer Palace. Given the stink he’d kicked up and his parting demand for an apology, Min-Orota believed that confirmation would not be long in coming.