Earth-Thunder

by Patrick Tilley

  ‘I know, you already told me.’

  ‘Well, I’m just reminding you! All I can do is to entrap the minds of the navy men who have boarded this boat – if they threaten our safety and providing they stay together. But even if I manage to neutralise them, I can’t stop their shipmates firing those cannon at us!’

  ‘Yehh, point taken. Let’s hope she’s wrong and I’m right.’

  Lady Mishiko appeared in the doorway. ‘They’re leaving!’

  Cadillac gave Roz a whispered translation then followed Mishiko over to the starboard window.

  It was true. The long-boat containing the boarding party was making its way back to the Toh-Yota patrol ship. A few moments later, one of Mishiko’s guards admitted the captain.

  Cadillac and Roz, secure in their disguise, remained in the background while Mishiko listened to the captain’s account of what had happened on deck. After checking the ship’s papers and the master’s licence, the officer in charge of the boarding-party had informed the captain that because of a rumoured coup attempt by the Yama-Shita, all incoming vessels were being directed towards five ‘controlled’ harbours. On docking, the ship and its cargo would be thoroughly searched; any passengers intending to disembark would only be allowed to do so if their papers were in order, and if they could show good reason for coming to Aron-Giren.

  Cadillac cursed silently. He and Roz didn’t have any papers. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that they might need them.

  The captain continued to recite the orders he had been given. His junk was required to dock at Bei-shura, but because of the backlog of vessels awaiting inspection, it would have to take its place in the queue. As soon as the junk was underway, the patrol ship would lead it through the channel into the bay where it was to anchor overnight. Any further orders, or information about when they would be able to dock, would be issued in the morning.

  Mishiko accepted this with a regal nod. ‘Did they examine the passenger list?’

  ‘No, ma’am. And they did not check the cargo manifest. They simply enquired what I was carrying. I told them I had a number of passengers on board together – men, women and children – with their personal baggage, plus a small amount of commercial cargo in the forward hold.’

  ‘And they did not ask how many of us there were, nor seek to discover our identities?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you, captain. Do not let me detain you further.’

  The steam engine deep in the bowels of the junk resumed its regular beat and soon afterwards, the three-bladed brass screw beneath the stern began to drive the junk towards the channel between the long sand-bars.

  Three-quarters of an hour later, the navy patrol ship signalled the junk to drop anchor landwards of a group of small islands in what was once known as Great South Bay, Long Island. With the shoreline beginning to merge with the blackening sky, the small port of Bei-shura, which lay about four miles to the north-west, was just visible as an untidy cluster of dim yellow-orange lights. The Iron Masters had no organised system for illuminating their towns and villages. When darkness fell, most people retired to the safety of their houses and locked themselves up for the night.

  During this period, Lady Mishiko went off to spend some time with her three children and their nurse, and two of her servants brought trays of food down to Cadillac and Roz.

  By the time Mishiko returned, the junk was riding at anchor in the bay. Five other vessels of varying size were moored nearby. With heavy clouds covering the night sky, it was too dark to see them clearly, but their positions could be identified by the red and green lanterns hung amidships and the white lights hung from bow and stern.

  The patrol vessel off their portside had almost its whole deck illuminated by a string of lanterns. The cannon mounted along the starboard side could be seen clearly in the overlapping pools of light. The muzzles were all aimed at the junk, and the gunners were stationed nearby. Other sea-soldiers, armed with crossbows and long-barrelled rifles with revolver-type magazines, took turns to march slowly back and forth around the edge of the deck.

  In a cabin now lit by four rose-coloured lanterns, Roz watched patiently from the sidelines as Cadillac and Mishiko had another long discussion. The captain was sent for, and appeared carrying a rolled map. This was examined by all three in some detail. An agreement was reached. The discussion ended with the usual exchange of bows, the captain left, then Cadillac signalled Roz to follow him out of the room for another private head-to-head.

  ‘Okay, here’s the situation. You and I don’t have any papers. Now you might be able to magic our way round that, but only if they allow us into harbour. They could keep us stuck out here in the bay until Ieyasu and the Shogun have come and gone.

  ‘Mishiko doesn’t know why they’re coming to Aron-Giren, but because the journey’s been made in secret and the rest of the court has been left behind, she thinks they’ll only be here for a few days at the most. And according to Min-Orota, they’re due the day after tomorrow.

  ‘With so many unknowns, we have to be inside the Palace by tomorrow morning. That’ll give us twenty-four hours to set everything up the way we’ve planned – or make alternative arrangements. That means we’ve got to leave within the next hour.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We’ve done a deal with the captain. Or, to be more precise, Mishiko has. In return for a bag of gold pieces, he’s going to let us take one of the junk’s long-boats. It’ll be a tight fit, but we should manage to squeeze everybody in. The plan is to row up the coast and land on a beach directly south of the Summer Palace. The Palace itself is about nine miles inland.’

  ‘And how far is it from here to the beach?’ asked Roz.

  ‘About sixteen miles.’

  Roz pulled off her mask. ‘You’re planning to row sixteen miles with a boatful of people in the dark? Pulling on those long paddle-things?’

  ‘Oars. There are six of them, and we do have a sail. It will take us about four hours to travel up the coast, then another two to three hours to reach the Palace and get inside. With over ten hours left to first light we should make it easily.’

  ‘You’re crazy. I saw those boats when we came on board. There won’t be room to move. Anyway, why go in one, when there are two of them?’

  ‘The starboard long-boat is the only one we can lower without drawing attention to ourselves. If we row east-north-east – which is the direction we want to go – we’ll be hidden from the patrol ship by the hull of the junk. After that we’ll be swallowed up in the darkness.’

  Cadillac saw the doubt in her eyes. ‘It’s not as crazy as it sounds. The captain says that in a little while we’ll be on an ebb-tide. That means the current will be flowing away from the land and out to sea –’

  ‘Ohh, great!’

  ‘Let me finish! The sand-bar we passed on the way in runs all the way along the coast past the spot we’re aiming for. Since we’re inside the bar, the current will carry us more or less parallel to the shoreline. We’ll be rowing with it, rather than against it.’

  As a first-time sailor, Roz found this difficult to grasp. ‘And that will make a difference?’

  ‘Yeah. Like the difference between rolling a large stone downhill and trying to roll it uphill.’

  ‘Okay. Assuming we survive the trip, how do we get into the Palace without being seen?’

  ‘Leave that to me.’ The cool, clear voice, with its clipped pronunciation, took them completely by surprise.

  Cadillac turned on his heel, covering Roz as she hurriedly put on her face-mask. Lady Mishiko stood in the doorway. How long had she been there?

  ‘I did not know you could speak the language of the long-dogs,’ said Mishiko.

  ‘Nor we you,’ replied Cadillac. ‘We decided to converse in this strange tongue to avoid alarming you while we expressed our fears for the outcome of this journey.’

  His reply drew a laugh from Mishiko. ‘Can witches as powerful as you be frightened?’

  ‘V
ery easily, your highness,’ said Roz. ‘Our magic requires careful preparation and the accurate casting of silent spells. If our minds are not completely attuned to the spirit world and the magic powers it contains, we are as vulnerable as any other mortal creature.’

  Mishiko’s eyes opened wide as they fastened onto Roz’s masked face. Cadillac realised it was the first time that Roz had uttered a sound in her presence. They had gotten this far by convincing Mishiko they were jap spirit-witches and it was vital to maintain that illusion. He had to move in and kill this conversation before Roz was caught off guard by a chance remark by Mishiko in her own language. If she discovered Roz’s vocabulary consisted of less than three dozen words and that her accent was atrocious, it could ruin everything. He switched over to Japanese.

  ‘We are but vessels, your highness. The power comes to us from beyond The Veil. What we have done, and will do, is made possible by the strength of the love that flows between you and the Herald and which binds you together with a force that can never be broken asunder!’

  Then your power is assured, for my love for Hase-Gawa grows stronger ever day.’

  ‘And will never die.…’ Cadillac switched back to Basic. ‘With your permission, I will speak for a while in the long-dog tongue to my companion. We need to acquire a certain fluency if our plans to help you avenge the Herald’s death are to succeed.’

  ‘Then pray continue.’

  The cash that was the key element in securing the captain’s cooperation came from a small chest full of gold coins. In Ne-Issan all high-ranking persons carried hefty amounts of money with them to buy their way out of trouble while travelling from A to B and Mishiko was no exception. That was why road convoys were attractive targets for ronin. The fact that they might be heavily protected only added to the excitment.

  While the captain was stashing away his golden handshake, the crew-members on the night-watch were swiftly overpowered, bound and gagged, and carried into one of the cabins. The hatches and companionways were battened down to prevent the rest of the crew getting into the act, then the captain supervised the lowering of the starboard long-boat.

  Before being gagged, he insisted on receiving a blow to the head which would draw blood – and thus lend credence to his story – but which, he devoutly hoped, would not prove fatal.

  One of Mishiko’s guards obliged.

  Roz had not believed it was possible to lower the boat without it being noticed by the sea-soldiers pacing back and forth along the deck of the nearby patrol ship. Her imagination had magnified the squeaks and groans from ropes and pulleys into piercing shrieks and shuddering thunderclaps of sound that – to her mind – were guaranteed to rouse the crews of the surrounding vessels from the deepest of slumbers.

  But there had been no challenge, no warning rifle shot or cannonade. Just the whistling sigh of a light breeze through the rigging, the quiet creak of stressed wooden joints and beams, and the constant lapping of waves against the hull.

  She had also not believed there would be enough room for everyone, but when the last of Mishiko’s guards clambered down the rope ladder and wriggled his way through to his seat at one of the six oars, she was proved wrong yet again.

  Seeing her ‘okay, you win’ look, Cadillac decided not to tell her that the combined weight of people and baggage had pushed the long-boat dangerously low in the water. The wind was light and the sea relatively calm, but if a squall blew up on the way to Bei-poro it wouldn’t take long for waves to swamp the boat.

  Having two-thirds of the hull below the waterline also put an added strain on the oars-men, but Mishiko’s guards proved up to the task. They let the ebb-tide current carry the boat away from the junk, stroking the water gently to keep the long-boat from drifting into view of the patrol ship. When the last of the moored vessels had slipped by, they hoisted the small, square-cut foresail, and began to pull strongly on the oars.

  Cadillac felt a surge of excitement as he heard the water begin to ripple past the hull. He would have liked to take his turn at the oars, but his disguise did not allow him to do so. As far as Mishiko’s servants were concerned, he and Roz were two courtesans – a gift from Lord Kiyo Min-Orota to the Shogun: rowing boats did not figure in the list of services they were expected to provide.

  He and Roz sat crammed in the bows of the boat on the leeside of the foresail with Lady Mishiko, her three children, their nurse, three female servants and a stack of baggage – for despite several appeals to reason, Mishiko had stubbornly insisted on taking every single item. The rest of the baggage, the five remaining women and two men – one of whom manned the tiller – sat in the stern behind the six rowers.

  Cadillac looked up at the sky. The massive blanket of cloud was beginning to break up. The moon showed its face briefly, casting a tarnished silver gleam over the sea. Resting on top of it, like two thin, uneven strips of black paper were the coastline of Aron-Giren, and the sand-bar which lay to starboard.

  As long as they stayed more or less parallel to the sand-bar, they couldn’t go wrong. According to the map it converged gently with the shoreline. Bei-poro, the small harbour they were aiming for, was three miles from the north-eastern corner of Great South Bay where the shore of Aron-Giren made a sharp ninety degree turn to the right towards the sandbank, closing the gap between them from two miles to less than four hundred yards.

  Like most harbours, Bei-poro would probably have some kind of transportation for hire, but Cadillac did not intend to land there. Given the present situation, it might also have a bunch of beady-eyed clerks or soldiers with orders from the Chamberlain’s Office to check everyone going in or out. The captain had assured him there were plenty of accessible beaches beyond it. Anywhere between Bei-poro and the narrows would do just fine. Acquiring the wheels they needed could wait until they were back on solid ground …

  Leaving the junk was probably the wisest decision Cadillac ever made. Half an hour after the long-boat slipped away unnoticed into the darkness, another longboat, with muffled oars, made a similar journey from one of the other moored ships – towards the junk. The six oarsmen – clad in black and with their faces covered with a head cloth that left only a slit for their eyes – guided the boat alongside the junk, shipped their oars, then used their hands to manoeuvre the boat towards the stern.

  Once underneath the overhang formed by the two floors of cabins and the stern deck, the long-boat was secured in place, then two of the black-clad figures climbed nimbly upwards, carrying coils of rope. These were tied around the arched timbers supporting the protruding sections of the stern accommodation and pulled taut across its full width.

  By hooking their bodies over the two lines, the climbers were able to traverse quickly back and forth below the underhang and this allowed them to complete the second stage of the operation, the positioning, beneath the cabins, of six barrels of gunpowder, twenty-four inches long and fifteen inches in diameter.

  While they were busy with this task, their companions in the boat were lashing two more barrels into place in the centre of the stern, just above the waterline. Stage three involved inserting carefully measured slow-burning fuse wire into the barrels under the overhang and gathering the strands together. These were lit from a shielded oil-wick lamp passed up from below.

  The two climbers then slid quickly down the escape rope into the boat where the flame was applied to the fuses of the waterline barrels. These ignited with an angry hiss and burned with a dull red glow. Their task now completed, all six men used the oars to push their boat clear of the junk, dropped them into the rowlocks and pulled away molto rapido into the darkness.

  Planting the prepared explosives had taken about twenty minutes. The fuses took another fifteen fateful minutes to burn down to the barrels – enough time for the black-clad rowers to reach the safety of their own vessel.

  The captain of the junk, who had been dumped in Mishiko’s cabin, was probably the only one to hear the faint scuffling sounds beneath the overhanging floor on which h
e lay, but he thought it was caused by rats who were constantly scampering around the dark recesses of the ship.

  Had he known the danger he was in, there was little he could do about it. He had been bound and gagged as securely as the remainder of the night watch and had resigned himself to remaining there until released by his crew when they awoke in the morning and found the deck deserted. He did not, however, fail to identify the collective hiss as the six lengths of fuse wire burned down through the last twelve inches into the barrels beneath the overhang, and in those last few seconds, his brain was able to appreciate the full horror of what was about to happen –

  BA-BA-BA-BOOOMMM!!

  The high, wide stern of the junk disintegrated in a billowing orange-white sheet of flame, reducing the luckless captain and the rest of the night-watch into gobbets of flesh and bone not much bigger than the gold pieces scattered by the same blast into the waters of the bay. And a split second later –

  BA-BOOOMMM!!

  The two barrels of powder on the waterline exploded, demolishing what was left of the stern right down to the keel. Water flooded in through the gaping hole, and the junk began to sink. The off-duty crew, thrown from their bunks in the fo’c’sle by the shock of the first explosion, found themselves sliding down the deck as the bows rose out of the water. Scrambling up the companionway in blind panic, they found the door had been barred from the outside. A few quick thinkers found alternative exits they could wriggle through, the rest were reduced to battering down the door.

  When it finally gave way, those at the front fell forward and found themselves tumbling down the main deck. With the junk now settling fast, the deck was only some fifteen degrees off the vertical and the lower half of the mast and mainsail were already under water. A few more of their crewmates followed. Anyone who hesitated was trampled underfoot by those clawing their way out from behind, and there were still men wedged in the doorway as the bow section sank into a grumbling, frothing pool of debris.