by Jeannie Lin
He thought nothing of it, either. Putting on a pair of spectacles, Chang-wei slipped a tiny book into his palm. It was how he kept notes, using a trick from his student days of using a needle to write impossibly small.
“I imagine Captain Zhao’s petition will gather dust on an administrator’s desk,” he said, flipping through the pages. “But the Chinese quarter isn’t nearly as tightly controlled as the shogunate would have us believe.”
“What if we get caught sneaking out?”
He was absorbed in his notes. “Probably tried as smugglers.”
I shuddered, thinking of how sharp those blades looked and how the Japanese favored beheading as punishment.
“Perhaps there’s another way,” I suggested. “A safer one.”
Chang-wei flipped through the pages. “I plan to send a message to a contact of your father’s by the name of”—he squinted to read the characters—“Sagara. He’s an aristocrat and a man of science. Reportedly supportive of an open exchange of ideas between our empires. He might make an effort to come meet us.”
“How do we reach him?”
He consulted the notebook once more before snapping it shut. “Teahouse.”
* * *
Chang-wei bypassed several large and busy teahouses near the inn, instead searching out an establishment in a quieter part of the quarter, down behind a row of warehouses. On the other side of the lane, I had seen dockworkers transporting crates, but as soon as we disappeared into the far side of the lane, the area became quiet.
“There’s a proprietor by the name of Yelu with a modest teahouse in the warehouse section,” Chang-wei explained.
“Do you think he’ll still be there a decade later?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
We found the place. There was a lantern hung out front with a painted signboard with a fish on it. We entered through the thin curtain and found the main room empty of any customers. There were no hostesses or servers, either. Curiously, a set of dolls lined the walls of the room, each dressed in a differently colored kimono. Their faces were childlike, with pleasantly painted smiles. Each doll balanced an empty tray across its arms.
Chang-wei and I exchanged glances before seating ourselves, and it took me a moment to find a comfortable position on the floor. I had to shift this way and that and still didn’t feel as if I was doing it right.
Tea came a moment later, but not from any human hand. A panel opened in the wall, and one of the dolls turned to receive a ceramic teapot onto its tray. The mechanical tea server then came toward us in tiny steps, stopping before our table.
Chang-wei lifted the teapot himself, at which point the server bowed, gears whirring.
“A windup toy.” My father’s colleagues from the Ministry had often given me such devices as gifts when I was a child. It was one of my fondest memories.
“Clockwork dolls,” Chang-wei concurred.
As Chang-wei started pouring tea, a hostess finally entered the room. She wore a floral print kimono, and her hair was styled in an elaborate bun. In her hands, she held a stringed instrument. With a bow, she seated herself on the mat and prepared to play.
“Your doll is very charming,” I told her.
“Karakuri,” she replied. I didn’t recognize the Japanese word.
The hostess was younger than I was by a few years, which would make her around sixteen or seventeen. I was enthralled by the vibrant pattern on her kimono, pale blossoms on a yellow springtime background. There was something both elegant and extravagant about wearing so much silk.
“I didn’t realize there were Japanese women in the Chinese quarter.” I took a sip from my tea and spoke in a lowered tone.
There weren’t many women in the settlement. Most of the shop owners and traders had been men, which was probably typical of most ports. Traders left their families behind to make their fortune, coming home when business allowed it.
“The man we’re looking for is named Lord Sagara. Yelu, the teahouse owner, was supposed to be able to get a message to him,” Chang-wei reported.
“You’ve mentioned two men by name, and you were able to find this place despite its remote location. How is that possible when you’ve never been here?”
“Your father kept a journal of his visit to Japan.” He looked almost apologetic. “I’ve read the entries.”
My pulse quickened. When my family was exiled from Peking, the imperial authorities had confiscated all of Father’s documents. But they hadn’t destroyed his research as we originally assumed. Instead Yizhu, then crown prince and now emperor, had studied it to search for a way to fight back against the Western invaders.
“I would return it to you if I could, but the journal belongs to the Emperor’s imperial archives.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over it.” I looked at Chang-wei. My father had chosen him to be my husband, but that was in a past life that was long gone.
“I could get permission for you to read it, if you’d like.”
My chest hitched. He was trying so hard to be kind. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
Father’s writings would be full of mechanical drawings and scientific observations. There wouldn’t be any mention of me or our family. Though he had always cherished Tian and I, work was work. It was enough to see that a man like Chang-wei still honored his memory. Father continued to serve the empire, even in death.
During our brief exchange, the mysterious proprietor finally arrived. He appeared to be fifty years of age, with a face that was plump, pleasant and easy to forget. His jacket was fashioned from dark, high-quality silk.
He lowered himself onto the mat to address us face-to-face. I could see how this custom of sitting on the floor created a more casual, intimate atmosphere for conversation.
“Welcome, precious guests! Newly arrived, I see.”
“Master Yelu?”
The proprietor bowed to acknowledge that that was indeed his name.
“I hear this is the best tea in the quarter. Zhejiang tea.”
Yelu’s gaze flickered before being replaced with his previous affable expression. “The best. Dragon well tea.”
“I prefer Dragon Mountain. But this is very good.”
I could only imagine this banter was part of some coded exchange.
“I’m curious about the city beyond these walls,” Chang-wei said.
“Ah yes. Nagasaki holds many wonders, friend. But the domain has become strict about who is allowed outside, or inside for that matter. The yujo I employ have work permits. Every night they are required to leave the settlement and return to the Japanese city.”
The young hostess returned to place a plate of rice flour cakes onto the table before slipping silently away.
“The yujo are very good for business,” Yelu remarked. “With many talents.”
It was easy to assume he was speaking of their bedroom skills. I spared our Japanese hostess a closer look. The voluminous sleeves and wide sash around her waist could easily serve another purpose—smuggling items out of the quarter.
While the yujo played, Chang-wei and the proprietor continued to speak in a low tone, too quiet for me to hear. At some point, a folded paper appeared in Chang-wei’s hand and promptly disappeared into Yelu’s sleeve.
Afterward, we finished our tea and left coins upon the table.
“You’re quite suited for this type of spy work,” I told Chang-wei as we left.
“There isn’t much to it. All one has to do is appear remarkably ordinary.”
A smile played across his lips. He held his hand to the small of my back to guide me down the lane, and I could feel the warmth of his touch through my robe. There was nothing ordinary about Chen Chang-wei.
Chapter Eight
Dinner was at a bustling noodle stand that overlooked the docks. Every bench and table was full, and we sat el
bow to elbow with traders and laborers. The mechanical arms of the noodle-pulling machines whirred at a blinding pace to keep up with the constant flow of customers. Snatches of conversation filtered through the hum, and I could pick out several dialects, the most prevalent being the Shanghai dialect.
From the diners and what I could see of the street, there were very few women. At least in this part of the quarter. What few I spied appeared to be like our song girl at the teahouse, Japanese women who came from Nagasaki proper to entertain in the quarter. Yujo, the proprietor had called them. Several of them entered a tavern at the end corner.
Our noodles came, and I turned my attention back to our surroundings. With the crowds around us, and the smell of scallions and bone broth in the air, I certainly felt I was back in our homeland.
Chang-wei was talking to one of the workmen packed into the table beside us. “Have you ever been to Dejima Island?”
“The Japanese are strict about keeping us separated. The Dutch settlement is completely closed off to us, just as they’re forbidden to enter our settlement. The Western goods we do see come from Japanese merchants. Curiosities, mostly. Little trinkets and devices.”
Chang-wei appeared intrigued. “Where can I find some of these curiosities?”
The man mentioned a shop nearby before digging back into his noodles.
The majority of the customers were head down over their bowls. This was a place to eat quickly, throw down a few coins and make room for the next hungry sailor. There was little talk, but I could hear snatches of conversation around me. Someone mentioned the rebel army and how it had moved farther north, spreading out to attack cities close to Nanking and Shanghai. A feeling of dread settled in my stomach. I wanted to believe that these were merely rumors, but for news to travel across the sea to the island empire, there had to be the weight of truth of behind it.
I lifted egg noodles with chopsticks and scooped up some of the rich, salty broth. The street fare was satisfying in a way that warmed my heart as well as my stomach. Not that I would complain about the food from the imperial kitchens. My family had been through very lean times back in our village, and the southern provinces were still ravaged by famine. It was one of the reasons the rebel scourge was able to gain so many followers. I knew better than to complain about being fed at all.
Once our bowls were empty, we stood to go, and our spots were immediately snatched up.
“We should find this shop. There may be items of educational value,” Chang-wei suggested. He asked for directions from a passerby, and we were on our way.
I tried to peer past the beaded curtain at the door of the tavern as we walked by, but it was impossible to see anything in the hazy glow of the lanterns. Laughter came from within, male and female combined, leaving the rest up to my imagination.
The shop we were searching for was down an alleyway. A painted signboard above the doorway indicated the name, and the shopkeeper was just closing his doors as we approached. Evening was creeping in, and most of the establishments were done with business for the day. Chang-wei was insistent. As he negotiated with the shopkeeper, I held back and peered through an opening in the alley.
It wasn’t a proper shop or stall. Rather, the shelter looked like a place for squatters and hang-abouts. I could see a man reclined on a mat. Even in the dim light I could make out the long, slender outline of an opium pipe.
“Strictly regulated, indeed,” I muttered as Chang-wei returned to my side.
Chang-wei steered me away from the den. “As I said, the quarter is not as tightly controlled as the authorities would believe.”
Opium found a way to creep into every corner, rich or poor. Maybe it was a Chinese disease. Our own innate failing.
Once we were out of the alley, I noticed the bundle tucked beneath his arm. “What is that?”
“A souvenir.” He looked immensely pleased with himself. “Something you’ll like.”
He’d gotten me a gift? I was feeling a little pleased myself.
* * *
We returned to our room at the inn and sparked the hanging lantern. Chang-wei then placed the paper-wrapped bundle at the center of the mat and stood back to let me open it.
“I paid entirely too much,” he admitted. “But the old man was intent on closing the door in my face until I showed him a heavy purse.”
Kneeling, I peeled away the brown paper to reveal a thick tome. The writing on it was unintelligible—which made my pulse skip with anticipation.
I turned the book around to open the cover, but Chang-wei stopped me. “They open it from this end.”
“From the back?”
“And it reads from left to right.”
“Interesting . . .”
The pages were thick and yellowed, and the characters on them were printed close together. The script appeared quite spare and simple. It might have been a book on shipping schedules, but it felt so mysterious in my hands. Full of hidden knowledge. My father had owned an extensive library of books he’d collected, but any foreign tomes had been translated into Chinese. The imperial court didn’t allow Western books in Peking.
“Do you know how to read this?” I asked, turning another page with only my fingertips and taking care not to bend the corners.
“I’ve learned how to read the language of the Yingguoren, but this is from Dejima. It’s written in a language called Dutch.”
Chang-wei went to the window to call out to a passing street vendor while I continued to pore over the foreign volume. The next turn of the page had revealed an illustration.
“Have you figured out what the book is about?” Chang-wei had procured a pot of tea from the street seller. I heard the clink of the lid as he checked on the contents.
“It might be a book on astronomy.”
“How can you tell?”
“These look like star charts.”
I was so completely absorbed that I barely paid attention to Chang-wei setting tea beside me on the mat. He poured a cup and placed it into my hands. “Be careful of the book.”
I wouldn’t dream of spilling a single drop on it. Not in a thousand years.
The tea proved to be bitter. Either over roasted or over steeped. I only took a small sip before setting it down to continue inspecting the book. There were a few notations in the margins in what must have been Japanese.
“I don’t suppose I’ll get a look until you’re completely done?” Chang-wei asked.
I glanced up. He sat back with tea in hand, regarding me with a bemused expression.
“You can come sit right here if you want a closer look,” I offered, a bit defensive. It wasn’t as if I were selfishly hoarding the book or the ink disappeared as soon as I read the words.
“Actually, you enjoy it. I have some matters to discuss with Captain Zhao. Don’t forget to drink your tea before it goes cold. The tea seller will collect the cups from outside the window.”
I nodded, head back in the foreign book while Chang-wei left to go call on Zhao’s quarters across the courtyard. Before I knew it, I had paged through a third of the book—which went quickly given I couldn’t read the words. The illustrations, however, held a world inside each drawing. I studied every line with utter fascination.
By the time I took another sip, my cup had gone cold. I poured myself fresh tea from the pot to warm it, but I found the brew had become so bitter it was undrinkable. Curious, I lifted the lid.
A small satchel had been placed inside over the tea leaves.
I fished out the translucent packet with two fingers. Hot tea drained from it as I tore the cloth open. I recognized the contents immediately. Anyone who had mixed over a hundred sleeping potions in the imperial apothecary would know these ingredients on sight.
Scowling, I plunked the satchel back into the pot and shot to my feet. I managed to wrench the door open without tearing the delicate l
ayer of paper. Zhao’s room across the walkway was dark. Regardless, I went to knock on the door and received no answer.
Chen Chang-wei. The scoundrel. He hadn’t voiced any objections when I had been added to the mission. No mention of It’s too dangerous or I don’t want to get you involved, Soling.
I was happy to see how much he trusted me. How he trusted my ability to take care of myself. Instead he’d resorted to drugging me while he headed off on some caper.
I was ready to snap bones. I was ready to spit fire.
That scoundrel hadn’t been gone for long. I stormed out of the inn, pausing only to inquire with a few stragglers out in the street. Yes, they had seen the gentleman. He was heading down that street over there.
Gentleman. I could laugh.
The sky was growing dark, and lanterns illuminated the street corners. As I followed the twists and turns of the street, a nagging thought came to me that I was a young woman in a strange place where there weren’t many young women.
I had my bladed fan tucked into my sash and my needle gun hidden beneath my mandarin jacket, but the weapons didn’t make me feel any safer. I was just so mad at Chang-wei that I didn’t care.
There was no sign of him in the streets. On a whim, I headed back toward the karakuri tearoom. The warehouses were deserted in the evening and cast dark shadows with too many invisible corners.
I slowed my step, preparing myself for danger as best I could. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement around the corner. There was no turning back now.
The figure was the same height and build as Chang-wei. He passed beneath a hanging lantern before slipping once again into the dark. I took a step forward only to be grabbed from behind. Strong arms wrapped around me.
Crying out, I clutched blindly at my attacker, jabbing at any part of him I could reach. His grip was a vise around me as he dragged me up against him.
“She’s following you,” he grunted as I struggled in his grasp.
He spoke with an accent, the tones slightly flattened. It took me a moment to realize his words weren’t directed at me. Chang-wei returned into the halo of lantern light.
