Clockwork Samurai

by Jeannie Lin

  “She’s with me,” he said, alarmed. “Let her go.”

  As if on command, the stranger’s arm slipped away. The man slumped to the ground and lay unmoving. Chang-wei stared at me, then at the body at my feet.

  I removed the hollow needle hidden against my palm and glared at him across the alleyway.

  * * *

  “Who . . . is this?” I huffed.

  The stranger’s arm hung over my shoulder while he sagged like a sack of rice. Chang-wei held on to the other side as we dragged him through the narrow lane.

  “I don’t know.” Chang-wei breathed heavily. “I think I was supposed to meet him.”

  “He’s Japanese.”

  “I believe so.”

  I was still angry with him. More so now that we had an unconscious stranger propped between us. The man wasn’t nearly as big as I’d first imagined him, but he was still heavy.

  I shifted the dead weight onto my shoulder. “He carries a sword.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Two.”

  We had removed the sword belt, and Chang-wei had the weapons slung over his shoulder as we made our slow progress. Though the stranger was dressed as a commoner, his swords told a different story. Captain Zhao had made it clear to us that among the Japanese, commoners weren’t allowed to carry such weapons. Certainly no one in the Chinese quarter was allowed to be armed.

  “Why couldn’t you just tell me what you were planning?” I demanded.

  “You would insist on coming along.” Now he was the one frustrated. “I didn’t have time to argue.”

  “So you tried to drug me?”

  “I only intended for you to sleep soundly through the night. Zhao would have seen to you once you awoke.”

  I made an impatient sound. I knew what would come next: Soling, it’s too dangerous. Headman Aguda didn’t send me on this mission because I was meek or incapable of defending myself. I started to point that out but stopped when I recalled the real reason I was assigned. Aguda wanted me to act as his informant. Even though the two of us were friends, that was enough to keep Chang-wei from trusting me.

  Fortunately, the karakuri teahouse wasn’t far. I was correct in assuming Chang-wei was headed there. The doorway was open, and we followed the lanterns to it. Yelu was waiting for us as we entered.

  The proprietor stood as unblinking as his mechanical dolls while we lowered our burden to the floor. “You killed your guide.”

  His matter-of-fact tone told me a story in and of itself. Yelu was prepared for anything.

  “He’s not dead.” Chang-wei removed the sword belt from his shoulder and dropped the swords with a thud beside the body.

  “What a headache.” The proprietor moved to close the door behind us before giving me the eye. “And you didn’t come alone.”

  “Plans change.” Chang-wei let out a tired breath and rubbed at his shoulder while he regarded me. “How long will he be unconscious?”

  “The subjects were usually unconscious for only a few minutes.”

  Chang-wei gave me an odd look.

  I frowned right back at him. “We had to test the formula. We carry out our own inquiries, just like the Ministry of Science.”

  The hollow needle had held a concentrated dose of hong zao seed and mimosa root, now in the stranger’s bloodstream. He started to stir, shaking his head groggily. He muttered something in Japanese.

  “An odd pair,” Yelu concluded as he brought a cup of tea and a soaked washcloth to the fallen swordsman. “Makoto is to be your guide. If he’s of any use anymore.”

  “He might feel a little dizzy for the next hour.”

  Makoto opened one eye to regard me haughtily. “Just a quick nap,” he growled before reaching for his swords. He kept a sharp eye on us as he pushed onto his feet. Once upright, he wavered only the slightest bit before righting himself. I had to admit, it was an impressive show of balance. Most of the test subjects had been unable to stand without weaving.

  Though the swordsman felt like a sack of rocks while draped over my shoulder, Makoto was tall and lean of build. He was long in the face, with a strong jaw roughened by a growth of stubble. He also had the darkened look of someone who spent most days out in the sun.

  “So Shina, you wish for passage into Nagasaki?” He strapped his swords back on as he spoke. His words came out slurred, still touched by the drug. After some confusion, I realized the question was directed at Chang-wei.

  “Yes, and I’m prepared to pay for the privilege.”

  Makoto and Chang-wei continued to stare each other down, each man assessing the other. “What are you transporting? Silk, ginseng . . . opium?”

  “Only myself.”

  “Both of us,” I corrected.

  Chang-wei didn’t argue, but his jaw tightened. Makoto observed the exchange between us. “Your wife?”

  We both fell silent.

  Makoto inspected his sleeve near his elbow where I’d pierced the cloth. He pinned a hard look on me, but I detected the faint trace of a smile on his lips. “You’re good with a sewing needle.”

  Apparently felling a warrior, despite being underhanded about it, earned me a measure of respect. Makoto displayed no respect for Chang-wei, however.

  “They cut off the hands of opium smugglers.” He had a disconcerting habit of resting his hand on his sword while he spoke.

  Chang-wei didn’t flinch. “Then it’s fortunate we have none.”

  “Perhaps. The only thing the shogunate finds more dangerous than opium is foreign ideas.” He looked Chang-wei up and down once more. “We should go quickly, Shina. The guards will be at their dinner.”

  Chapter Nine

  A trip to the teahouse kitchen in back revealed another secret. Yelu pulled open a trapdoor hidden beneath the crates in the corner. Makoto climbed down into the darkness, and the proprietor lowered a lantern to him.

  “You can trust the swordsman,” Yelu assured, turning back to face us. “He’s an honorable man.”

  Who happened to be a smuggler?

  Chang-wei nodded before lowering himself down feet first. I was the last to go. Gripping the sides of the tunnel, I met Yelu’s gaze as I prepared to descend. How did we know we could trust him?

  I suppose we had no choice. He was one of our countrymen, and Manchurian as well. He’d held this station since my father’s time and would continue to hold it.

  There was no more time to ponder. I sank below the line of the floorboards, and Yelu slid the trapdoor back in place.

  Chang-wei caught me around the waist to lower me to the ground. We stood close in the darkened tunnel, but I was still upset with him. Just a little.

  “Follow me,” Makoto directed, holding up the lantern. “The Japanese working inside the settlement will be leaving the gates now. Any Shina-jin outside will be returning. The guards will be occupied.”

  The tunnel was tall enough for us to comfortably stand and wide enough for two of us to walk side by side. Makoto took the lead while Chang-wei and I followed.

  “What would a Shina-jin like you want in Nagasaki? There’s drink and women to be had here in the quarter.”

  Chang-wei refused to be baited. “We’re paying for speed and no questions, Makoto-san.”

  The light swung away as Makoto turned to us, grinning. “Do you know the punishment for being caught outside the quarter without permission?”

  “Imprisonment.”

  But if we were caught, the imperial court in Peking would be unable to rescue us. Or unwilling.

  “Imprisonment,” Makoto echoed. “But my punishment for smuggling you out would be death.”

  “Why risk it, then?”

  “One cannot buy rice and fish with air,” the swordsman replied with a shrug. He turned back around, guiding us forward.

  Money was Makoto’s answer, but what
was Chang-wei’s? The lantern cast his face into deep shadow. “Why did you have to do this? Captain Zhao was already arranging something for you.”

  “We don’t have time, Soling,” he said beneath his breath. “I don’t have time.”

  “Who is it you’re looking for?” Makoto asked. The light disappeared momentarily around a corner as Makoto moved out of sight. We scrambled to follow after it.

  “A man by the name of Sagara Shintarō,” Chang-wei replied. “Do you know of him?”

  He didn’t. “Do you know how to find this man?”

  “Once we’re aboveground, I’ll know how to find him.”

  Chang-wei seemed confident despite this being his first time in Nagasaki.

  The tunnel turned once and then again. Makoto stopped us, motioning for us to remain quiet. “Keep moving straight ahead. Feel your way along the wall and follow my footsteps.”

  Without further warning, he extinguished the lantern. I bit back a gasp as blackness surrounded us. Desperately, I reached out to Chang-wei, grasping at his arm. He closed his hand around mine and squeezed.

  My pulse raced as I waved a hand blindly in front of my face. I could hear Makoto’s footsteps retreating, leaving us.

  “Keep going forward.” Chang-wei’s voice came to me in the darkness. I wanted to say I felt safe as long as I was with Chang-wei, but it wasn’t true. We had survived many such adventures together in the past, but the Chang-wei beside me was more stubborn and more reckless than before.

  And he was keeping even more secrets from me than before.

  I stumbled forward as instructed, praying we’d find our way out soon.

  * * *

  I lost all sense of direction in the darkness. If Makoto were to leave us here, we’d be lost and stranded. I forced myself to take a breath, pushing back the rising panic.

  “Everything will be fine,” Chang-wei assured.

  “I’m all right,” I said, unable to keep my voice from shaking.

  I didn’t want Chang-wei to think he had to worry about me.

  Makoto was once again before us. I heard the sound of something heavy being dragged over the dirt floor. A sliver of light filtered into the tunnel, but it was enough to guide us to a small passage. Chang-wei crawled through first, and I followed on my hands and knees.

  As we straightened, Makoto reignited his lantern. We were in a cellar filled with large barrels and earthenware jars.

  “There are clothes in the chest in the corner,” Makoto instructed as he shoved a wooden cask over the opening.

  Chang-wei and I picked through the pile of clothing. I selected a dark-colored cotton robe and turned away to dress. Though I’d chosen the smallest garment there, it still hung loosely around me as I tied the belt around my waist.

  “I don’t smuggle many women through this tunnel,” Makoto remarked as he looked over the men’s clothing on me.

  A boy would attract less notice anyway, but hopefully we wouldn’t be seen at all.

  “Will the streets be empty?” Chang-wei asked. His gray kimono fit better than mine.

  Makoto went to peer out the window. “Nagasaki is a night city. Teahouses, theater, brothels. This distillery lies on the edge of it. Once we’re outside the city borders, there are open fields.”

  “There’s a peak overlooking the harbor in the surrounding hills. The one with a tower,” Chang-wei said.

  “Ghost Hill.” Makoto’s frown deepened. “They say birds won’t fly there. Strange lights can sometimes be seen over it at night.”

  Chang-wei’s expression remained unreadable. “That’s the place.”

  “How do you know of it?” I asked. He’d only been in the city as long as I had.

  “Remember the signal tower in Peking?”

  The one that had received the coded signals. “You were searching for a tower from the airship,” I said.

  “It stood to reason its counterpart would be built upon a high point around Nagasaki Bay.”

  Makoto frowned. “What is this talk of signals? Communication with foreigners is strictly forbidden by the shogunate.”

  “So where does your loyalty to the shogunate stand?” Chang-wei asked quietly.

  They were two wolves, quietly circling each other.

  “I’m only loyal to the twin gods of gold and silver.”

  “But you’re samurai.” Chang-wei’s gaze dropped to the swords at his side.

  Makoto dragged the edge of his cloak over the weapons. “I was once samurai. That is all you need to know.”

  * * *

  We climbed the stairs up to the empty distillery floor. The room was dark, though light filtered in from the street outside. I could make out the outline of several large vats. Pipes formed a maze between them, and we wove around the machinery as we followed Makoto. The scent of fermented barley filled the air.

  “Shōchū,” he explained. “Good quality.”

  Despite the darkness, Makoto moved with ease. At the door, he stopped and turned to us.

  “There is a magic lantern play at the Kabuki theater house tonight. Most of the night city will be gathered there. If we encounter anyone, keep your heads down and say nothing. Now stay close.”

  The door opened to cool night air. Sounds of the Nagasaki nightlife filtered through the streets. A startled cry rose, presumably from the theater crowd, and I was hungry to find out more about this magic lantern, but we had no time to explore.

  The underground passage had taken us far from the walls of the Chinese quarter. The buildings rose two or three stories high and were packed closely together. We moved along the empty streets as quietly as we could, using only the light of the moon to guide our way.

  Gradually, the sounds of the city faded behind us. More than an hour passed in silence, with me putting one foot in front of the other and wondering about the man who’d been enlisted as our guide as well as the nature of our mission.

  When we reached the fields, Makoto adjusted a panel over his lantern, narrowing the light down to a single beam. It emitted a thin ray to illuminate the way ahead of us but shielded the rest of the lantern from sight. My wooden sandals sunk into the soft earth as we followed through the fields. Crops grew in rows on either side of us.

  “Who is this Sagara Shintarō?” Makoto asked finally, breaking the chain of silence.

  “A scientist and an inventor. Our chief engineer met with him many years ago. I wish to speak with him.”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble for a conversation.”

  “As you said, Makoto-san, ideas can be powerful.”

  “Dangerous. I said that ideas were dangerous,” Makoto corrected. “Which is why the flow of foreign books and writings into our domain is strictly regulated.”

  “What is it you usually smuggle?” I asked.

  Makoto glanced over his shoulder. I couldn’t see his expression clearly in the dark, but he answered readily enough. “Silk. Porcelain. Whatever there is a taste for in Nagasaki. Taxes on foreign shipments make Chinese goods two or three times more expensive. Some merchants prefer to bypass the port authorities.”

  “Do you ever transport opium?” I had to know.

  The swordsman stopped so abruptly, I almost collided with his back. I was close enough now to see the cold look on his face. “If I had discovered you were smuggling that filth, I would have left you in the tunnels to rot.”

  He bowed to me as he delivered the threat, the polite gesture making his warning all the more dire. From what I knew of samurai, they did not lie. And certainly not when it came to killing.

  “Good,” I replied, my voice grating in my throat. Despite my fear, I held my gaze steady, though I had to tilt my chin upward to meet his eyes. “Then I know we can trust you.”

  “Why is that, Shina?” he challenged.

  “Because there are things you won’t do for
money.”

  Chapter Ten

  We walked for hours through the surrounding fields with only brief stops for rest. Before dawn, we had reached the foot of the hills and were preparing to begin our climb. I was winded, and a blister was forming on both feet from the ill-fitting sandals.

  “Let us rest for a moment,” Chang-wei said after seeing how I struggled.

  I gave him a grateful look. I didn’t want to complain or hold the group back, but I needed to catch my breath. Life in the Forbidden City had made me soft.

  We rested on some stones while Makoto passed around a gourd of water. I took a swallow, but it did little to refresh me.

  “You have an interesting choice of bodyguards,” Makoto remarked, looking from Chang-wei to me.

  “No choice at all, really,” Chang-wei replied dryly.

  I wasn’t too tired to shoot him a glare, which he either didn’t see or ignored.

  Thankfully, we only climbed partway up the trail a short distance before Makoto declared we were safe to rest. We settled down on a crag of rock hidden by the surrounding brush. Though it was out in the open and on cold, hard stone, I curled up in my cloak and fell asleep the moment my eyes were closed.

  When I awoke, the area was awash in the gray light of morning. Chang-wei was asleep with his face turned toward me, eyes closed. His hand had come to rest close to mine. As if he were reaching for me in the night.

  It may have been wishful thinking, but I brushed my hand over his, needing the contact, no matter how brief. Chang-wei had artists’ fingers. Long and well formed.

  A shadow fell over us, and Chang-wei started awake. I withdrew and stared up at Makoto.

  “Time to go.”

  With little to pack or prepare, we simply picked ourselves up and brushed the dirt from our clothes before resuming our climb. We stuffed cold rice cakes with red bean into our mouths without stopping to eat. Makoto seemed to need no sustenance or rest at all. He pushed on relentlessly, his long legs conquering the trail much more easily than my shorter ones.