by Jeannie Lin
“Testing?” I asked as the man barked something at Makoto that I would characterize as haughty.
“For some new invention, I imagine. Takeda-sama is always working on one creation or another.” Satomi relaxed and straightened, glancing around at the field of arrows surrounding us. “One can guess for what purpose.”
* * *
The inventor’s villa was located on the outskirts of Saga domain. We arrived that evening to the sight of three familiar-looking men kneeling before the gate. I don’t know how long they had been there, but as soon as we arrived, the three fell to the ground, prostrating themselves.
A middle-aged man appeared from the interior of the house. He approached us, his dark robe brushing past the servants who remained with their heads down.
“Takeda Hideyori offers his apologies to his honored guests.” Takeda referred to himself by name as was custom. “His retainers were careless in executing their tasks.”
He spoke using the Peking dialect, immediately marking our origins. His words were crisply enunciated, with a distinctively cultured tone. It was in contrast to the Canton hybrid dialect that had evolved as a trading language.
Chang-wei similarly altered how he held himself, bowing at the waist rigidly and introducing himself by name and rank. “It is we who must apologize for arriving unannounced.”
There was a prolonged exchange where Takeda repeated his apology and Chang-wei responded by asking that the servants not be punished. Takeda waved them away, and the men disappeared inside the villa, keeping their heads down as a show of contrition.
The inventor turned his attention to Satomi. “Satomi-san.”
“Takeda-sama.”
They exchanged a few words in Japanese, but Takeda quickly redirected the conversation back to us.
“Has any of your party suffered injury due to my carelessness?” he inquired.
I looked to Yoshiro, but Satomi’s bodyguard seemed to have recovered from his arrow wound, or rather he was bearing it without complaint. I had offered to tend to him, but he refused.
“We are all well, Takeda-sama,” Satomi replied.
“Allow me to offer a more appropriate welcome, then. You must be tired.”
Takeda invited us inside with a sweep of his arm, and Satomi stood back so Chang-wei could take the lead. The karakuri master and Chang-wei fell into conversation while the rest of us followed behind.
Lord Takeda was not remarkably tall, standing a little shorter than Chang-wei. Despite the opulent surroundings, his clothing was frugal in nature, dark robes that were clean and simple to the point of austere. His beard was neatly trimmed and threaded with gray, though his face was smooth with a decidedly pleasant expression.
He appeared to be a man who conducted himself with restraint. Someone who refrained from quick judgments and strong emotions. He and Chang-wei would get along well. They were still exchanging pleasantries ahead of us.
“I’m honored you have come from so far to see me,” he was saying.
“Lady Sagara told us of your accomplishments.”
“Satomi-san is too kind . . .”
Our host didn’t question why we were sneaking around through open fields and ditches, nor remark on why we were outside of the trading settlement.
The interior wasn’t divided into chambers like our courtyard houses. Instead the space was open, letting in the light through translucent paper windows on all sides. Various screens and sliding panels served as partitions, but a single glance allowed a winding view of the house.
“I sense good energy here,” Chang-wei remarked as Takeda led us to a parlor area. “Balance.”
I was thinking the same thing. There was a natural flow to the layout of the rooms. The space was sparsely decorated, and I could feel the tension of the road lifting from my shoulders as we walked through to the parlor.
The inventor seemed pleased with the remark. “It’s very peaceful here. Good for clearing the mind and letting new ideas in.”
The sitting room had a view of the garden through wide door. Makoto and Yoshiro stayed back while Satomi, Chang-wei and I entered. We knelt on the floor upon bamboo mats around a low table.
The moment we were seated, a panel in the wall slid open and out came another one of the tea-serving karakuri. It glided onto the mat and came to a stop beside the table, bowing in charming fashion.
Takeda took the teapot from the tray, and the karakuri retreated.
“My guests usually expect such amusements from me,” he admitted.
“There were karakuri servers in the teahouse we visited in the Chinese settlement,” I told him.
“I fashioned those years ago. How good to hear they are still working.”
I wondered if he knew of the teahouse’s other activities. The clandestine meetings and secret passageways. The realization finally struck me—he’d probably built those passageways.
“Takeda-sama is famous for creating these mechanical wonders,” Satomi explained. “His works are in demand in every noble household.”
“They’re merely for amusement,” the inventor insisted humbly. “Toys, more like. Fashions come and go among the Edo elite.”
He held back the sleeve of his house robe to pour for each of us. Satomi then took the teapot to serve him in turn. I remembered what she had said about his proposal and how she’d fled. There was certainly an awkward familiarity about them now.
“There must be a spring mechanism in the mats,” Chang-wei suggested before even touching his tea. “That’s how the automatons are activated as soon as guests take a seat.”
Takeda’s eyes brightened. “A clever observation, Engineer Chen.”
We drank our tea, which was a milder green variety, and spoke of inconsequential things. Chang-wei never spoke about the Ministry or any alliance, and Takeda didn’t bring up the uncomfortable detail that we were foreigners roaming a land that had banned foreigners.
After tea, Takeda offered to show us more of his creations.
“We would be honored,” Chang-wei replied, rising perhaps a little too quickly.
He was as eager as a child being offered sweets.
This time Satomi took the inventor’s side as we left the parlor. We wound a path through the garden while they spoke quietly. I heard Yoshiro’s name mentioned. The guardsman hovered nearby as always.
The stroll gave us a full view of the meticulous beauty of the garden; the trimmed bonsai trees and pebbled walkways. The babble of trickling water could be heard along with a rhythmic tapping that turned out to be some sort of a bamboo structure.
The fountain stood at one end of the garden and towered high above our heads. It was fashioned out of bamboo reeds interconnected with a series of levers and wheels. A spout poured water into a hollowed tube. When the weight of the water passed the tipping point, the tube would dip down, triggering a cascade of events—wheels turning, latches opening, levers shifting. The clack of bamboo could be heard at each contact point. A dance of motion that was both musical and hypnotic.
It was unnecessarily complex, yet completely enthralling.
“It’s powered by hydraulics,” Takeda explained. “Pressure drives water to the top of the tower, the falling motion of it driving all of the other actions.”
He led us into a large bay at the rear of the villa and slid the door aside. The lanterns inside were already lit, and unlike the rest of the house, which appeared tidy and sparse, the workshop was an explosion of various machines and parts that would one day become machines.
It was a seductive state of clutter. So many places to look and explore. The mechanical creations were in various stages of completion. Books and scrolls lined an entire wall. Each corner and inch of the room begged for attention. Come see what is here!
I went to stand before a life-sized puppet of a dancer in a silk kimono, though it was probably i
ncorrect to call her a puppet. There were no strings or sticks attached to her limbs.
The dancer’s arms were raised and posed elegantly, as if waiting for the music to begin. Her face was painted with white makeup and her lips shaped in red tint. She was so lifelike that I imagined her eyes watching me even when I moved away.
A brass nightingale on a shelf ruffled metal wings and cooed at me when I walked by. Its jeweled eyes glinted as it cocked its head this way and that. The creature was so charming that I wanted to pick it up and turn it over and over with a child’s curiosity. I didn’t dare break anything.
One of the automatons was only partially complete. A panel had been removed from the left side of its chest, exposing the internal clockwork.
“I don’t usually allow anyone to see the karakuri until they’re completed,” Takeda said, coming to stand beside me. “It ruins the illusion.”
Reaching behind the karakuri, he released a trigger mechanism and the creation came to life. It lifted a bow and went through the motions of pulling an arrow from a quiver. The partial state of the automaton made it even more fascinating as I watched the exposed gears in the shoulder spinning to drive each movement.
“They’re exquisite.” I wanted to spend the rest of the day in this room, turning on each of the karakuri to find out their secrets.
“Was this the machine being tested in the field?” Chang-wei asked from across the room. He stood over a workbench, looking down at a diagram sketched on a sheet of rice paper.
Takeda went to him, and I trailed immediately behind. This newest creation looked nothing like the collection inside the room. Over Chang-wei’s shoulder, I could see a drawing of an assembly of bows rigged onto a base. A hook latched onto each string, and every hook was attached to an arm that could pull back the string in unison. It was a mechanical battery designed to fire a rain of arrows without needing a single archer.
“So this is the one design that interests you, Engineer Chen,” Takeda observed. He sounded thoughtful and a little sad.
“I’m interested in all sorts of inventions.”
“This one is meant to release a volley of arrows between rounds of gunfire. Rifles take a long time to reload, creating a vulnerable situation on the battlefield. This machine is for cover fire, not truly meant to be an accurate weapon. As you can see, the firing is quite blind.”
All of his other machines were whimsical, meant to create an illusion to entice and amuse. But the arrow assembly was purely a war machine. There was no art to it.
“This one is very different from your other inventions, Takeda-san,” I remarked with what I hoped was a respectful tone.
“The karakuri were part of my youth,” he said, looking nostalgic. “In these times, it is important to be more practical in one’s approach.”
“Practical application is of utmost importance,” Chang-wei agreed. “With foreign ships at our harbors, it’s become a matter of life and death.”
“Engineer Chen Chang-wei and Lady Jin Soling are from the imperial court of Shina,” Satomi informed him.
“I deduced as much,” Takeda said, letting out a breath. “What is it you seek, Chen-san?”
“An audience with the shogunate in Edo.”
“Edo,” Takeda echoed gravely. “Chen-san. Jin-san. I am very happy you have come here. I have always been interested in learning from the discoveries of other lands. I’ve learned Dutch as well as Chinese for this very purpose. I’ve studied your developments with cannons and gunpowder engines with great interest. When Canton fell, I was horrified. How could the Middle Kingdom, the empire at the center of the world, be defeated by gaijin?”
“We were blind to our own failings,” Chang-wei answered. “But now we can learn from those mistakes. We can learn together.”
“Unfortunately, there is more than learning involved.” Takeda turned to Satomi. “I apologize Satomi-san, if what I am about to say causes you more pain.”
“I have had five years for any wounds to heal,” Satomi replied, her jaw set in a hard line.
“After the Chinese Emperor capitulated, news came to us from the merchants. We learned of the devil ships powered by steam. We learned of how they rained fire and overpowered the coastal defenses. They won with barely an army released onto Chinese soil. This is an insulting assessment, is it not? I regret that there is no other way to say it.”
“It’s truth,” Chang-wei said grimly. “It can’t be helped.”
“When the bakufu learned of what had happened, it merely reinforced what we had known for centuries. The foreigners had to be kept out at all costs. My good friend Lord Sagara protested when the bakufu decreed all foreigners found outside of the trading ports should be executed. Sagara-san paid for his conviction with his life.”
Satomi’s eyes remained dry, but she bowed her head.
“It wasn’t the foreign warships the shogunate feared,” Takeda continued. “By the time the ships came with their iron hulls and heavy cannons, it was already too late for the Chinese forces. The shogunate became convinced that we needed to protect against attempts to weaken us from within.”
“The shogunate needed to protect the country against opium,” I concluded.
“Against all foreign goods,” Takeda conceded. “And foreign ideas. Our Chinese neighbors had become tainted in the eyes of the shogunate. So they tightened the restrictions on the trading ports, and any Western influence was seen as a threat. It became increasingly dangerous to be a scholar of foreign studies, so Lord Nabeshima invited me as a guest of his domain for my protection. He was a longtime admirer of my work.”
“But he no longer wanted karakuri,” Chang-wei finished for him. “He wanted war machines.”
“The times require it. What good is knowledge if we don’t use it? But as useful as my knowledge might be, I know I am merely a breath away from being declared a danger to the bakufu.”
A sinking feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. “We’ve endangered you by coming here.”
Takeda shook his head. “No. This is what makes me dangerous.” He gestured to the books on the shelves. “And this.”
He pointed to the clockwork devices and the tools hung over the workbench.
“These are ideas from the outside, from the West, but I can’t unlearn what is in my head. I can’t undo what my hands have done. I don’t wish to. That, in itself, would be death.”
Chapter Fourteen
Outside of the workshop, talk turned to less dire topics. Takeda did not mention traveling to Edo on our behalf, but he didn’t banish us from his villa, either.
After our brief tour of the grounds, we were shown to our rooms. The villa was staffed by relatively few servants. I wondered if Takeda’s karakuri had other functions within the household, reducing the need for attendants.
Satomi and I were lodged together in a sleeping room on the main courtyard while Chang-wei and Makoto were given a room on the other side of the house. Before our evening meal, Satomi led to me to the bathhouse where we scrubbed clean before sinking into a steam bath.
I closed my eyes and let the heat soak into my muscles. The coals burning beneath the platform kept the water just below scalding. At first the heat of it was a shock, but gradually I could feel the tension and cares of the outside world melting away. The house really did have a meditative quality about it, from the gardens to the delicate walls and paper windows, which allowed light to filter through.
“Takeda-sama will come around to your cause.”
I opened my eyes to see Satomi regarding me through the steam. Her bare shoulders rose above the water.
“He’ll take us to Edo to address the shogunate?” I asked.
“Perhaps Edo is not yet ready for that.”
“Peking isn’t ready, either.” Emperor Yizhu had refused to open formal talks with Japanese.
“But with time, things can c
hange. Takeda-sama will be a good ally for you. He’s well respected.” She rested her head back against the edge of the pool and closed her eyes. “My father wanted cooperation between our two countries. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as diplomatic as Takeda Hideyori.”
“Lord Takeda is a good man,” I agreed. “Well-mannered, educated and clever as well.”
Satomi angled a slanted look at me, her eyes still half lidded. “Are you going to suggest that I would have been wise to marry him after all?”
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
She visibly relaxed, sinking back into the bath. “It’s not that I mind being around people. But wherever I go, the sentiment is the same. I should be grateful for Takeda-sama’s protection. That he was offering me a secure future. No future is secure.”
“Lord Takeda doesn’t say such things.”
“He doesn’t. Takeda-sama has been nothing but kind,” she agreed. “He also prefers men.”
The last part was added as an afterthought.
“Oh,” I replied. “Oh.”
Satomi was the one living within an isolated country, yet I was the one who felt sheltered and unworldly.
“Anyone who doesn’t believe the Westerners will eventually come to our shores is blind. Even the most reactionary members of the bakufu know that,” Satomi continued. “But we’ve enjoyed peace for so long that we believe we can prevail on our own.”
“What do you believe?”
She paused as she considered it. “I’ve been alone for a long time now. Maybe it’s time to look outside of myself.”
It wasn’t an answer, but in a way it was. She had come with us here, hadn’t she?
“There is a phrase in our language for a kind of fate that causes people to meet. We call it yuan fen,” I told her.
Satomi nodded. “We call it en.”
“I believe the work of our fathers and their deaths created fate between us. You and I were meant to meet, Satomi. We were meant to do something besides grieve for those we’ve lost.”
