by Jeannie Lin
I caught her brushing the back of her hand hastily over her eyes. “Whoever heard of a daughter continuing her father’s legacy?” she said bitingly.
Though we had just met, I felt close to her. It made me suddenly bold. “I also believe there is more to my father’s execution than I’ve been told.”
“Why is that?”
I told her about the Japanese puzzle box that had been hidden from my father’s possessions and the device contained within it.
“They were sending messages using the signal towers,” I surmised. “Sharing knowledge.”
Satomi pressed a hand to her temples, thinking hard. “They might have tried to form an alliance back then.”
“Do you have any of your father’s records?”
“At the school. After the assassination, they seized his lands, but the school was left alone. No one cared.”
“Maybe we can finally find out what it was they communicated across the ocean,” I proposed. “We can finish what they started.”
* * *
On the way to supper, I ran into Chang-wei in the garden. At first I didn’t recognize him. He was wearing a plain robe, a loose yukata that fell to his ankles. The garment was dyed in a blue workman’s color. His hair was damp from the bathhouse.
It was strange to see him in Japanese clothing. The garment appeared archaic, like a traditional Han robe of centuries past. I had been given a house robe as well so that I was no longer dressed like a boy.
“Soling,” he began.
“Chang-wei. What’s the matter?” His gaze had that faraway look that meant he was pondering something.
“Nothing.” Chang-wei’s jaw was clenched too tight as he smoothed his sleeve over his arm.
“Lady Sagara went to see to her bodyguard,” I told him as we walked together through the garden. “He’s resting to recover from his wound.”
“The rest will do him good. He rarely sleeps, that one.”
“He’s very dedicated to Lady Sagara’s protection.”
Yoshiro was exactly how I imagined a samurai would be. Taciturn. Uncompromising. Honor until death.
“A loyal friend,” Chang-wei agreed.
I suspected it was more than that. A man and a woman running away together immediately spoke of forbidden love, even if Satomi was of a different class than the swordsman. I kept quiet on the matter—it was rude to spread gossip.
“Soling, you . . . you’re a good friend,” he began haltingly.
“Of course.”
“If I were to ask— If something were to happen . . .”
I hung on every word, but Chang-wei couldn’t get his thoughts together. “Never mind.”
He was so impossible. “Whatever it is—”
“Forget I said anything. It was nothing important.”
He was lying. Or not telling the truth. Was I supposed to beg it out of him?
“They’re waiting for us.” He gestured toward the far side of the garden.
Impossible.
The sliding panel of the main parlor room remained open to the garden, and two lanterns had been lit on either side of the entrance. Makoto and Lord Takeda were engaged in conversation, but Takeda stood to greet us as we set foot on the walkway. Satomi was the last to arrive to supper, without her bodyguard. She almost seemed incomplete without his dark shadow beside her.
“Makoto-san and I were discussing the Great Sword Hunt,” Takeda told us after directing his servants to bring the evening meal. “When the shogunate decreed that all commoners must relinquish their swords. They also sought to chase out rōnin from villages and towns.”
Makoto stiffened at the mention of rōnin. I hadn’t realized the word held such power, but of course it did. It was a word that indicated a different class of men. Ones who had been stripped of honor and cast out.
“The sword hunts further romanticized the idea of the blade as the symbol of nobility and status,” Takeda told us.
“The sword is not merely a symbol,” Makoto argued. “A thousand swords can conquer a city.”
“And a thousand firearms can topple a regime,” Satomi countered. She gave Chang-wei a knowing look that I wasn’t particularly fond of. “That is why the shogunate fears them so.”
Makoto’s shoulders straightened as he rested a hand onto the hilt of his weapon. “There is honor in wielding a sword. The decision of life or death resides with the swordsman. There is little art or skill in the making of a gun or the pulling of a trigger.”
Satomi raised an eyebrow. “Efficiency is art. Achieving one’s purpose is skill.”
“Thank you both for educating us in your ways,” I interjected, “with this peaceful discussion of opposing views.”
They both looked at me, suddenly remembering there were guests in their midst. Makoto sank back a notch, and Satomi lifted her wine to take a sip. I prayed there would be no sudden duel between them.
Takeda used the break to address Chang-wei and me. “In the early days of the Tokugawa, every army was equipped with firearms. A battle could not be won without a battery of them. But for the last two hundred years, those weapons have been confiscated and left to rust. When the Chinese ports fell, a few among the samurai class counseled the bakufu to arm itself with firearms. We were scientists as well as samurai and had studied Western technology and warfare. Because of that, our views were unpopular.”
“The samurai have elevated themselves to godly status,” Satomi said with a curl in her lip. “But they’ve had no one to fight but themselves for two centuries.”
Makoto’s expression was like stone. “The katana is indeed a weapon for a civilized age.”
He claimed to no longer be samurai, but honor and pride still ran thick in his blood.
Takeda folded his hands before him. “If there is poison in the water and one knows of it, it is his responsibility to inform the villagers. If the villagers will not believe him, it is his responsibility to destroy the well. Even if he is condemned for it. Silence is not loyalty. I will petition the bakufu on your behalf, Engineer Chen. I truly believe you have both of our kingdoms’ best interests in mind.”
Chang-wei bowed low. “Arigato gozaimasu, Takeda-sama. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to accompany you so the shogunate will know the strength of our intentions.”
I bit back a protest. Edo was already unfavorable to foreigners. Once in the capital, we would be surrounded on all sides with escape routes cut off. Moreover, the imperial court had refused to support an official diplomatic mission. Even if the Emperor could intervene on our behalf, he would consider us a lost cause and be done with us.
The inventor folded his hands and breathed deeply as he considered Chang-wei’s request.
“Therein lies the challenge,” he began with a rueful smile. “You see, I have not set foot outside this villa for five years now. The moment I leave without permission, there will be a bounty on my head.”
Satomi looked startled. “Takeda-sama—”
“It was good of you to leave when you did, Satomi-san. And there was a good reason I did not come to find you, even though I was your guardian. I am under house arrest.”
Chang-wei stiffened, glancing out to the garden. “Are we being watched?”
Takeda nodded calmly. “The servants will have sent word to Lord Nabeshima of my visitors. There is no need to fear. The daimyo assures me that this confinement is for my own protection. I believe it is to keep me away from the corrupting foreign influences in Nagasaki, lest my reputation be further darkened. Once Lord Nabeshima learns of your presence, I will be expected to explain myself, which I will. So there is no need to make the long journey to Edo. The bakufu will come to us.”
“Then we will make our case to Lord Nabeshima,” Chang-wei said, though I could see the tension gathering in his shoulders. The tranquil villa had become a trap. “Our purpose was t
o make contact with the shogunate. We have nothing to hide.”
“And that is why I trust you, Engineer Chen. A samurai’s sense of honor, wouldn’t you say, Makoto-san?”
Makoto’s reply was to drink his rice wine in silence.
“Let us eat, then,” Takeda invited as the servants returned with plates of rice and fish. “We have an important day ahead of us.”
Chapter Fifteen
I awoke in the middle of the night not knowing what time it was. Moonlight filtered into the sleeping chamber through the open windows. Beside me, Satomi slept soundly.
As I lay on the padded futon, a sound came from just outside my window. Someone was outside, walking with a slow, deliberate gait. Clutching my blanket, I lay perfectly still, listening.
There was definitely someone out there in the garden. Crawling over to Satomi, I took hold of her shoulder, clamping a hand over her mouth as she gasped.
“Listen,” I whispered.
Satomi raised herself onto one arm. The footsteps came closer, and a great hulking shadow passed by the edge of the windowed panel. We couldn’t make out anything through the rice paper. At first I thought it might have been Yoshiro, patrolling the garden in his armor, but there was an odd quality to the footsteps. They were heavy, with a clang of metal at each step. Then we saw a glint of armor as the figure passed by the window.
“Hitokiri!” Satomi hissed, reaching beneath her mattress. Her hand emerged gripping a pistol. “Get up.”
Another set of footsteps could be heard, each one like a metal weight dropping. I threw on my robe and tied the sash hastily, while my heart pounded out of my chest. My hands trembled as I fumbled for the gun Satomi had given me. Whatever was out there seemed more demon than human. Makoto had described these killers as if they were otherworldly. Now I knew why.
Satomi slung her rifle over her shoulder and shoved her feet into her boots. “Once we get out, you run. Don’t stand and fight, just run.”
Her advice might have been the wisest course, but it didn’t matter. I had to find Chang-wei.
“Listen.” Satomi grabbed my arm as we headed toward the sliding door. “I meant what I said. They won’t come after you if you aren’t the one they were sent to kill.”
I forced myself to take a breath. “What if we all are marked for death?” I whispered back at her.
“Run,” Satomi insisted, with a finality that left my blood cold.
I slid the panel open and took a moment to assess the courtyard. It appeared empty, so Satomi and I slipped outside. Now we were faced with a dilemma—shout and alert the others? Or stay silent in hopes of sneaking by the assassins?
As quickly as I could, I ran over the grass and slipped behind the bamboo sculpture. Satomi followed immediately behind me, crouching low to hide. Then I saw one of them.
He was wearing a suit of armor fashioned from interlocking steel plates. The suit encased him, increasing his height and breadth to inhuman proportions. It was hard to believe anything with a heart and soul resided inside that cage.
Satomi turned toward the main part of the residence. “I have to get to Takeda-sama.”
“What happened to running?”
“I owe him my life.”
I followed her as she slipped into the house. We wound through unlit passages, our feet whispering over the tatami mats. Satomi was familiar with the layout, having lived there, but I was following blind.
We emerged in another part of the garden only to see one of the metal warriors sliding the panel door open to a sleeping chamber.
Without a word, Satomi unslung the rifle from her shoulder. “You go on. This is not your fight.”
“Wait.”
I pointed to the other end of the garden where a faint light shone through the trees. Lord Takeda’s workshop.
Forgetting stealth, we ran through the garden toward the workshop while the assassin was occupied within the chamber. Lanterns glowed from inside, bright as day. Satomi pulled the door open, and we both entered, closing the door behind us even though it provided little cover.
Takeda wasn’t working on any of his creations. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor before a low table with a scroll laid out before him. He had a calligraphy brush in hand, and a stream of characters flowed from the tip of it onto the paper. He paused to look up at us, then addressed Satomi in Japanese.
Whatever she said back to him rang with defiance.
The inventor turned to me next. “You must tell her to go. Both of you. There isn’t much time.”
Satomi refused to back down. “You come with us, Takeda-sama. Or both our deaths will be on your head.”
I bit back my reply. I wasn’t yet ready to die tonight, for honor or any other sacrifice, but Satomi’s ruse had worked. With a deep sigh, Takeda rolled up his scroll and rose. “Then we must hurry.”
He ushered us toward a storage room in the back. It was good that we’d come for him. It provided a way for him to go yet still maintain honor.
“That scroll case, there.” He gestured toward the highest shelf. “We need to take that with us.”
Without asking any questions, I moved to retrieve the case. It proved to be too high, and Satomi pushed one of the crates over to use as a stepladder.
“The hitokiri will be coming this way,” she urged. “What’s so import—”
The door swung shut behind us, and the lock clicked on the other side. Cursing, Satomi rushed to the door and pounded her fist against it.
“Takeda-sama!”
He hushed her from the other side. “Quiet. I’ll draw them away.”
Then he spoke to her a final phrase in Japanese. At that, the sliver of light filtering in from beneath the door dimmed before going completely dark. We heard the sound of footsteps retreating.
Satomi spat out a curse. I heard the click of gun being cocked. A moment later, there was a flash of light followed by an explosion that shook the door. One more shot and the lock was destroyed.
She shoved the door aside and stepped out. Over her shoulder, I saw the armored assassin entering the darkened workshop. A flicker of metal sliced through the air, rattling like an iron snake. I didn’t know what was happening, but instinct kicked in. I jumped left while Satomi threw herself to the right.
Our instincts proved correct. A blade thudded into the door behind us, only to be yanked back a moment later.
It was a curved blade attached to a chain. I ducked behind the karakuri dancer only to have the blade embed itself into the automaton’s chest. Right where the heart would be. The karakuri clattered to the floor as the blade was jerked backward.
Blood pulsed hot through my veins as I scrambled toward the next automaton. This one had the silhouette of a warrior, but it was far outshadowed by the demon that stalked toward me. Metal boots clanged over the floorboards. The assassin held a chained weapon in his hands, and his armor formed an outer skeleton that made him impervious to attack.
It was hard to believe there was a man inside that monstrosity. The protective suit that encased him was reminiscent of dragon scales, and his face was covered with an ornate helmet and mask. I had imagined assassins would come in the night, slipping in and out like smoke, but there was nothing quiet or hidden about these killers. Hitokiri met their victims face-to-face and struck fear in their hearts.
I slipped a hollow bamboo reed from my sash and broke the paper seal on each end. The blow tube was a weapon I had developed during those long hours with the medicine cabinets in the Court of Physicians, but it required patience. The target had to be close.
My palms began to sweat as the assassin neared. The thought of taking my last breath here, among these broken creations, left my blood cold. These killers knew nothing about who I was, nor did they care. If I was stricken down, I would die among strangers in a foreign land. The thought left me hollowed.
Whe
n I heard the metal footsteps on the other side of the karakuri, I stood and aimed the bamboo tube. I blew hard into the end of it, and a cloud of fine dust erupted between us and enveloped the assassin. The blinding powder had the additional benefit of being able to slip through the mask, burning against skin and eyes. The hitokiri grabbed at his face, grunting and coughing—the first signs that my adversary was indeed human.
I drew my pistol, but before I could fire, the air crackled around me. Blue white lightning danced over the steel plate armor of the assassin, illuminating him in silhouette. Then all went dark, and he crashed to the floor. Satomi stood behind the fallen warrior, wearing what looked like a spiked glove on one hand. Our eyes met.
Without a word, we were running again, shoving past the karakuri automatons to emerge into the night air.
“Is he dead?” I asked, referring to the assassin.
“Perhaps,” Satomi replied coldly. “This weapon is particularly suited against that armor they hide themselves in.”
Moonlight revealed the copper wire that twisted over her glove. She removed it and shoved it away in her pack.
There were two hitokiri from what I had seen, and maybe more. With one behind us, there was still at least one stalking the villa. By now, my eyes were adjusted to the darkness, and I spotted Takeda standing among the boulders in the sand garden. He made no effort to hide or run as another warrior encased in heavy armor emerged from the villa.
The hitokiri swiveled his iron helmet in Takeda’s direction and stalked forward, intent on his victim. The clang of armored footsteps formed an ominous cadence.
Satomi raised her rifle. “I’m too far away,” she muttered even as she took aim.
A shot rang out, shattering the night, and the armored hitokiri staggered backward. Satomi lowered her rifle, startled. Her weapon had never fired.
Chang-wei stood with his rifle aimed at the other end of the garden. The first shot was followed by another one, which sent the assassin crashing back through the wood and paper paneling of the main parlor.
