Clockwork Samurai (8 page)

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.”

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.

“ShōchÅ«,” 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.”

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.

I was so focused on the climb that it took me a while to notice what was wrong. The hillside was eerily silent, absent of birdsong, just as Makoto had described. A shiver ran down my spine, and my skin prickled.

Ghost Hill. The Japanese certainly tended toward the dramatic.

Chang-wei drew closer and held out his hand. Cradled in his palm was a rosewood box with a compass inside. The needle spun erratically from one pole to another. Some invisible force was affecting the lodestone.

Finally the tower appeared in the distance. Compared to the graceful shrines that dotted hillsides, this structure was a monstrosity. The steel gray frame blended into the dark rock of the surrounding cliffs. It was very easy to overlook unless one knew it was there.

As we neared the top of the ridge, the structure loomed large overhead. It resembled a skeletal pagoda, with all that was graceful and sacred gutted out. A faint hum vibrated the air, like the buzz of insects. An unnatural presence seemed to hover around us.

The base of the tower separated out into four legs. A shelter had been built beside it, and long wires extended down from the metal latticework into the roof of the building.

The signal tower was clearly abandoned. A layer of rust clung to the iron, and moss crept over the adjoining building.

“A control station,” Chang-wei declared as he moved steadily toward it.

Makoto hung back just as a thin ribbon of lightning snapped across the latticework. Chang-wei was undaunted by the phenomenon. He was close enough to peer into the windows of the control station where the paper panes had disintegrated.

I went to stand beside Chang-wei. Inside, the station was indeed abandoned. Instead of a human operator, there was a contraption built of steel and wire. A series of wheels churned out a pattern, which was transmitted to a mechanical wand that tapped rhythmically against the signal generator.

Chang-wei exhaled as he stared at the contraption. It was a simple automaton, built to repeatedly tap out a message. Hope drained out of him.

“This is Sagara Shintarō's work,” he insisted, jaw tight. “We have to find him.”

I tried to reassure him, despite my doubts. “We'll find a way.”

I watched the mechanical finger tap out another message before the cycle began to repeat.

A loud click broke through the trance. I swung around to see a young woman at the edge of clearing. She had a rifle propped against her shoulder and aimed squarely at us. When Makoto drew his sword, the woman swung the weapon toward him instead.

She barked a command to Makoto in Japanese, I assumed for him to drop his weapon. Unlike the women I'd seen in Nagasaki, her kimono-style top ended just above her knees, resembling a jacket rather than a robe. Beneath it she wore trousers that were closely fitted. Her sleeves were also shortened in length. The wide sash at her waist was worked in leather rather than silk, and I could see another pistol holstered at her side.

Behind her stood a samurai warrior in full armor, his face occluded with a battle mask. He held a spear in hand and looked in every way larger, stronger and more menacing than Makoto. Makoto lowered his sword but maintained his grip on it.

“We have business here with Lord Sagara Shintarō,” Chang-wei declared.

The woman kept her weapon aimed. Outwardly, I forced myself to remain composed, but my heart was pounding so hard it threatened to burst.

“
Shina-jin
.” Her next words were in accented but understandable Canton dialect, often used for trade. “Sagara Shintarō is my father. He has been dead for over five years.”

***

Sagara Satomi led us to a secluded area where the hill flattened out to a plateau. A lonely wooden building stood sheltered within the trees. It appeared abandoned. Tiles were missing from the roof, and the paper windows were torn in places.

“My father's
Rangaku
school.”

“Dutch learning,” Chang-wei added, for my benefit. I thought of the Western astronomy book he had bought for me.

Satomi stepped through the wild grass with confidence in her stride. Her hair was braided to one side. Tied back and out of the way. She was dressed for ease of movement rather than grace or beauty. The almost mannish clothing would have been out of place in Nagasaki, but here she was in harmony with her surroundings. This was her domain.

The formidable swordsman followed closely behind her. Even without his armor and weapons, his towering height would have been enough to chase away any threat. When Satomi swung open the double doors, he entered first.

“Yoshiro will not allow me to walk into danger,” she explained before beckoning us inside.

The bodyguard stood by the far wall as we entered. The main room was bare of everything except for a few tattered mats lining the floors and a scroll on the wall. The painting itself was perhaps unremarkable. Four characters in a bold strokes, the words themselves serving as art. But what set the work apart was the splatter of dark red across it.

The moment I saw the stain, my heart seized. It marked the paper as well as the wall behind it. Blood. It had to be blood, and there was nothing else decorating the walls except for this one splash of red. Violence long past, left on display like a scar.

“It was here,” Satomi confirmed, her voice as hard as steel.

She turned toward the inner chamber without another word. I glanced at Chang-wei uncertainly. He was the first to follow after her.

The second chamber was a book room. The shelves were full of various volumes covered in a layer of gray dust. The air in the place was oppressive and haunted, yet my fingers still itched to open the books to peer inside.

We continued through a sliding door at the back, which led us out into what had once been a garden. The greenery was overgrown and unkempt, but at least I could breathe easy without the shadow of death that clung to the walls inside.

“Your father was a great man,” Chang-wei began. “I'm sorry to hear of his passing.”

A flicker of grief crossed her face but was immediately banished. We were strangers, after all. “You wanted something from him,” she replied coldly. “They all do.”

“My father was the head of the Ministry of Science in Peking. Lord Sagara once considered him a colleague,” I said, hoping Satomi would understand. “His life was also taken from him.”

For a moment, our eyes met. We could have been mirror images, living parallel lives across the sea. Her pain was an echo of my pain.

Satomi gestured toward the abandoned building. “After the Chinese defeat, the shogunate became more wary of
foreigners. The number of ships allowed through Nagasaki was reduced. Foreign goods and ideas were frowned upon. We shouldn't need them, the shogunate insisted. Many
Rangaku
schools were closed down, but this remote location stayed open. My father continued to study and experiment. Then one day, the
hitokiri
came for him.”

“
Hitokiri
?”

“Assassins,” Satomi explained.

“Highly skilled assassins,” Makoto amended. His tone held both reverence and fear. “Four renowned killers used for special assignments by the shogunate.”

“Skill wasn't necessary.” Bitterness seeped into her tone. “The
hitokiri
entered the school while the pupils were at their lessons. My father took one look at him and knew he had only a moment to decide how he would die. He calmly sent us from the room and told us to shut the doors.” Closing her eyes, she turned away. “I never heard a sound.”

I remembered my father taking my hand as he walked through our front gate for the last time. His grasp had been steady, even though he must have known he would never return. My heart ached all over again.

Chang-wei was the first to break the silence. “This is a great loss for both our nations.”

“The shogunate doesn't believe so.”

“We had hoped to reestablish communications with Lord Sagara. To unite our two nations under a common purpose.” He was ever the diplomat.

“You're here because you need a way to fight the English,” she replied bluntly. “And my father knew their ways well.”

Yoshiro the bodyguard came forward. Bending down, he pushed one of the boulders in the garden aside to reveal a shallow pit. Inside was a bundle wrapped in coarse cloth. Satomi unwrapped the stash and pulled out a rifle fashioned of wood and steel. Slender and lethal.

“Take a close look,
Shina-jin
.” Straightening, she tossed the firearm through the air at Chang-wei, who caught it in both hands. “When you're assured it meets with your approval, then name your price.”

Chang-wei stared at the weapon in his hands, turning it over and over. I thought he would deny that he'd come to purchase arms, but instead a shrewd look crossed his face.

“I need to see how it fires,” he said.

To his left, Makoto tensed at the sudden turn of events. I was equally surprised but had no chance to question Chang-wei.

Satomi nodded. “Come see for yourself.”

Yoshiro pushed the boulder back in place and took up the rear as we exited the grounds of the school. In the open area out back, a row of painted targets had been set up. She held her hand out for the rifle.

“If you attempt to aim this at me or overpower me in any way, Yoshiro will deal with you swiftly,” she warned as she loaded two iron rounds into the chamber.

“I wouldn't think of it, Lady Sagara. We
Shina-jin
are not without honor.”

She handed the rifle back to him, muzzle pointed up. “Do you know how to shoot it?”

Chang-wei answered by facing the target. His expression became focused as Satomi stepped back. With the butt end set against his shoulder, Chang-wei took aim and pulled the trigger.

An explosion split the air, loud enough to rattle the wooden frame of the schoolhouse. I jumped back and collided with Makoto, who reached out to steady me. Fifty paces away, there was a hole on the left side of the target. My ears rang.

“Not bad,” Satomi remarked, coming up beside him. “Just need a little practice.”

Chang-wei handed over the rifle, and she took aim much quicker, as if the weapon were an extension of herself. A second explosion rang out, the force of it sending Satomi back a step as she absorbed the recoil. The shot landed squarely in the center of the target.

“Any coward can kill a man from a hundred paces,” Makoto muttered.

Satomi ignored him to direct her inquiry to Chang-wei. “So what is your offer?”

“How many do you have?” Chang-wei countered.

“This one here.”

“I'll need more.”

Why was he negotiating a deal to purchase arms? This wasn't what we had come for.

Satomi narrowed her eyes shrewdly and lowered the rifle. “How many more,
Shina-jin
?”

“Thousands,” Chang-wei replied. “Tens of thousands. Enough to supply an army.”