Clockwork Samurai (11 page)

“How did you begin selling the firearms?” I asked her.

“My father was known for them but only sold them to wealthy collectors. He would gift them to the shogun and high-ranking lords. It gained him a buffer for a long time. Members of the
bakufu
argued that with his level of craftsmanship, his creations were more art than weaponry.”

“But then he fell out of favor,” I said. Satomi's story felt so achingly familiar.

“Father realized the collectors never intended for the firearms to be used. No matter how much they admired his workmanship, the
bakufu
would never support developing guns. It went against the samurai code of honor that had only strengthened over three hundred years in isolation. So Father started selling them to merchants and sailors who were not warriors. Who needed the weapons for protection.”

“Your father wanted his work to have purpose.”

“He wasn't an artist. He was an engineer. I first learned his trade by observing him. Bringing tea to his workshop. Lingering to watch. When it seemed like he would have no more sons, my father started to train me.”

No
more
sons. I didn't miss that nuance. Had Lord Sagara's sons died?

“Then one day, the choice came to me—an honorable marriage to Takeda Hideyori or a life of freedom, owing no one anything, using skills passed down by my ancestors. The answer was clear.”

“Chang-wei and I were also once intended to be married,” I confessed. I'm not sure why I revealed it then—perhaps I felt I owed her something for being so direct with me.

“Ah, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” I asked.

I could hear her shifting in the darkness, trying to find a more comfortable position. “All the long glances,” she said with a laugh. “And the brooding looks.”

I wanted to demand
whose
long glances and
whose
brooding looks she spoke of, but I decided, very wisely, to remain quiet. Chang-wei and I were no longer held together by any promises or agreements. There were times I thought and wondered whether it was possible. Whether
we
were possible. Sometimes late at night when I was alone in bed. Or when we were together, talking of anything and nothing.

After returning to Peking, Chang-wei never mentioned anything between us. He never spoke of how we'd faced death together in Changsha or the kiss.
Our
kiss.

Our duties had pulled us further and further apart. At times, I would almost convince myself to stop dreaming, that there really wasn't anything more than those few long looks between us.

But then there were moments. Just small moments, but enough to make me wonder. It was infuriating and it was wonderful. I reached out now, trying to listen for the sound of him down below in the grass, but all I could hear were the sounds of the night buzzing all around.

“This lever reloads the chamber.”

Satomi explained the parts of her rifle to Chang-wei while he hovered over her like a hummingbird over a flower.

But I wasn't jealous.

We were all seated in the wagon. The day had rolled along without incident. It was perfectly acceptable for the two of them to pass the time in conversation.

“It seems like the catch here would be prone to getting jammed.”

“Chen-san, you underestimate my craftsmanship.”

“I wouldn't dare, Sagara-san.”

Yet. I wasn't jealous . . . yet. Even though their heads were bent close and they seemed to finish each other's sentences as if they were of one mind. Like Chang-wei, Satomi had an affinity for moving parts, while I couldn't understand half of what they were saying.

“And the flintlock mechanism,” Chang-wei went on. “It ignites very smoothly.”

“My own design.” Sagara Satomi was not a humble and timid young lady. “My father originally adapted it from the Portuguese. I've tested it extensively. Less than one misfire per hundred.”

“That one time could still get you killed,” Chang-wei pointed out.

He spared a glance at me then. Something he saw made him pause, and he shot me a curious look. I quickly looked down at the book I'd been skimming.

Satomi was certainly pretty. She was also clever and skilled, and the two of them could speak of latches and springs and mechanisms until the stars came out. Turning the page, I studied an anatomical diagram of internal organs. I'd come back to this illustration again and again. Though I couldn't read the Japanese inscriptions, the book appeared to be detailing paths of electrical stimulation. There was another illustration of a parlor where a man appeared to be receiving treatment with an
elekiteru
device.

As I lifted the book to ask a question, an arrow embedded itself into the pages. I dropped the volume, startled.

“Get down!” Makoto shouted from the driver's seat.

I looked up as another arrow struck Yoshiro. Heart pounding, I ducked down in the wagon, crouching low and covering my head. It was a futile gesture. Arrows rained down upon us, one of them thudding into the board between Chang-wei and me.

Yoshiro jumped down from the driver's seat to shield Satomi with his body while I dragged myself over the side of the wagon, landing hard onto the dirt below. A heartbeat later, Chang-wei landed beside me. Together we huddled by the wheel, using the wagon as cover.

A chorus of snorts and grunts came from the mules, who started tugging at their harnesses. The wagon lurched about in jerking motions.

The shower of arrows ceased a moment later, but I remained frozen in place. Chang-wei looked at me. We were both breathing hard, and I could see the pulse throbbing in his neck. His eyes were sharp and alert. My heartbeat thudded against my rib cage, as if it would punch a hole through.

Makoto was on his feet, trying to calm the team as they paced and bucked in agitation. Arrows stood straight up in the surrounding field like a deadly harvest, and wooden shafts protruded from the wagon.

“Someone's coming,” Makoto reported in a low growl. I heard the whisper of steel as he drew his sword.

Straightening, I could see figures approaching in the distance. Yoshiro drew his weapon and leapt onto the ground, squaring his shoulders for battle.

“Chen-san!” Satomi called.

She threw a rifle to Chang-wei and positioned herself to take aim with hers. I drew my pistol from my belt. I'd never fired a firearm before. It took both hands to cock it. Satomi had told me the weapon's range was short, but with the way things were headed, I had better be prepared.

“Your hand,” Chang-wei remarked.

I frowned at him, not comprehending.

“It's not shaking.” He moved to the rear of the wagon to take aim around the side.

My hands were indeed steady. The elegantly crafted pistol fit perfectly in my palm, and I was ready to use it if I had to. Though I was scared, my body seemed to remember. This wasn't the first time I'd been in an ambush. This wasn't the first time my life had been put in danger.

Hooking my arms onto the wagon, I pulled myself back up to it, using the spoke of the wheel as a foothold. Satomi was crouched at the opposite end, with her rifle steadied against the edge of the wagon. Yoshiro stood on the ground before her. An arrow protruded from his shoulder, but the pain didn't seem to bother him.

I'd seen men endure unimaginable injuries and still fight on when the fever of battle was upon them. The bodyguard appeared stone cold as his black eyes focused on the threat.

Staying low, I crawled over beside Satomi. “There are only three people approaching.”

“There might be more in hiding,” Satomi warned, staring down her barrel.

I put on the telescopic eyeglass and sighted in on the approaching men. “They appear unarmed,” I reported.

Not a sword or rifle, as one might expect, or any other weapon in sight. One of them pointed out the wagon, and the three started waving their arms at us, shouting.

“One of them is turning around. He's running back out of the clearing.”

“Getting reinforcements,” Makoto said grimly.

The other two continued to advance, albeit cautiously.

“I think they wish to speak to us.” I waved at them, returning their earlier signal. “Don't fire.”

The lead man came forward, speaking rapidly. He sounded cross, or perhaps that was how all Japanese sounded to me.

“What is he saying?” I asked beneath my breath.

Makoto was already replying to the man while Satomi translated for Chang-wei and me. “He is declaring that this is the property of Lord Nabeshima of Saga domain. Didn't we see the notices about the testing?”

“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 incorrect 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.