Steampunk Fairy Tales (4 page)

“
The current is strong,
son. You’ll find travelling upstream impossible.”

Setting his jaw, Issun stormed to their
workshop. “I won’t leave like that.”

For three days he worked in secret, only to
emerge on the fourth with a broad smile. “Come look!” he called,
waving for his parents to follow.

Flanking the bowl were two small
turbine-like wheels that attached to a mechanical fan. “See?” Issun
laughed. “The current is strong, which will let this fan power the
engine.”

His parents smiled and told him how clever
he was, and the moment was so full of joy he thought his heart
might burst. They shared one last breakfast together, reminiscing
about the past and making excited guesses about the future, until
his mother laid her hand on the table. “It’s time, son.”

Issun stepped onto her palm, then was gently
placed in the tea bowl and carried outside. The townspeople had
gathered around the river, waving banners, ready to send him
off.

“
This river will take you
to Sapporo,” his father said as he lowered Issun’s bowl into the
gently moving waters. “Take care, son.”

“
Ganbatte!” the
townspeople yelled, wishing him luck.

Issun navigated the river, using his
chopsticks as oars. He peered out when passing villages, keeping an
eye out for the Sapporo skyline he’d memorized from staring at a
woodblock print hanging in his parents’ home.

Soon the surge of the river gave way to the
sounds of steam and stone, and the forests thinned to reveal the
brick factories that made the appliances he had spent his life
repairing. The waters became choppy as steamboats docked and
unloaded passengers and goods.

Issun, worried about the traffic near the
dock, steered further downstream before turning toward the
riverbank. With the edge of his little boat touching land, he
climbed over the side, but quickly realized he lacked the strength
to pull it from the water.

“
Maybe someone will help
me,” he muttered, looking around for a friendly face, but the only
people nearby swarmed the docks. The shuffling of feet, the
churning of wheels, and the spray of water made him think twice
about approaching. It would be too easy to be squished.

With a sigh, he sat at the edge of the
river. His adventure had barely begun, and he’d already made a
mistake. How would he ever get home? Watching the water, he waited
for inspiration to strike, but instead his attention was turned to
a bit of rope that was anchored to the ground and stretched into
the water.

He frowned. It had to be a trap. He hated
them, having once been caught in one himself. Grabbing his sword
from the boat, he stormed over to the rope—which was thicker than
his arm—and began hacking away. It took a few minutes, but
eventually each fiber split, and the rope disappeared into the
water.

“
Be safe, fishies!” Issun
cried, before realizing that had been his first act as a samurai.
Embarrassed, he instead struck a pose and nodded
solemnly.

A luminescent white splotch—unearthly
bright, especially from underwater—moved toward him. Trying to
control the hammering in his chest, he waited with his sword at the
ready. Perhaps the trap hadn’t been without merit.

Two bulbous eyes emerged from the water,
followed by a flat head and a wide mouth. A flash of terror surged
through Issun: he rarely saw frogs that big. To it, he might look
like a tasty snack.

Unwilling to abandon his vessel, he raised
his katana. “Go away!”

One of the great white frog’s eyes blinked,
followed a half-second later by the other. “Have you no request of
me, little one?”

Issun half-lowered his weapon. “Huh?”

“
You have rescued a
river-spirit; it is only fitting that I return the
favor.”

“
Oh.” Issun scratched his
chin. “Could you help me with my boat?”

The spirit-frog turned to look at the tea
bowl, but remained silent.

“
I’ll need it later, but I
don’t know where to keep it safe.”

“
I know of such a place.
When you need your vessel, return anywhere along this riverbank and
call my name: Suijin. But be careful of the forest; I have spotted
from the banks a steam-warrior possessed by an oni, and he loathes
trespassers in his domain.” The spirit-frog extended a large,
webbed hand.

Issun retrieved his shield and sack.
Awestruck, he watched the frog disappear downstream. Not even a day
into his journey of being a samurai, and he had saved a
river-spirit.

Feeling confident, he turned and headed away
from the busy docks, then walked inland. Dodging feet, wheels,
kicked stones, and the occasional dog left him panting by the time
he found a small park. He rested beneath a bench, where he ate the
seaweed-wrapped rice grains his mother had packed for him.

His brief respite was interrupted by the
attention of a girl—perhaps his age, but normal-sized—dressed in a
red shibori kimono.

“
Hello,” she said, sitting
on her knees. Issun stood up and struck a pose, using his 500 yen
coin shield and sewing needle katana. The girl giggled and
clapped.

“
I’m Yuki Suenaga,” she
said, pointing at her nose.

“
Suenaga of Suenaga
Industries?” Issun asked. He had seen that name a thousand times,
stamped on the numerous appliances he had repaired.

Yuki nodded, confirming she was a daimyo
princess. “Who are you, tiny warrior?”

Issun sheathed his sewing needle. A god and
a princess in one day. His would be the best samurai story of them
all. “I am Issun Boshi, and I’m seeking a samurai
apprenticeship.”

Yuki tilted her head as she considered this.
“I can take you to see my father, young ronin.”

Issun rode on her shoulder, standing with a
hand on his hilt, imitating a stance he thought was befitting of a
samurai. Yuki entered a brick building in the Suenaga factory
complex. Issun inhaled the scent of linseed oil and traced the
root-like system of pneumatic tubes, in which messages were flying
every which way.

Yuki passed the secretary and burst into a
rococo office, the interior of which was finer than any Issun had
ever seen. A man sat behind a large desk, wearing a black suit.

“
Father, I’ve found a
little ronin!” she said, interrupting him as he spoke into a brass
horn.

“
It’s my daughter; we’ll
have to speak later.” Mr. Suenaga flipped a switch then stood.
“Yuki-chan, what are you talking about?”

Yuki gestured at her shoulder. “See,
father?”

Mr. Suenaga took a closer look at Issun, who
was standing as still as a statue. “Where did you find such a
doll?”

Issun bowed, startling the daimyo, and then
spoke. “Suenaga-sama, I am Issun Boshi. I hail from a small village
north of Sapporo. I’m in search of a master, so that I can train to
become a samurai. I have already rescued a river-spirit, and I know
even greater trials and successes await me.”

Mr. Suenaga put his monocle in place and
took a closer look. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. You
say you’re from up north … are you a Koro-pok-guru?”

It was not the first time that Issun had
been compared to the tiny people in Ainu mythology. The difference
was, they were a myth; he was real.

“
No, I am
Japanese.”

“
Fascinating.” Mr. Suenaga
stroked the graying stubble at his chin. “I don’t know that we have
a position for a samurai right now.”

“
Father ….” Yuki pleaded,
warming her father’s heart.

A warm heart was not enough, though—business
is business. Mr. Suenaga considered how little space the
three-inch-high samurai would require, and how little he would eat.
“My daughter has a way of finding herself in trouble; she could use
a guardian. Yes, Issun Boshi, I will accept your service, but your
rent and food will come out of your salary.”

Yuki hugged her father, putting Issun
awkwardly close to the man; he merely held his samurai stance. She
skipped away, leaving Issun to fall, clinging to her shoulder.

Issun woke early, every morning, to train in
the sunlight streaming through Yuki’s bedroom window while she
slept. To improve his technique, Yuki took Issun to borrow samurai
books from the library. He walked across the sentences as he read
about techniques and history.

His life was not all exercise and studying.
Yuki was a playful girl who loved him dearly. One time, with his
permission, she placed him in a capsule and sent him zipping
through the pneumatic message tubes. Issun, unaccustomed to
travelling at such speeds, got sick inside the capsule. Their
adventures became tamer after that.

Issun did his best to describe his
experiences. Yuki was always curious about how he saw the world,
and he was happy to have someone close to his age to talk to.

As the shortening days hinted at winter,
Yuki fancied a walk. Issun, happy to follow Yuki’s lead, sat on her
shoulder as she boarded a train. It wasn’t until she descended the
steps at the next station, her path leading them perilously close
to the forest, that Issun realized her destination and recalled the
river-spirit’s warning.

“
We shouldn’t go into the
woods,” he said solemnly. “It’s not safe.”

“
That’s why I have you,”
Yuki replied with a laugh.

Issun frowned but didn’t respond. They
walked, her chattering about the fresh smell of the woods, the
beauty of the leaves, and the pleasing sound of the stream, while
he remained silent.

The chirping of cicadas hushed suddenly, and
Issun’s budding samurai instincts surged. Gripping the eye of his
needle, he leaned forward. “Something is wrong.”

The trees rustled, shuddering at the banshee
screech of hydraulics. Above the woods rose a cloud of smog. A high
pitch whir accompanied the spinning sawmill blade cutting through
the dense foliage, exposing the sight of a monster that looked more
like the demons he’d seen in wood-block prints than a mechanical
warrior.

Two eerie, green eyes glowed from this
monster’s lumpy iron face. Just above each painted eyebrow was a
short, golden goat horn. From ear to ear spanned the jaw, filled
with serrated silver teeth and boar-like tusks. The red body paint
had scraped off in places, and the shoulders were dented from
knocking down trees. One clawed hand was clutching a marble club;
the other arm ended in the saw blade. About its waist was a shiny
tiger-print iron loin cloth, which moved like platemail.

“
What-Have-We-Here?”
emitted its voice.

Issun could feel Yuki trembling. How small
she looked, compared to this monstrosity! Issun, who was accustomed
to looking up at everyone, was less intimidated. Holding his sword
and shield in position, he puffed out his chest. “I am the samurai
Issun Boshi!”

The mech’s telescopic eyes zoomed in. It
laid down the marble club to hold its clawed hand to its brows to
block out the sunlight streaming through the canopy.
“Who-Said-That?”

Issun scaled down Yuki’s body and stepped
before her, flashing his sewing needle katana. “It was me: Issun
Boshi!”

“
Ha-Ha-Ha,” came the
single pitched laugh, followed by the sound of a dozen tiny motors
sculpting its face into a sneer. “I-Had-Not-Seen-You-Little …
Samurai!”

Issun had not been laughed at since he was
two inches tall, when the other kids were still callous and
ignorant. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the needle’s eye.

The iron creature stooped down to reclaim
its club. “You-Are-In-My-Domain!
What-Gift-Have-You-Brought-Me?”

Issun steeled himself. “You deserve nothing,
lump face!”

The saw blade whirred, and the telescopic
eyes twisted to refocus.
“Then-The-Girl-Will-Be-My-Prisoner-And-You-Will-Be-Crushed!”

Issun dashed forward. The saw arm came down,
cleaving tree roots where he had been just a second before. The
mech raised a clawed foot and stomped, narrowly missing Issun, but
providing him purchase to climb.

It lifted its leg and bent down, searching
to see if it had squashed the little samurai. Taking the
opportunity of the monster being unbalanced, Yuki ran forward to
knock it down, but its mass was too much for the hundred-and-twenty
pound girl. The mech smacked her aside with its club.

“
Yuki!” Issun cried,
though even in his fear he refused to give up. Heaving his katana
over his head, he slammed it into the hip joint. The iron giant
dropped the club and, using his claws, picked Issun up by the
collar of his shirt. He just managed to grab his sword before being
dangled above its stiff, smiling face.

Issun’s heart dropped at the clicking sound
accompanying the opening mouth beneath him. He kicked and squirmed,
freeing himself from his shirt before the jaw was ready to
close.

Darkness enclosed him as he fell through the
mechanical throat onto a rotating cog. His shield clattered from
his arm and fell into dark guts of the demon. Disoriented, Issun
sat, spinning, while his eyes adjusted to what little light that
entered the pinpoint gaps through the metal skin.

The interior was far more complicated than
anything Issun had ever repaired, but some parts were familiar. He
lost his balance as the platform lurched; the mech was walking.

“
Where-Are-You-Girl?”

“
Yuki!” Issun’s shout
echoed. The cogs continued to spin and, remembering that burnt
grain of rice that had broken the entire food steamer, he drove his
needle into the intersecting teeth. The mechanics came to a halt,
for a short time, until the force was too great and the needle
snapped.