The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) (22 page)

Perai looked to his companions. The Admiral was growing impatient, having to skulk in the tiny hut. The Komtur pushed the straw door open and made an inviting gesture.

“Perhaps we should continue this outside. I will have the men bring cold saké.”

“It was obvious from the start that the Councillor was not telling us everything,” Perai picked up the tale after the official introductions were made, and everyone had quenched their thirst. “And that he had to have some contingency plan in case our deal turned sour. I sent out my riders on scouting missions, following Hotta and his men to find out as many of his secrets as they could.”

“You weren’t afraid they’d spot you?” asked Otterson. “These monsters of yours are hardly conspicuous, especially in this weather.”

“That was never a concern.” Perai smiled mysteriously.
Let them worry about this for a while.
“We gained a decent understanding of their movements between here and Edo, and noticed their interest in the big volcano you call Fuji, and the island we now know is Enoshima.”

“There is nothing of interest on Enoshima, apart from the shrines of my ancestors,” said Yokoi. “You have as much chance to guess at what they’re doing there as I do.”

“What about the cave?” asked Perai.

“What cave?”

“There’s a cave that’s only accessible at very low tide. This is where the carvings were found. Did you not know it?”

Yokoi shrugged. “I haven’t been to the island since childhood. Maybe there is a cave. What of it? The Abominations like sitting in caves as much as you Heretics. It’s not the only thing you have in common.”

Otterson asked something in strained Yamato. Yokoi flinched at the sound of his booming voice.

“Three
ryū
scales,” Otokichi translated his reply.

“What did you ask him?” asked Perai.

“I was curious to know what his
mon —
his crest — shows,” replied Otterson. “It’s an interesting design.”

“Oh, I see — perhaps the drawing itself is more significant than the clan it represents.” Perai nodded. “
Dragon scales.
Why?” He turned back to Yokoi.

The rebel’s nostrils narrowed. “A family legend. That’s all.”

“And could this legend have something to do with Councillor Hotta’s sudden interest in the island?”

Yokoi crossed his arms and sat back, eyeing them in a manner far too haughty for a man dressed only in a dirty loincloth. “I have told you enough, barbarian. I see no reason to cooperate with the hired butcher of my people. Either kill me now, or let me go back to the hut. This sun wearies me.”

Otterson raised his hand to indicate to the interpreters not to translate his words.

“That’s it,” he said.

“What do you mean?” asked Perai.

“You wanted my
expertis.
I’m telling you, this man won’t tell you anything else. Not today. Something about what we said disturbed him too much.”

“Then you were right. There’s something about those dragon scales.”

“Perhaps. But we’d have to
tortyr
him to find out now — and he might not even know that much. I have a better idea.”

“Yes?”

Otterson leaned to Perai’s ear. “Let him escape.”

The Komtur glanced at Otokichi to check if the interpreter was sending some secret signals to the prisoner. He was.

“Go on.”

“If you can spy on the Abominations, you’ll have no trouble tracking a tired old samurai. And he’ll know how to find out things better than we ever could.”

“Yes, I see what you mean. It will help me to deal with one other problem …” He gazed towards the sea, where a dark line on the horizon marked the limits of safe passage. “Tell me, Admiral — is it just me, or is that damn Sea Maze getting closer every day?”

CHAPTER XIV

“Nagoya lies beyond those mountains,” said Nagomi. “I’ve never been further east than this.”

She clung closer to Bran under the blanket. The night was cool on a north-facing mountain slope. The small campfire gave out more light than heat. The remains of their evening meal filled the glade with the smell of burnt meat and roasted sweet potatoes.

He reached his arm around her and looked to the stars.

I wonder if this is how it feels to have a younger sister.

His tired muscles ached too much for him to sleep. He imagined Nagomi, unused to flying a dragon, was suffering an even greater agony.

“Who knows how far we will need to go,” he mused. “But we’ll find her even if we have to storm Edo Castle.”

“What if … what if we find her and she’s like her father?”

“Impossible.” He said firmly. “She’s far too powerful for that.”

He couldn’t let her know that this was his greatest fear, too. So much time had passed since she had been abducted. What did the Serpent want with her? Where were they taking her in such haste? Why didn’t she attempt to contact him or Nagomi?

And then there was the worrying matter of the ice traps at Naniwa Castle. They had the signature precision of Satō’s skills, and unless there was among the Fanged an adept of ice magic …

He needed to change the subject before Nagomi sensed his anxiety.

“So, what do you think of this Takasugi boy?” he asked.

She rose on one elbow. “Where did that come from?”

“He likes you.”

In the light of the campfire, her cheeks glowed bright red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled.

He chuckled. “He told me to say he’ll be waiting for you. It’s pretty clear to me what he meant.”

She buried her face in his arm and said nothing. Bran felt her heart pounding.

Is it really news to her?

“I guess neither of us had much time to think about such things lately,” he said after a moment. “But, one day, this war will be over, and we will have to continue with our lives as if nothing happened.”

“What do you mean,
as if nothing happened
?”

“This is something my father told me once, when I was younger … He’s seen his share of wars, you know. He said that most wars only change things for the rich and the powerful. For everyone else, life just moves on.
As if nothing happened.
Those were his words.”

He surprised himself with how much he remembered of this conversation. He must have been twelve, no more. After that, he went to Llambed, while Dylan got promoted and had to embark on another series of missions. They’d never had that much time to talk again. It was an odd topic to raise with a twelve-year old, but Bran now understood that his father was talking more to himself than to him.

“Except for those who died or lost their loved ones,” said Nagomi.

“Well, yes, of course,” Bran stumbled. “I mean, more in the, umm, general sense, not for individual people.”

“But we
are
individual people. Me, you, Sacchan … If one of us dies … nothing will be the same again for the rest of us.”

“Of course not.” He patted her shoulder. “But people don’t only die in wars. In fact,
most
people don’t die in wars. I could fall off my dragon and break my neck anytime. Any of us could catch some disease. And the rest of us … would just have to accept it and move on. Maybe that’s what my father meant.”

“Bran, stop talking about death,” she said.

“You started it.”

“And now I’m ending it. Neither of us is going to die.” She turned her back to him.

“Is that a Scryer’s prophecy?” he asked, to no answer.

Neither of us,
he thought.
But
what about Satō?

It was the first rain of late summer, a faint drizzle, barely staining the gravel of the street with wet patches, drying in seconds in the heat of the city. Atsuko pulled the hood of her cloak tighter. Keeping her eyes down, she saw only Mineko’s sandal-clad feet in front of her, dashing onwards on the damp sand.

They turned right, crossed a bridge over a narrow canal, and entered the grid of empty avenues of the
fudai
residences district. Her heart raced. Any minute now, she could be recognized by one of the passing noblemen. Her portrait, finished at last, had been hung at the place of honour in the audience hall, so anyone who still hadn’t seen her in the flesh would by now get a good look at her face as represented by the painter, in the detailed “Western” manner. Not that anyone should have been paying attention to her — with a tight bonnet and hood concealing her features, she looked like an ordinary wife of an Edo noble. She knew how to walk with the purposeful gait of a housewife hunting for rumours, rather than the graceful pace of a court lady.

They reached the gates of a nondescript residence, hidden behind a row of maples and cherry trees. Atsuko waited in the shadow of a tall, slender ginkgo, as Mineko spoke with the guard at the gate. She glanced up and saw the servant girl nod at her discreetly. The gate screeched open. She waited until the street around her emptied before going inside.

The room was a jewel of taste and modesty. The plain walls, made of the same wattle and daub as used for tea pavilions, were unadorned save for a single ink scroll hung in a shallow alcove above a flower vase. The scroll showed a crane and a turtle locked in combat. The author was familiar to Atsuko, a master from the late stages of the Civil War and first days of the
Taikun’s
rule.

“You like my scroll,
hime
?” asked Lord Date, noticing her gaze.

“It’s rare to see such plain elegance in the palace,” she replied. “It’s gold and rich colours everywhere. Sometimes I can walk the hallways for hours before I see anything not painted by the Kano Brothers.”

“The
Taikun’s
walls
must exude his wealth and prestige,” said Lord Date. “It’s one of the burdens of power. We lesser men can afford to only show off what we truly like. I think Master Tohaku binds the room together better than a Kano.”

“Oh, I agree!” she nodded eagerly. “I always thought he was underappreciated in his day.”

The Councillor smiled under his white moustache and clapped at the servant. “Pack the scroll and send it to the palace tomorrow,” he ordered.

“That is absolutely unnecessary,” she said and bowed, but did not protest any more than etiquette required. It would have been improper to refuse the gift. Besides, she really
liked the painting …

The third man in the room remained silent throughout this exchange, sitting cross-legged next to the scroll. To Atsuko, he was almost as pleasant to look at as the painting, and she tried her best not to stare at the muscles bulging under the tight-fitting kimono, or the determined, fierce face of the seasoned warrior.

His features were eagle-like in their sharpness, and his eyes pierced her with impudence few men dared to display. A great two-handed sword was slung across his back, and a smaller one thrust in his sash. He refused to remove the weapons inside, bringing a sense of threat to the elegant room.

His hair was unkempt and rough, tied with a piece of string. His unshaven face was covered with fresh scars. His expression had grown wilder and more desperate than when she’d last seen him. She barely recognized the man at first, despite knowing him well.

“You haven’t explained yet what Gensai-
sama
is doing here,” she asked the host. “Not that I don’t appreciate seeing an old
friend
after such a long time. I can still refer to you as a friend, Gensai-
sama
?”

The samurai glanced at Lord Date, then nodded, retaining a grim expression. The details of what exactly had happened in Kumamoto were scarce, but she had heard enough to know her father’s clan and Gensai’s superiors were no longer allies — and certainly not
friends
.

In fact, wasn’t there supposed to be a prize on his head? Something about aiding the Mito rebels? That makes him an enemy of both my father
and
my husband.

But then, Lord Date himself was kept under house arrest in his residence on some trumped-up charges. That didn’t stop Atsuko from paying him a visit.

Before Gensai opened his mouth, Lord Date interjected. “Kawakami-
dono
understands that in the face of a greater evil all our former antagonisms must be put aside. Don’t you, Kawakami-
dono?
”

“Of course, Date-
dono.
” Gensai nodded.

“A greater evil?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

“You understand
some
of it,” said Gensai, “else you wouldn’t have risked coming here.”

“I invited him after reading your letter,” added Lord Date. “There are grave matters that require thorough explaining, and I believe he’s the man best suited for it. But first, let us listen to your story,
hime
.”

“We’ve always known the
Taikuns
had a way to control the Divine Winds,” said Lord Date, swirling a
cha
cup in two fingers. “After all, this was how they created the paths for the ships sailing to Kiyō and Ezo.”

“And the Grey Hoods,” added Gensai. “Don’t forget, they brought their ships here too.”