Clockwork Samurai (14 page)

“If that is true, then all the more reason for me to go explain myself to the daimyo,” the inventor insisted.

“Takeda-sama would be walking to his death, same as my father.” Satomi rose to her feet. “I apologize for my impertinence, but I won't allow that.”

Anger filled every step as she walked to the edge of our camp to look out over the fields beyond. Something about her standing there all alone struck a chord deep within me. Satomi seemed so desolate, holding on to her firearm as if she could single-handedly fend off the world with it.

Then I realized why she looked so vulnerable. Yoshiro, her faithful servant, had stayed behind to allow our escape.
Rarely had I seen her without him by her side, silent, but ever present. I couldn't bear to think of Yoshiro as gone, though I'd barely known him.

“We have an airship docked in Nagasaki,” Chang-wei began. “If we can return to the Chinese quarter safely, I can offer you passage aboard it.”

“And how do you plan to smuggle a prominent scientist aboard your ship?” Makoto asked. “By then, the trade authority will be alerted to Takeda-sama's escape.”

Chang-wei fought to maintain his composure, though I could see his jaw tense. “The settlement will provide us some cover. We'll be among Chinese merchants.”

“You underestimate the shogunate's influence in the settlement.”

Takeda laid a book across his knees as he considered the options. It must have been the same one he was writing in as he prepared to meet his ancestors. Just like the night before, he showed no fear, merely a calm sense of resignation.

“No one who leaves our land is allowed to return,” he declared. “If he attempts to do so, he is immediately put to death.”

Japanese law was harsh, but that was their way. No exceptions. No compromises. What was more intriguing was their ability to enforce their laws. From what little I knew of the three Japanese before me, the laws were enforced not only by the authorities, but by the very will of the people.

“There will be a place for Takeda-sama in the Ministry of Science,” Chang-wei promised. “A man with your learning will always have a place.”

“As an informant. A traitor,” Takeda declared. “Someone who knows what I know—the
bakufu
will not relinquish their hold easily. They may not want my knowledge, but they don't want anyone else to have it.”

“Then live in the provinces as a scholar and scientist,” I said. “We won't force you to join the imperial court.”

Chang-wei shot me a warning look, but I ignored it. We weren't here to press anyone into service.

“The
hitokiri
are no common mercenaries,” Makoto pointed out. “They are special assassins, commanded by the
bakufu
. If they have come for you, then you have been labeled an enemy of the shogunate.”

“What Makoto-san means to say is that I am already named as a traitor,” Takeda said. “I can either die a good death as a samurai or willingly become
rōnin
. There is no other option.”

“We'll go together.” Satomi remained apart from us. Her voice seemed to come from far away, as if her spirit remained distant as well. “Perhaps it was always fate that this would happen.”

Something flickered behind Takeda's tranquil expression as he regarded her. I don't know how he faced life and death with such calm. Perhaps it came with age, or with a warrior's training.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. “It is decided, then. I have no master.”

“No master but yourself,” Satomi corrected, finally coming back to join us.

“You would be surprised what one can accomplish as a man cast adrift,” Makoto said, refraining from his usual cynical smirk. “But first there's the business of making it back to Nagasaki alive.”

We traveled south, traipsing through muddy fields and constantly on watch. Without our wagon, we had lost all of our supplies. By midday we were all starving.

Makoto managed to dig up a few wild yams. An attempt to spear fish from a stream set us back an hour with no fish to speak of. We ended up setting up a makeshift lure made of silk cut from our clothing. The trap had little chance of working, but it gave us some hope while we waited for our humble meal of wild yams to cook over the fire.

The area was shaded and partially hidden by the growth of trees and brush that naturally thrived near a water source. The water was cool and rejuvenating, at least. I splashed it over my face while I completed a simple calculation in my head.

“It's been five days since we've been gone from the Chinese quarter. Do you think anyone will have taken notice?”

Chang-wei didn't seem too concerned. “We are two of a thousand,” he assured. “And Captain Zhao will cover for us.”

He acted as if he had no fear of being caught. As if he wanted to be arrested and dragged before the shogun to plead his cause. It was more likely he'd be thrown into a dank cell in the local prison with rats for company.

“It was bold of you to promise passage to Peking,” I pointed out.

“Lord Takeda is a brilliant scientist. He would be a great asset to our cause.”

“At the price of forsaking his country and his honor.”

“I'm not unsympathetic to his plight.” Chang-wei's voice rose a notch, one of the few times he'd raised it. He immediately brought it back under control. “But we have to think of greater things. The survival of both of our nations. Takeda knows this.”

Lord Takeda sat on a flat boulder, reading through his book. Satomi sat with her back to him, cleaning and oiling her rifle. The two of them made an odd pair indeed. Once we reached Nagasaki safely, we would have to smuggle them aboard the airship.

Would the imperial court regard them any better than the shogunate regarded us? The Ministry would value their knowledge, for certain; Satomi with her firearms and Takeda's ingenuity and scientific knowledge. I hated to think how they would be exploited by the Emperor.

“What if you and I were stranded in Nagasaki?” I asked.

“It won't happen,” Chang-wei replied.

“I'm not saying it
will
happen. I'm just saying what if it did?”

“It's pointless to imagine far-fetched scenarios,” he said irritably.

“It may not be so far-fetched if you consider it,” I countered, feeling a bit of irritation myself.

Not until I asked did I realize this was a very realistic scenario, perhaps more realistic than us smuggling a prominent scientist and inventor as well as a gunsmith to Peking.

I failed to lure Chang-wei into continuing the conversation. When the yams were cooked, he tried to offer me his half, claiming he wasn't hungry. I don't know if it was meant as a peace offering, but it only made me more irritable.

“You don't have to be self-sacrificing for my sake,” I told him.

“It's the truth. I'm not feeling hungry,” he insisted.

Heat rose up the back of my neck. I was hungry and tired and very irritable, but at least I was honest about it. I was about to snap at him, but then I noticed he did appear a little pale. Even though it was cool in the shade, I noticed him wipe sweat off his brow. Had he fallen ill?

“You should eat to keep up your strength,” I nagged gently. “I don't want to have to carry you.”

He granted me a small smile at that. “Soling—”

“Yes?”

I waited for what he meant to say, listening so intently that I heard a faint rattle of metal over the bubbling of the stream. I turned to Takeda and saw a dark silhouette emerging from the woods.

“Get down!”

The scream had just left my lips when the chain snaked through the air. Satomi grabbed the inventor by the robe and tugged sharply. They both toppled off of the boulder just as the blade struck, sparks flying against the rock with the force of the blow.

Chang-wei and I sprung to our feet as another assassin emerged behind us. One more entered the fray to advance upon Makoto. Makoto drew his sword and prepared for attack.

Three against five, but the
hitokiri
were trained killers. They had discarded their steel suits in favor of stealth. The armor would have slowed them down and alerted us of their presence. Instead each was dressed in a simple black kimono with chest and arm guards.

The image of their faces was more frightening than seeing their masks. They showed no more emotion than their facial armor had shown. Each expression was as cold and hard as stone. Each rigid stare showed the depth of their conviction. They would be victorious today or die trying.

Chang-wei dragged me behind him and leveled his rifle at the
hitokiri
closest to us. There would be no negotiation. Without hesitation, Chang-wei pulled the trigger. The impact of the shot jammed the rifle against his shoulder, and he fell back a step.

The assassin reeled backward, struck in the center of his chest. He regained his feet with a deathly glare, his look disdainful. One bullet was far from enough to kill a
hitokiri
.

The ring of steel on the other side of the stream told me Makoto had engaged. Amidst the chaos, Takeda shouted something at the attackers.

A command? An attempt at negotiation?

Takeda stood unarmed as the
hitokiri
approached with sword drawn. It was like a ritual, unfolding with a sense of
pattern and inevitability. Satomi scrambled to reach her rifle, which had fallen into the water.

“When you find an opening, run, Soling,” Chang-wei insisted. He raised his rifle in both hands to wield it like a staff as he faced off against our attacker.

Instead of wasting my energy arguing with Chang-wei, I drew my pistol from my sash. One shot at close range. I would make it count.

Behind us, Satomi reached her firearm and took aim just as the
hitokiri
raised his sword to strike Takeda down. The flintlock struck with a harmless click.

The firing mechanism must have flooded in the water.

“Satomi!”

She looked over in time to catch my pistol. Swinging around, she positioned her arm and fired.

The crack of the shot caused everyone to freeze. Takeda's attacker stood still, sword held high. The look on his face had gone blank, and it took me two heartbeats before I saw the wound in the center of his forehead. It was nothing more than a dot, too neat and clean to be a death blow.

But it was.

The
hitokiri
fell to his knees before collapsing. A pile of flesh and bone with spirit gone, but there was no time to mourn or celebrate. Takeda stood over the body and calmly retrieved the assassin's sword. Once it was in his hands, Takeda transformed from scholar to warrior.

Chang-wei's attacker charged, and he parried the strike against the barrel of his rifle. The sword flashed back without pause, slicing across Chang-wei's arm. He fell back with a hiss of pain as blood flowed from the cut.

The assassin advanced forward, sword raised high. Chang-wei's name caught in my throat. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be the end.

The blade never fell. The
hitokiri
paused as his cold gaze scanned over Chang-wei.

It was all Chang-wei needed. He'd managed to hold on to the rifle and swung the barrel forward now, firing blindly.

A black plume of smoke momentarily blocked our attacker from view, but the swordsman emerged through the cloud unscathed. Satomi and Takeda regrouped beside me while Chang-wei fell back with his hand clutched to his wound. For the first time, I looked into the assassin's eyes and saw death. My death. The death of my friends.

There were only two things to do, fight or run. I was no warrior, so I prepared to run when a hulking figure came crashing through the brush.

“
Yoshiro
,” Satomi gasped as her loyal bodyguard charged toward us.

His armor had torn away in places, and there was a knife stuck in his chest, but he still held his sword. The assassin turned just in time to see the warrior bearing down on him. Yoshiro clubbed the other man against the side of side head. The move was more blunt force than skill, but it sent the assassin to the ground.

The other
hitokiri
broke away to join his comrade. Behind him I saw Makoto kneeling on the ground with his hand
clutched to his midsection. He was wounded. How badly, I couldn't tell.

The remaining assassin crossed swords with Yoshiro while his comrade crawled onto his hands and knees. Blood flowed from the man's temple, but he was far from finished.

“We must go now,” Takeda said.

He pulled Satomi away as the assassins regrouped. I ran to Makoto, ignoring Chang-wei's shouting behind me. When I came to him, the hand pressed to his ribs was drenched in blood. The other one still gripped the katana.

“Go,” Makoto said through gritted teeth. “My fight isn't over yet.”

Over my shoulder, Yoshiro was holding the assassins off. My stomach sickened as a blade sliced across his ribs, but the bodyguard didn't flinch as he renewed his attack. Makoto struggled to his feet with a hiss of pain. If he returned to battle, it would only be to die a warrior's death.

“Come,” Chang-wei said grimly. “There's no time.”

He took Makoto's sword arm to drag him toward the rest of our party. With a curse, Makoto shoved Chang-wei aside and sheathed his sword. Of the two of them, Makoto was more heavily injured. At least they were both able to move on their own power.

We went as quickly as we could. Makoto pushed on through gritted teeth as we climbed the next rise. Chang-wei looked pale as well.

We reached the next rise before Satomi dared to look back. From the distance, the warriors appeared like tiny dolls by the stream. I had prayed silently during our escape that Yoshiro would manage to prevail and find us once more, but one glimpse at the stream told me it had been wishful thinking.

Yoshiro had fallen to his knees by the water. He offered no resistance as the
hitokiri
raised his sword and cut clean through his neck. For a moment we all stared, unable to comprehend what had happened as his head rolled on the ground. His body fell a beat afterward in an absurd and awful moment.

“We need to go,” Satomi said finally, her voice choked. “It's done.”

No more than a few seconds had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. Satomi's eyes glistened as she turned to search for a way down the hilltop. Takeda reached out to touch a hand to her shoulder, and they exchanged a look between them. She nodded quietly back at him, and the five of us continued on with Chang-wei and me supporting Makoto between us.

* * *

By the time we reached the rice fields outside of Nagasaki domain, every last drop of will within us had dried up. The terraced hillsides stretched out unending to the horizon in every direction, which allowed us to scan for attack. We were safe for the moment, but it wouldn't last.

Lord Takeda ushered us into a storehouse standing among the paddies. The structure was built of wood and raised onto stilts to avoid the damp earth. We climbed up and found the interior empty, but thankfully warm and dry.

Chang-wei and I laid Makoto out on the floor while Takeda folded a paper lantern and sparked the wick inside, holding it over us. I bent to see to Makoto's wound. We hadn't been able to do more than keep pressure against it while we fled.

“It's not bad,” Makoto insisted as I pulled back the folds of his robe.

Despite his words, his knuckles were clenched white by his sides. The assassin's blade had sliced cleanly through three layers of cloth to leave a wound the length of my hand. The gash in his abdomen welled up with blood, and I could sense the bile rising in my throat. I fought back a wave of dizziness.

He's not bleeding out
, I told myself. It couldn't be deep. I hoped it wasn't deep.

“I don't have much experience treating wounds,” I confessed.

For some reason, my mind strayed to my usual task of mixing fertility potions, and I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth to keep from laughing. To keep from crying. I could do this.

Using a knife, I tore out strips of cloth from the hem of my robe and used them to stanch the blood and inspect the wound carefully. I didn't know about cuts and stabs, but I knew the body. I knew the major arteries and veins and signs of damage.

“None of his organs have been pierced,” I said shakily. “But the cut has torn across muscle. We have to keep it clean and stop the bleeding.”

“Should we stitch the cut?” Satomi asked.

I shook my head. “It will need to drain. I'll bind it tight to help the wound seal itself.”

I set to work wrapping his entire midsection with a broad swath of cloth. I needed to stabilize the surrounding area so the wound wouldn't reopen when he moved.

“He needs to rest. Remain still while the cut heals.” Even as I said it, I knew it wasn't possible.

“We have a few hours at most,” Takeda warned.

Makoto had suffered other injuries as well. A stab wound to his leg that he'd surprisingly not complained about, and numerous cuts over his arms. One strike had come perilously close to his neck but instead glanced over his shoulder, slicing through skin, but nothing vital. His black kimono hid the damage, but I could see the story of the fight now, with the
hitokiri
cutting him down bit by bit.

“That's what
hitokiri
means,” Makoto said as I patched him up. “Man cutter. I was lucky to survive the first blow.”

I tried to keep my face blank as I tended to him. “You should conserve your energy.”

“Talking distracts me.” His complexion had gone pale.

“Is it dishonorable to accept something for the pain?”

He forced a smile that was far from reassuring. “I hope whatever you have is strong.”