Iron master, p.45
Iron Master, page 45
The process, which Lord Min-Orota watched from the comfort of his carriage, was doubly sadistic, for the remainder of the column was obliged to march on past the succession of tortured victims – leaving them in no illusion as to their eventual fate.
This macabre procession continued all the way to Ba-satana, and when the original column was exhausted, Mute slaves working on the lands north and south of the road were rounded up and put to death, followed by those who had laboured to dig the post-holes.
By the time Min-Orota reached his palace, his immediate thirst for blood had been satisfied but, when he sat down to a sombre dinner with the chief members of his own family and the principal survivors of Yama-Shita’s party, he had little to feel happy about.
His friend’s body had been conveyed in a hastily prepared coffin from the Heron Pool to his ship in the harbour but the issues raised by his death were not so easily disposed of. Although it was Lord Yama-Shita who had brought the flying-horse and its two riders to Masa-chusa, and persuaded the Shogun to allow more to be built, it was already clear that he, Kiyo Min-Orota, was going to be held responsible for the domain-lord’s death.
The charge was patently unfair, but with a powerful family like the Yama-Shita, justice lay in the eye of the beholder. They would demand reparations: goods, money – and perhaps blood. It could place a crippling burden on his domain, but if he were to reject their claims, the alternative could be even more unpleasant.
Lord Min-Orota also faced the prospect of trouble from another quarter. The Consul-General had been killed whilst flying in one of the machines for whose manufacture he, Min-Orota, was once again ultimately responsible. Worse still, the revolt – due entirely to lack of proper surveillance of the slave-workers – had not been a simple escape attempt. There had been a murderous attack on those of high rank and noble birth. The grandstand had been totally destroyed, including the viewing box that had been built to house the Shogun! If he had been present and had suffered insult and injury to his person… Min-Orota put the thought from his mind. The consequences were too awful to contemplate.
When he retired to his private quarters – now guarded by three times the usual number of samurai – the domain-lord found a sealed letter by his bedside. It informed him that a courier from the Lord Chamberlain’s office had arrived in Ba-satana with a verbal dispatch of the utmost importance. The letter urged Min-Orota to receive the courier without delay. The meeting was to take place in the greatest secrecy, the provenance of the courier was not to be disclosed to anyone, and no aides were to be present when he presented his dispatch.
Min-Orota had not the faintest idea what the man had to tell him, but the temptation to find out was irresistible. Any approach by Ieyasu could not be lightly dismissed. After destroying the letter as instructed, he dispatched his most trusted servant to the address given, with orders to bring the courier into the palace by the secret stairways that led directly to his own private quarters.
Ieyasu’s courier appeared before him shortly after midnight and, after exchanging the arranged passwords, presented his seals of office. The man’s face, when revealed, was like a living skull. It was Steve’s diminutive interrogator. The name he gave was Fuji-Wara, but it was probably not his own.
Lord Chamberlain Ieyasu’s message was essentially this: news of the catastrophic events at the Heron Pool had reached his office and had also been conveyed directly to the Shogun. His Exalted Highness was – as Min-Orota might imagine – deeply concerned by his narrow escape from what could have been a serious threat upon his life.
The Shogun had also been stricken by the loss of his brother-in-law, the highly regarded Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba. His death had not only caused him personal anguish; it had disturbed him in his official capacity as ruler of Ne-Issan. It was as Min-Orota had feared: an attack upon the Consul-General – and the Herald Toshiro Hase-Gawa – was an attack upon the Shogunate itself. If he, as a domain-lord, could not suppress dissident elements and ensure the personal safety and unmolested passage of government appointees, then the Shogunate would have to protect its rights by all lawful means.
The courier, Fuji-Wara, did not need to spell out what that meant. Compensation would have to be paid to the Consul-General’s widow, of course. An official of his rank didn’t come cheap – and since his wife was the Shogun’s sister, the going rate would probably be multiplied by ten. The wider consequences of the Heron Pool incident could also prove expensive. Extra taxes could be imposed, commercial licences could be withdrawn, assets could be seized. The lives of senior aides who were involved with the Heron Pool project but had gone unpunished could be forfeit, and there could also be a dramatic increase in the number of government officials and troop garrisons – to whose upkeep he would be obliged to contribute.
If a domain-lord chose to resist such measures his lands could be proclaimed a ‘dissident fief’. That gave the Shogunate the right to place his domain under military occupation. His own family could, if the situation worsened, be deposed, or subjected to much harsher terms of vassalage. Not a pleasant prospect – especially when he was already under threat of unspecified reprisals by the Yama-Shita family.
Fuji-Wara, a man clearly experienced in delicate, high-level negotiations of this kind, revealed that his master was aware of the precarious nature of the relationship between the Min-Orota and the Yama-Shita following the death of their domain-lord. The Lord Chamberlain wished to come to the aid of the house of Min-Orota – who were, after all, friends and allies of the Toh-Yota. Both houses were, in their different ways, threatened by the Yama-Shita. If some way could be found for them to act together to eliminate or reduce that threat then, said the courier, he was sure that Ieyasu could persuade the Shogun to take a more lenient view of what had occurred and to demand only nominal reparation for the death of the Consul-General.
It was, basically, an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Min-Orota was in need of help, but even though he was backed into a corner he was shrewd enough to realise that the courier’s visit was merely the tip of a political iceberg. That sly old fox, Ieyasu, had been up to his tricks again, just when his critics and enemies were confidently expecting to be called upon to sit through his funeral oration. The domain-lord considered the options and then assured his visitor that he was, as might be expected, constantly ready to be of service to the Shogun – but what action was he being called upon to perform?
Skull-Face, a.k.a. Fuji-Wara, proceeded to tell him.
*
The three ocean-going junks which had brought Lord Yama-Shita, his armed entourage and his escort to Ba-satana were still moored in the harbour, and the survivors – including those who had dined with Lord Min-Orota – had spent the night on board. The ships’ crews, who had not ventured beyond the docks counted themselves fortunate to have been spared the terrible ordeal their compatriots had undergone.
When captains and crews awoke, they saw that another large junk, flying the house-flags of the Hase-Gawa, had arrived during the night and now lay at anchor to starboard, on the north side of the harbour. Over breakfast, the temporary heads of the delegation discussed their next move. Should they set sail immediately – or should they wait until additional men – mainly soldiers – arrived via the overland route to make up their depleted numbers?
News of Yama-Shita’s death had been dispatched by horse to the palace at Sara-kusa, but its speedy arrival was not guaranteed, since the rider was obliged to traverse the Toh-Yota’s northern domain.
The carrier pigeons used to convey top-secret messages from the domain-lord to the palace had gone with him to the Heron Pool. It was customary for several baskets to accompany Yama-Shita on any journey he undertook so that urgent dispatches could be sent at a moment’s notice. Unfortunately, the earthquake had overturned and wrecked the cart. The driver and pigeon-keeper had been found with their skulls crushed – presumably by flying stones – and those birds who had not been killed had escaped when their baskets had broken open.
Whilst they were in the middle of these deliberations, a boat-man brought a message from Lord Min-Orota. The domain-lord, who had descended from his palace to the quayside, requested permission to come aboard with four shinto priests in order to pay his last respects to his friend and ally. Two senior members of the delegation went ashore to escort him back to the vessel.
Lord Yama-Shita’s open coffin lay atop a catafalque draped in white silk. When the traditional mourning rites had been performed, Min-Orota spent an hour in silent contemplation of his colleague’s body, then asked to speak privately with the closest of the dead man’s aides. Only two were still on their feet. Four had been badly injured, another was expected to die before reaching home, and the corpses of several more lay in the hold.
When he had assured himself that they could not be overheard, Min-Orota broached the subject of a ‘chestful of rich silk cloth’ that Lord Yama-Shita had brought with him as an intended gift to the principal ladies of the house of Min-Orota. The domain-lord had stressed the uniquely special nature of the materials and workmanship involved but, alas, he had not lived long enough to make the presentation himself. Did the aides, asked Min-Orota, know of their lord’s intentions in this matter and, if so, where was the chest?
Min-Orota was fortunate that the two men facing him were among the four people, outside of himself and the dead domain-lord, who knew the precise nature of the object concealed beneath the bolts of cloth. After exchanging thoughtful glances, the senior of the two aides replied. Yes, they were aware of the intended gift, but since their lord had not lived long enough to offer it himself, they did not feel they had the necessary authority to make the gift on his behalf. That decision could only be made by his successor.
Min-Orota praised their infinite tact and caution. They had misunderstood him. He did not wish to receive that which could not be freely given. What he had come to suggest was that the chest and its contents be placed in his safekeeping until its eventual fate could be decided. He was suggesting this because his spies in the late Consul-General’s residence had, that very morning, hastened to bring him some most disquieting news. The Shogun had learned of the junk’s sensitive cargo and planned to intercept the flotilla during their return journey on the pretext of according the honours due to the dead domain-lord.
This revelation caused the two aides to exchange wary glances.
Min-Orota expressed his concern. The Shogun’s men could easily find some excuse to seize the chest’s valuable contents on behalf of their master. If faced with this danger, they could always save themselves by having the chest thrown overboard – but would that not be a woeful betrayal of their dead master’s wishes?
The alternative was to transport the chest’s contents overland but, once again, the carriers could be intercepted by the Toh-Yota. Only the house of Min-Orota, the chief partner in the enterprise which their dead lord had once described to him as ‘the spinning and weaving of dreams’, could be trusted to guard the chest and its contents until Yama-Shita’s successor had been chosen.
Min-Orota’s choice of words and the emphasis he placed upon them left the two aides in no doubt that he had been fully apprised of Lord Yama-Shita’s future plans. After retiring to the far end of the room for a whispered conversation, they returned and knelt before Min-Orota. He signalled them to sit and speak. They bowed respectfully from the waist and adopted a cross-legged position.
They were grateful, said the senior aide, for his warning about the possible interception of their vessels. The chest would be left in his care – but was he aware of the dangers he faced in becoming its guardian?
Min-Orota declared himself ready to accept them. Lord Yama-Shita had made the ultimate sacrifice in his bid to lead Ne-Issan into a new age. He, Kiyo Min-Orota, shared his lofty vision of the future and was happy to risk his own life to help make that vision a reality. It would prove to the man who would soon adopt their dead lord’s mantle that he was a worthy ally. Someone who could be trusted with the deepest and darkest secrets of all.
Once again, Min-Orota’s choice of words made it clear that he understood the real nature of the enterprise: the recapture of the Dark Light. A time and place was arranged: noon at a secluded manor house far removed from the palace and the press of the bustling sea-port. The unloading of the chest in broad daylight would not attract the attention of the watch, and an official from the palace would be on hand to ensure it passed out of the docks without being subjected to the tiresome attentions of customs officials.
On the appointed day and hour, an ox-cart carrying a driver, the chest and four porters made its way towards the rendezvous. It was preceded by the two aides and four other mounted samurai and followed by a second cart containing twelve soldiers in civilian clothes. The three groups varied their pace and distance between each other, merging at times with other traffic on the road. To the casual observer, the carts and riders had no connection with each other, and this was precisely the impression they wished to create.
When the mounted samurai had reconnoitred the area around the manor house to ensure that there were no forces lying in ambush, the two aides ordered the cart bearing the chest to enter the grounds. The second vehicle, carrying the disguised soldiers, whose weapons were concealed beneath the straw on which they lay, stopped on the road outside. To any passer-by they were nothing more than a group of patient peasants stretching their legs whilst the driver and ox-boy fed and watered their animals.
The manor-house – a rambling stone and timber structure with a tiled roof dating from the middle of the previous century – was an uninhabited, dusty, echoing shell. Two of Min-Orota’s lieutenants, whom the aides had already met, conducted them and the chest into Min-Orota’s presence, then retired with the four porters. This quartet was also disguised soldiers, drawn from the forty or so who had survived the débâcle at the Heron Pool.
Lord Kiyo Min-Orota was seated on a single straw mat, placed in the centre of a dais which ran across the far end of the room. He called upon them to approach and remove the four straw mats covering the section of the main floor in front of where he sat. The aides pulled the mats aside. A trap-door lay beneath. Opening it, they found steps leading down to a deep cellar.
This, explained Lord Min-Orota, was where the chest would be hidden. Once it was safely below, the trap-door would be replaced by planking which would merge with the surrounding floor, and there it would remain until the Yama-Shita came to recover it. But first, he said, he would like the opportunity to look upon the priceless gift he had come so close to receiving and which had coloured their late master’s dreams of the future.
The two aides asked him to recall his two lieutenants.
After removing the rolls of silken cloth, the four men lifted a large, heavy object wrapped in linen from the chest. When Min-Orota’s men had left the room, the two aides removed part of the wrappings to reveal the engine from a Skyhawk – the basic aircraft carried aboard the Federation’s wagon-trains. The engine, with its laminated wooden propeller placed alongside it, was seated securely inside a timber frame.
Min-Orota examined the engine at close quarters without touching it. Was this, he enquired, the strange device that had powered the original flying-horse – and which was believed to have been destroyed?
The aides assured him that it was.
Min-Orota praised Yama-Shita’s cleverness. On top of all his other attributes he was also the master of illusion! Was it not true that the Shogun’s representatives had been present when the device had been consumed by fire? By what cunning means had such worthies been bamboozled?
Little by little, Min-Orota drew out the full story and – by conceding his own complicity – persuaded them to reveal that Lord Hiro Yama-Shita had been the prime mover in the plan to recapture the Dark Light.
The two aides did not know that the long-dog who was to help bring the plan to fruition had escaped. None of the Yama-Shita knew. And Lord Min-Orota did not propose to tell them. He did, however, have another proposition. Let us drink, he said, to the success of your master’s plan and to his memory!
He struck a small gong to summon his lieutenants, who entered bearing a tray of refreshments. Cups of sake were poured out and handed to Min-Orota and the two aides.
‘To the Yama-Shita,’ proposed Min-Orota. ‘Lords of the Dark Light!’
‘May the enemies of progress perish!’ chorused the aides.
Since Min-Orota had already drunk from the same flask, the two samurai had no hesitation in joining him. The rims of the porcelain cups they raised to their lips had been coated with a potent, transparent poison which caused almost instantaneous paralysis of their motor functions, leaving them unable to move their limbs or cry out, but fully conscious and aware of their predicament.
As the cups fell from their fingers, their arms were pinioned by Min-Orota’s lieutenants and quickly bound with ropes. The paralysis was only temporary but had been necessary to prevent the two aides from sounding the alarm or killing themselves. For they would have done so without hesitation at the sight that now met their eyes.
The screens behind the dais were drawn aside, revealing the young Shogun seated between six domain-lords and their field-marshals. Min-Orota knelt to pay homage to Yoritomo. His two lieutenants followed suit, forcing the stricken aides down with them.
It was Ieyasu, the Lord Chamberlain, who had organised this assembly on a variety of pretexts and in conditions of unprecedented secrecy. Seated with the Shogun, as judge and jury, were the domain-lords of the Ko-Nikka, Se-Iko and Mitsu-Bishi, whose lands lay along the southern border of Yama-Shita’s domain, and their own immediate neighbours, the Dai-Hatsu, Da-Tsuni and Su-Zuki.
The Ko-Nikka were allied by marriage to the Yama-Shita; the Se-Iko were regarded as being predisposed to take their side in any serious dispute with the Shogunate. The other four were in the Toh-Yota camp. In terms of power, the Ko-Nikka and Se-Iko outweighed the four other members of the jury, but Ieyasu had done some shrewd wheeling and dealing behind the scenes.
