The Brazen Shark

by David Lee Summers

  Fatemeh took a deep breath and blew it out. “Could your people find another village? Join with them?”

  “We would love to go to Hokkaido where there are many Ainu,” explained Ipokash, “but the Japanese don’t welcome us.”

  “It must have been difficult during the Tokugawa regime.” Fatemeh folded her arms.

  “I am not happy the samurai attempted to destroy our village,” said Ipokash, “but Imagawa treated me with respect, made sure her men didn’t do unmentionable things. With more Japanese like Imagawa, I think we could make a home in Japan.”

  “Are you serious?” Fatemeh leaned forward.

  Shinriki spoke to Ipokash. Fatemeh didn’t recognize the words as Russian and suspected they spoke Ainu. Ipokash nodded. “He says the samurai respected us enough to fight us. In some ways, it is better than Russian indifference.”

  Fatemeh frowned but nodded. Perhaps Imagawa had a role to play after all.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Skeleton Airship

  General Mikhail Dragomirov wondered what had become of the mighty Russian Empire in the last few weeks. He stared at two new disappointing dispatches. That spring, Russia stood ready to dominate the world. Now Japanese airships struck Vladivostok, and Ottoman Turks massed in Bosnia. The only good news was America and Russia had just agreed to a peace treaty. Once the American Congress ratified it, Alaska would be Russian again. The general wondered what the new boundaries would mean for relations with their new neighbor, Canada, who strove to negotiate their own independence from England.

  One dispatch the general held said farmers traveling to Vladivostok had come across a huge vessel’s smoldering, blackened remains—no doubt the missing Nicholas Alexandrovich. The second dispatch he held from the navy confirmed his suspicions. A destroyer had driven a Mexican cargo vessel away from the coast. A few days later, they encountered a boat near the shoreline. The destroyer fired and the boat sank. Clearly pirates had seen the airship go down and wanted to salvage what they could.

  Dragomirov handed the latest dispatches to Major Zolnerowich who pinned them to a cork board with other recent dispatches. The general walked up to the board and tried to understand the information presented. He cast a brief glance at Zolnerowich, whose brother had served aboard the airship. Was he dead, or a prisoner somewhere? They could not know at this point.

  The general turned around and studied a map spread across a table. At the czar’s orders, the navy positioned itself to blockade Japan. Dragomirov sent troops to Vladivostok by train. He gritted his teeth as he looked at Japan. He didn’t have the resources to invade, not without airships and not while trying to better support their Austrian allies. At best, he could defend against the Japanese.

  The major approached the map table and cleared his throat. When the general looked up, the major handed him another paper. “A Japanese airship has just been sighted crossing the Volga River near Saratov. Its course is northwest.”

  “Damn.” Straight for either Moscow or St. Petersburg itself. His mind raced through the possibilities. There had been no further reports of Japanese naval or ground action and no one reported downed telegraph lines. “How soon will they get to Moscow, or here for that matter?”

  “We estimate St. Petersburg in about twenty-four hours.” The timing implied twelve hours to Moscow. “I should point out, the sighting came from an inexperienced telegraph officer, and we’re assuming they travel the same speed as our ships.”

  “Telegraph Moscow, order garrisons to stand by. If the navy can shoot one down, then so can we.”

  “I’ll alert our men here, as well.” The major turned to leave, but paused. He turned around and cleared his throat again.

  The mannerism annoyed the general.

  “Sir, the Alexander Alexandrovich is almost finished. I’ve been trained in flight and a crew stands ready. I request permission to launch the ship and confront this new threat.”

  The general rubbed a hand across his bald head. “I inspected the ship just yesterday. It has no skin. It’s still just a large framework.”

  The major had been along as well. “That’s all she lacks along with some heavier armaments. We can mount light cannon right away. The outer skin just streamlines the ship. In good weather, the wind will sing through the girders.” He shrugged, then flashed a self-conscious grin before turning serious. “We can still use her to mount a defense.”

  The general rubbed his chin. “Very well. See to it. Send word when you’re ready to launch.”

  The major saluted, snapped his heels together, and turned.

  Before he strode off, the general cleared his throat. The major stopped and blushed as he looked over his shoulder and caught the general’s smug grin. “Major, do be careful and also consider, they may not be here to attack us.”

  The major eased around to face his superior. “Why do you say that?”

  “Perhaps wishful thinking.” The general walked over to the cork board. “I’m also looking at the way things add up. Our airship disappeared. A Japanese officer says a Russian craft attacked them.” The general waved his hand through the air. The major knew the story same as him. “It’s possible someone hijacked the ship in an effort to start a war between Japan and Russia.”

  The major gave a sharp nod. “You’ve been over that with other generals. It’s also possible the Japanese army hijacked the airship to create a pretext for invasion.”

  The general accepted the possibility. “The problem is this, why would the Japanese send a lone airship right into Russia’s heartland when they know we can shoot them down? Why would Japan invade Russia at all? The main thing we have in common is an interest in Sakhalin Island—maybe Korea. Why not just invade and take the island? It would be far easier than sending an airship here.”

  The major frowned, but didn’t answer.

  “Don’t let your anger over your brother’s loss blind you to the possibility they may seek a truce. I would welcome someone who prefers peace right now. We can’t afford another war, and the czar is running out of family to name airships after.”

  The major looked down at the ground and sighed. After a moment, he looked back up. “Anything else, sir?”

  Dragomirov shook his head. “As you were.”

  The major saluted and this time the general let him leave.

  * * *

  Fatemeh stood in the Ballena’s bow. A smoke trail from Poronaysk’s factories betrayed Sakhalin’s position on the horizon. She scanned the blue-black ocean for battleships or destroyers. Despite the recent clashes with Japan, it seemed Sakhalin Island concerned the Russians less than the mainland.

  As they approached the island, mountains grew visible. Soon, Poronaysk appeared—brick buildings huddled together against the ocean’s onslaught. Fatemeh pulled her cloak tight.

  Shinriki and Ipokash joined her a few minutes later. Their robes reminded her of Japanese kimonos, except for the geometrical patterns on the tattered and ragged cloth. They had utilized the shipboard facilities and cleaned the robes, making them bright and vibrant, even on a gray and dismal day.

  The robes’ long sleeves failed to hide Ipokash and Shinriki holding hands. The simple gesture reminded Fatemeh how much she missed Ramon. She prayed for his safety and she wanted to discuss her own conflicted feelings about Imagawa. Unable to reconcile her respect for Imagawa’s strength with disgust at Nanbu’s senseless murder, she had avoided the renegade samurai ever since boarding the ship.

  Fatemeh could just make out the Ainu village’s distant huts as the anchor clattered from its well. Captain Cisneros stepped up behind Shinriki and Ipokash. “Are you packed?”

  The Ainu couple blinked at the captain, not comprehending. Fatemeh translated the words into Japanese.

  Ipokash shrugged. “We had nothing with us besides the clothes we wore.” Her voice held an apologetic note.

  Fatemeh translated for Cisneros, then turned to Ipokash. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  Cisneros led
the way to the ship’s stern. Instead of the Calamar, sailors prepared a standard launch boat. Nearby Shinriki’s cousin, Resak, watched the sailors with interest. “We depleted several fuel rods taking the submersible overland,” explained the captain, “and the lookouts see no reason for us to hurry or use stealth to get ashore.”

  As the captain helped Ipokash aboard, Imagawa appeared on deck. Resak’s hand flew to his knife hilt. Fatemeh couldn’t help but notice how tattered her kimono had become. Like Ipokash, she’d laundered it, but its wear still revealed the past weeks’ trials. “May I come ashore with you?”

  The captain turned to Fatemeh for help understanding the request. Fatemeh tensed, but looked up to Ipokash, who nodded. “Imagawa wants to know if she may accompany us.”

  The captain frowned, but nodded. “I have no objection.”

  “The captain says you may come along.” Fatemeh wondered if the hesitant Japanese words conveyed the coldness she felt. She turned her back on Imagawa and climbed aboard the boat without assistance. Imagawa followed, and sat across from Ipokash.

  Cisneros climbed aboard along with three other sailors and Resak, then ordered the boat lowered into the water. At first, Fatemeh thought the men would take up the oars in the boat’s bottom and row to shore, but Cisneros clambered into the stern and lowered a propeller assembly into the water. A chemical reaction steam engine, similar to those used aboard the Calamar topped the assembly. The captain opened two valves, starting the reaction. Soon, the propeller spun to life and the boat zoomed to shore.

  Fatemeh joined the captain in the stern. “I thought you’d depleted your fuel rod supply.”

  “It’s a matter of weight and surface friction,” explained the captain. “The Calamar is heavy and runs under water. It takes a lot more power to propel it to shore. Plus, we can row this boat if it runs out of fuel.”

  The explanation made sense to Fatemeh, so she sat back and fell silent.

  Imagawa and Ipokash spoke in hushed tones. Their words seemed almost trivial, unless someone knew the history these women shared.

  “How are you?” asked Imagawa.

  “Well and glad to return home,” said Ipokash.

  Shinriki eyed Imagawa for a long time. When he spoke to his wife, he laughed and slapped his knee.

  “He says something seemed strange about you when you raided the village. He thinks you’re much more attractive without armor.”

  Shinriki blushed as Ipokash translated the words into Japanese.

  Fatemeh wondered whether the assessment offended the warrior. Her mouth tipped up a little, indicating more amusement than offense at the words.

  The boat soon reached the shore and the passengers disembarked. Several Ainu men and women stopped work to eye the new arrivals. When they realized who came ashore, several rushed toward the beach and embraced the three returning villagers.

  An older man hung back and watched the Ballena’s crew with suspicion. His gaze narrowed as it fell across Imagawa, as though he tried to decipher the reason for her presence.

  Shinriki, Ipokash, and Resak beckoned Fatemeh and Cisneros to follow them up to the village. Imagawa followed as well, even though the Ainu had not invited her.

  Shinriki led the group into a small hut. A blackened fire pit lay before them. To the left stood two water tubs. Two beds lined one wall. Shinriki lifted a bear pelt and patted a recent repair with pride.

  Imagawa turned to Ipokash. “Did the Russians do nothing to help?”

  Shinriki shook his head. “No, in fact I found Russian horses along with ours and the villagers arrested me as a thief.”

  Imagawa scowled and stormed from the hut. Curious, Fatemeh followed. The samurai stood outside, arms folded, glaring at Poronaysk. “Why are you so angry?” asked Fatemeh. “After all, you and your men ransacked this village.”

  “I saw the village as an extension of Poronaysk. I watched both the city and village some time before I struck and I knew Ainu lived in the city. I never thought the Russians would be so indifferent to their own citizens.”

  “Why not?” The sharp words surprised Fatemeh even as she spoke them, but she plunged on. “The Japanese have at best tolerated the Ainu and at worst treated them as second class citizens. In fact, there’s nothing about the Ainu at all in any Tokyo museum I visited. At least the Americans treat Indians as attractions worth showing off at carnivals.” Fatemeh stepped closer to Imagawa. “You pity yourself as a woman in the Meiji era. Try being an Ainu.”

  Imagawa whirled on Fatemeh, her hand grasped empty air where her sword would have been if she’d been armed.

  Fatemeh continued. “Must you kill all your critics?”

  Imagawa sneered and allowed her arms to hang akimbo. “Your Japanese has become quite good.”

  Fatemeh’s anger kept her from laughing at the lighthearted remark. “Why did you kill Nanbu?”

  “I killed Nanbu because he betrayed me. Worse, he had threatened violence on Ipokash. He tied me up and left me for dead, and he kidnapped you.”

  Fatemeh turned and walked away several steps. “Not every argument should be settled with the sword. Words can hurt, but those hurts can be healed.”

  Imagawa looked around at the village. Empty, blackened spaces revealed sites where huts used to be. An empty drying rack stood outside a smoke house. Fatemeh wondered how the village would fare during the winter after Imagawa’s attack.

  “The emperor’s swords and guns turned me into what I am,” said Imagawa. “I was content learning swordsmanship and studying history under the Tokagawa regime.”

  Fatemeh scowled. “The emperor didn’t turn you into a killer. You turned yourself into one. You must find another path. No one can do it for you.”

  “I require no assistance finding a path.” Imagawa turned and stared off to the mountains. “‘We suffered severe casualties, our forces withered to nothing, and we fled.’”

  Fatemeh shook her head, not understanding the second statement.

  “It’s a line from Samurai Tsuchimochi Nobuhide’s history. Defeated, he fled because he had something to live for. I once believed a samurai found their way in death, but perhaps it is found in life after all.”

  “That’s what Hoshi believes,” said Fatemeh.

  “And you think Hoshi exemplifies samurai culture?” Imagawa grimaced and walked away.

  * * *

  Captain Himura steered the Bonchō well to Moscow’s north, which added time to the journey, but he noted the Russians had shipboard cannon which could shoot down airships. This suggested land garrisons would also be so equipped. Ramon, Itō, and Mendeleev accompanied the captain at the chart table in the bridge’s stern. They discussed the best way to approach the city.

  “I suggest we circle around St. Petersburg and approach from the bay,” said Mendeleev. “There’s room to maneuver and it puts us close to the Winter Palace. There’s even a mooring mast near the airship hanger at the docks.”

  Captain Himura shook his head after Itō translated. He noted the Japanese ship’s design meant it couldn’t be moored at a Russian tower.

  “What’s more, this ship is large enough to be a good target,” said the captain.

  Pleased and surprised, Ramon followed the discussion with ease. He had to agree with the captain. “We could land outside the city near the main road. Lord Katsu’s automaton could pull a cart. Professor Mendeleev could dial in the path.”

  Itō scowled. “It would place the automaton at unnecessary risk.”

  “I’d still like to hear what Professor Mendeleev thinks.”

  After Itō translated, Mendeleev held up his hands. “The route through the city is complicated. I’m not sure if I could program it into the mechanical man.”

  The captain traced out the path through the city streets. “It also allows time for troops to figure out where you’re going and set up a barrier.”

  Given the automaton’s speed, Ramon questioned the second concern, but he voiced a different thought. “Does it even matte
r if we’re captured?” He shrugged. “As long as we’re given a chance to explain why we’re there.” He repeated his idea in Russian, both for practice and for the scientist’s benefit.

  “Captured is fine,” said Mendeleev. “Shot before we explain ourselves would be a tragedy.”

  The Russian bore such a somber expression, Ramon had to laugh. “We could approach during the predawn hours and land in the Winter Palace’s courtyard.”

  Itō explained the suggestion to Himura. The captain nodded. “Our ship is small enough we could pull it off.” Itō switched to Russian and addressed Mendeleev. “Is there heavy artillery near the palace?”

  The scientist shook his head. “Not facing into the courtyard that I know of.”

  Ramon leaned forward. “Is it possible there’s artillery you don’t know about?”

  Mendeleev shrugged. “Of course. Russians have a talent for keeping secrets.”

  “Airship incoming ahead!” cried a lookout from the forward window.

  Itō, Himura, and Ramon all looked at Mendeleev. He shrugged. “We started building another airship before I left, but it shouldn’t be ready so soon.”

  They all moved to the bow and the ship listed forward just a bit with the extra weight. The captain took the spyglass and frowned, then handed it to Mendeleev.

  “Choknutyj!” The scientist passed the spyglass to Ramon.

  An airship did, indeed approach in the clear, blue sky. However, a dark steel skeleton enclosed inflated gas bags. Stripped of its sleek, outer skin, this airship seemed more threatening than its kin. Like a lion with exposed ribs, it looked fierce and hungry, ready to take chances to capture its prey. Naked cannon aimed toward the Bonchō. Marksmen balanced on the girders. No skin hid this ship’s teeth. The exposed vessel looked dangerous, much as Russia could be if stripped of too much pride or forced into a desperate position.

  Itō’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide. The abject fear echoed shivers traveling down Ramon’s spine. Captain Himura set his jaw and straightened his back, as though he prepared for a fight.