The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun

by Dirk van den Boom

  Aritomo blinked. Inugami barked an order. The boat was to made ready. All men were expected at their stations before the guests arrived. No risks. Immediate haste commenced.

  Aritomo scared away the thought he had just had. He was foolish. Presumptuous. Nothing that had to occupy his brain. His duties lay elsewhere, and he gratefully accepted that insight, concentrating on making that journey of his beloved boat a great success.

  For Japan.

  For the Emperor.

  For himself.

  * * *

  They gave him the tour. It was tight, it was slightly stuffy, and despite all the words of the old teacher, everyone felt a bit uncomfortable in the immediate vicinity of the Prince. The boat was a little over fifty yards long: the front-end torpedo room, the engine department with the diesel and electric motors, the close quarters of the officers – all the other crewmen slept as best they could at their stations –, the control room under the bridge, that one located on the tower, the middle torpedo room from which the boat could launch torpedoes sideways, and the small fair where heated food and tea could be cooked. After all, the boat was so wide that in some places up to three men could stand side by side.

  The British engineer – Robert Lengsley was his name and he had behaved politely, friendly, even spoke some Japanese, indicating that he had been residing here for some time – stayed with Sarukazaki in the engine room.

  After everything had been shown, Aritomo exhaled in relief. Lieutenant Inugami had performed like a rooster in a chicken coop, lost himself in endless explanations, almost giving the impression that he had constructed this boat on his own, built it with his two hands, and could navigate it all on his own if allowed to do so. That the young Prince had tolerated these eulogies with disciplined calmness, spoke for the young man’s capacity for suffering, an ability that possibly had its roots in the strict education at court. The old teacher had asked some polite questions in the beginning, but then realized that Inugami took every other question just as a reason for a fresh speech, and it was all too obvious that the man wasn’t very comfortable in the confines of the boat.

  Inugami finally ordered, to everyone’s relief, that the boat should proceed on its voyage. The Prince wanted to watch this process outside, from the tower, which was universally accepted, because it meant that he and his companions would not contribute to the tightness aboard the ship. The commander himself insisted on accompanying the young man outside. Amazingly, the old teacher stayed down on in the control room. He seemed to consider the finiteness of the boat to be the lesser evil than having to endure Inugami’s lectures, and was visibly pleased when a cup of tea was served for him.

  Aritomo bowed to the old man. “I hope the boat doesn’t get too cramped for you, esteemed teacher.”

  “My name is Daiki Sawada, Lieutenant. I would be glad if you simply approached me as Mr. Sawada. The never-ending kowtowing is somehow misplaced in such a limited space. You bump easily into each other.”

  Aritomo smiled and bowed again. “Of course, Mr. Sawada. Your student seems to be very docile. He listened attentively to the lectures.”

  The old man’s gaze faded a little, as if searching for the right answer to this claim. His distress was ended by loud orders from above. There was not much to do on the bridge. Only the helmsman relayed the commander’s orders to the engine room. The soft vibration of the diesel engines filled the body of the boat as it drifted away from the quay with majestic composure – or great caution, depending on the point of view – and then slowly started up. It was not an exaggeratedly cool morning, so the wind was certainly been bearable at higher speed, and Inugami evidently linked the departure with a small harbor cruise for the Prince.

  Military music was audible from the quay, and the honorary company shouted with vigor: “Banzai!”

  Aritomo closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the subtle movements of the boat under his feet and the potential, still restrained, a dormant power at their command. It was an uplifting feeling and worth all of the effort.

  The weather played along. The sea was calm. Aritomo looked at the instruments in front of him, the diesel engine tachometer, the compass, the speedometer. He could feel the quiet sound, the perfect position of the boat in the water. Everything went so well together. It was a marvel of technology.

  “All the writing here is in English,” muttered Sawada, as he studied the endless array of controls and levers and buttons that covered the wall, watching the work of the helmsmen.

  “Correct. On all ships of the Japanese Navy the descriptions and signs are in English,” Aritomo told him. “Most of our first ships were built by British shipbuilders, many of the consultants were British, and many of the first instructors as well. We have learned a lot from the Royal Navy, and that has been reflected in the fact that all our new ships continue to adhere to the English language. Every officer has to learn English, though many only learn the basics.”

  Sawada looked inquiringly at the young man. “There are enough of us who still believe it is beneath our dignity to learn a foreign language.”

  Aritomo nodded. “Yes, and many officers have joined this group. But we wouldn’t have a fleet if we hadn’t been able to absorb foreign knowledge. And we would only have enemies abroad if we refused to accept languages other than our own.”

  Sawada smiled. “Contracts are often temporary.”

  “You surely know more about these things than me. I am only a second lieutenant. I am executing the orders of those who know and guide us.”

  “But I suppose, Lieutenant Hara, that you took your English lessons seriously.”

  Aritomo nodded. “I took every one of my lessons seriously, Mr. Sawada. I come from a poor artisan’s family, and the naval career was a unique opportunity for me to do something different. I was the best student in the class and received a scholarship for high school. I was third in my year at the academy. I could have gotten an assignment on one of the big cruisers. But I wanted the submarines.”

  Before the old man could say anything, they heard movement from above, and legs appeared on the ladder. Moments later, Inugami and the Prince had reached the bottom. They were followed by the two bodyguards who hadn’t said a word the whole time.

  “Get ready for diving!” the commander ordered after he himself had closed the bulkhead. “Ready to blow out!”

  There was no rush. Everyone knew what to do. They had an excellent crew.

  Nevertheless, Aritomo felt excitement and tension, and he wasn’t the only one here.

  They went down into the depth.

  The boat was in its element.

  And Second Lieutenant Aritomo Hara was too.

  4

  “We’ve reached a depth of 15 meters,” Inugami explained in a submissive tone to a quietly muttered question by the Prince. It was the first articulated question he had asked himself, instead of nodding to emphasize his teacher’s inquiries. Aritomo paid only marginal attention to the exchange. While the lieutenant was playing the tour guide, he was the first officer to oversee the boat’s journey. It proved difficult to entertain the guests and at the same time run a boat. In their division of labor Inugami had therefore focused entirely on the Prince and left the rest to Aritomo.

  That was quite satisfactory.

  The boat worked very well. The dive had gone smoothly. As soon as the tanks had filled with seawater, the diesel engines had stopped. Completely silent, the body of the boat had slid below the ocean’s surface, then the electric motors had been started.

  “Does the Prince want us to resurface? Not everyone feels at home in the deep,” Aritomo heard the Captain’s question. The young man’s answering voice was hard to understand, but with no order to end the dive, it was likely that he would endure it for a while longer. If Aritomo got it right, glancing out of the corner of his eye, the Prince was anything but sad or frightened. His movements seemed more active since the boat has started i
ts descend, his eyes were bright. The boy was excited about this technology and glad to see it in action. Aritomo began to warm himself for the Prince, because he could understand this childlike fascination quite well.

  Aritomo looked around. All crew members radiated the calm competence of experienced submariners. All of them had served on the old Holland boats. By comparison, their new home would seem like a luxury to them, as spacious as a festival hall, and even with a proper toilet that shot feces out into the water with heavy air pressure. On the Holland boats, there had been no more than a bucket filled and dumped over the side of the ship when back on the surface. That wasn’t something Aritomo really liked to remember.

  “We’re going to periscope depth now,” Inugami announced, giving Aritomo a meaningful look. But he had already taken action and whispered commands to the crew in the control room. It was barely noticeable how the boat reacted, obediently, without deviation, with a sense of elegance and security.

  “Periscope depth, Captain!” Aritomo announced moments later.

  Inugami pulled out the periscope and let the Prince glimpse for a while while he did nothing but look complacent. Everything went according to plan. If this trip was over, the admiralty’s gaze would rest with the utmost benevolence on Lieutenant Inugami.

  “I can’t see much,” the prince said quietly, turning the periscope a little to the left and right. “It’s very foggy.”

  Inugami gave Aritomo a confused look. “Fog, Your Highness?”

  They had left in the late morning, with bright sunshine and a calm sea. When they had looked at the horizon one last time just before diving, there was no sign of fog far and wide.

  “If you allow …?” Inugami asked, and the Prince stepped aside to make room for him. It took less than a minute, then the officer turned his eyes from the eyepiece and left it to Aritomo.

  “We better return,” the Captain explained. “We don’t want to accidentally ram somebody. Few nautical miles away, the fog should have disappeared.”

  Aritomo immediately recognized the meaning of Inugami’s order. In fact, the boat was surprisingly navigating in a dense soup. Where it had come from so unexpectedly and in the face of these weather conditions – that was very puzzling. Something like that had never happened to him before.

  Here in relative proximity to the Japanese coast, there was a lot of busy shipping traffic. In fact, it was better to regain depth and avoid the danger of a collision. Not everyone took the regular operation of the foghorn seriously, and within the boat, one of those sounds could easily be overheard.

  “Thanks for the valuable hint, Your Highness,” Aritomo kindly thanked him as he had retracted the periscope. The Prince hinted a smile. With that he suddenly looked very, very young, like a child he in a way still was, after all. The first officer refrained from further comments. He had no intention of competing with his superior for the imperial favor.

  There was work to do, anyway.

  The boat sank cautiously back into the depths. At about twenty meters they stabilized it, and the electric motors pushed it through the waters. Five knots weren’t a lot of speed but enough to keep the boat steady and slowly clear the area of the strange fog banks that had appeared so unexpectedly. Inugami had ordered to keep this course for half an hour, then reappear and observe. Although not actually dangerous, this change of plan created some tension among the men and gave the Captain the opportunity to demonstrate his leadership skills.

  Aritomo frowned. There might be some tension but apparently not enough to keep the men awake. He watched as one of the helmsmen suddenly yawned and wiped his eyes. It was a bit too much for the first officer, and he gave the man a warning glance. Everyone was well-rested for this trip! But before he could say anything, Aritomo sensed that a sudden weariness overtaking him as well. Involuntarily, he ran his hands through his short-cropped hair and blinked.

  Tea. He might need a strong tea. He yawned involuntarily, his gaze moving almost automatically to the carbon dioxide display. The pointer had not moved. But was the instrument correct?

  He looked around. The same symptoms discernible with all men. Yawning. Blinking. The Prince was just now covering his wide-open mouth with his gloved hand.

  Carbon dioxide poisoning! he thought. Inugami looked at him, the same realization in his eyes. Something had to be wrong with the air supply. The adrenaline animated him.

  “Surface!” he ordered. “Immediately and hatches open!”

  The boat trembled. The ballast tanks pumped the water out. Aritomo felt the bow tilt up, imperceptibly, and stared at the depth gauge. Fifteen meters. His eyes blurred. He wiped his eyes. Ten meters. He had to hold onto the wall against his will as his knees softened. So fast … no CO2 poisoning worked that fast.

  This wasn’t normal. He felt so terribly weak, very dizzy, a little sick maybe …

  He saw how Inugami swayed too. The old Sawada had already slumped to the floor, and the Prince slid down, clinging to the wall for a moment, as if to preserve some imperial dignity, uttering a soft, barely audible cry. Aritomo tried to fix his gaze on the depth gauge again. Five meters. The boat would break the water surface at any moment. If he only lasted long enough – or one of the other men – to open the hatches, at least one at the bridge … The fresh air would …

  Aritomo’s thoughts swirled, and he lost all concentration. Inugami was lying on the ground, didn’t move anymore. The helmsmen sank over their instruments. With superhuman effort, he took a step toward the ladder leading up to the hatch, then clung to the rungs for a moment, forcing his eyes open, trying to ignore the dancing black veils.

  He didn’t succeed.

  He almost felt the boat emerge with gentle sweep, but then he lost all strength and sank unconscious to the ground.

  There was no one on board to open a hatch.

  Aritomo came to lie next to the Prince and was as quiet as everyone else.

  5

  K’an Chitam looked up the temple, wondering if it was worth it. The more than 30-meter-high construction was not finished yet, but that was not necessary. The numerous workers who worked under the supervision of the great architect Chaak had time. Their ruler, the mighty Siyaj Khan K’awiil II, King of Yax Mutal and descendant of Yax Nuun Ayiin, was not only alive but continued to enjoy good health. For Chitam, that was good news on many levels: It meant that his own coronation was still quite far in the future, and it meant that he continued to live, despite his court duties, a relatively carefree life. As the eldest son of the king, he enjoyed a number of privileges, including the fact that no young woman in Mutal could avoid his advances, a circumstance that the now 25-year-old prince used extensively, wife or not. As long as he fulfilled his other duties, he was subject to no further restrictions from his father, who was always busy with other tasks. With that, Chitam enjoyed a special privilege. Usually, adultery was not a matter that his people accepted lightly. But the heir to the throne was not only the next king, he was also a man with a sunny mind, always friendly, generous, witty and lacking the arrogance of many noblemen who consistently thought they were someone better.

  Of course, Chitam was someone better.

  He didn’t think he had to rub it in everyone’s face. And the beautiful daughter of a peasant was also much more inclined to approach his overtures with a certain passion, if he didn’t behave like an asshole but presented himself as a nice, good-looking, charming and powerful man who would be in charge in a few years.

  One just had to put one’s qualities to good use.

  K’an Chitam sighed and looked at the artisans around him, who pounded the stele stones with great care and fervor. Although his father, the king, was a direct descendant of that ruler whom the conquerors of distant Teotihuacán had appointed, he was now anxious to break away from the memory of this military campaign and its consequences, and to establish a truly local dynasty. Although there were still vague references to the origin and legitimac
y of their rule in the stelae commissioned by Siyaj, it was also clear that the campaign had been more than thirty years ago, and no soldier from Teotihuacán had ever returned to Yax Mutal’s soil. It was therefore time to remember what was right in front of them and still very tangible. It was necessary to show the people that Siyaj and his son Chitam were rulers in their own right, chosen by the gods, and thus their mouthpiece and connection to the mortal world.

  Chitam found this request of his revered father highly commendable, as he prepared the needed stability and respect for his son’s rule. But just this morning, after a night of drinking, in which the Prince, together with his friends, had consumed vast amounts of holy chi in a very unholy way, the hammering of the artisans was almost unbearable. But since his father had told him to supervise the progress of the work himself, he had to indulge in his duty. The fact that he had drunk chi with his companions, less to gain spiritual closeness to the gods but simply to have a good time, displeased the priests at court as much as it did his father. To prove too much rebelliousness didn’t pay off today. In addition, this was a good opportunity to escape Lady Tzutz, his wife, who also had little sympathy for his nocturnal activities.

  Chitam knew its limits – though not in terms of alcohol consumption. It was also so damn hard to get really drunk when chi had so little power. He had to pour the stuff in liters. So it was at least helpful that the sometimes sour taste of the beverage became less obvious with increased intoxication – or he simply did perceive it that way.

  The horrible feeling in his mouth this morning, however, could Chitam interpret only as punishment by the gods. The great nausea, which was additionally reinforced by the scorching heat, possibly too.

  It just wasn’t his day.

  He shaded his eyes and looked up at the tall pyramid building. His father would find a very worthy tomb here – and hopefully many years in the future. In Chitam’s opinion, it was no great joy to be king of Yax Mutal. One had to constantly participate in the rituals to ask the gods for rain and harvest, for victory in the war and for general prosperity. Only recently there had been a great ritual that Chitam had at least had to passively attend. His father had been standing on top of the temple, the priests had pierced his foreskin with a needle, and, stunned by drugs and pain, the great Siyaj Khan K’awiil II had called the gods. After that, two POWs with strong restraints, were tied together into balls and thrown down the 25-meter temple stairs. With shattered bones they had reached the bottom, and not one had complained about his suffering.