by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney
Once Upon A Fairy Tale
Jeannie Lin • Nadia Lee • Cate Rowan • Sela Carsen • Jennifer Lewis • Ella Drake • Danielle Monsch • Dee Carney • Elise Logan • Jennifer Blackstream • Cate Dean
Copyright © 2015 Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Cate Rowan, Sela Carsen, Jennifer Lewis, Ella Drake, Danielle Monsch, Dee Carney, Elise Logan, Jennifer Blackstream, Cate Dean
EPUB Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Box Set Contents
The Warlord and the Nightingale – Jeannie Lin
A Happily Ever After of Her Own – Nadia Lee
Kiss That Frog – Cate Rowan
Runespell – Sela Carsen
After the Stroke of Midnight – Jennifer Lewis
Braided Silk – Ella Drake
Loving a Fairy Godmother – Danielle Monsch
Love After Midnight – Dee Carney
Firebird Sweet – Elise Logan
What Big Teeth You Have – Jennifer Blackstream
Snow’s Salvation – Cate Dean
The Warlord and the Nightingale
Jeannie Lin
Hanzo the karakuri puppet maker is summoned to Koriya Castle to build a mysterious device for a fearsome warlord. Within the walls, he encounters a beautiful courtesan who must sing from dusk until dawn to chase away her master’s nightmares. Caught in a madman’s domain, will Hanzo find his escape, or sacrifice himself for the sake of love? A classic fairy-tale retold with a steampunk twist in feudal Japan.
Other books in the Gunpowder Chronicles, an Opium War steampunk adventure series:
• Gunpowder Alchemy (#1)
• Clockwork Samurai (#2)
Prologue
‡
It is said the story of “The Warlord and the Nightingale” was once on display in six painted panels that decorated the keep of Koriya Castle. A mad tale of a mad world, with illustrations of fierce samurai and clever mechanical creations. To our sorrow, the castle has been reduced to nothing but rubble and ash.
There were also rumors that the story was passed on to Dutch traders on Dejima Island who, over time, adopted a happier version of the tale.
Lovers of legends insist the karakuri maker in the tale is an ancestor of esteemed inventor Takeda Hideyori. When asked whether there was any truth to the connection, Takeda-san merely stated with the flare of an illusionist, “There is no such thing as truth.”
Yet a clockwork nightingale with copper feathers and jeweled eyes can be seen on the upper shelf in his workshop. Its beak curves upward in a mysterious smile.
Chapter One
‡
The tick of the lantern clock counted out the minutes. The system of weights and gears had been adapted from a Western design, but the exact hour hardly mattered. Hanzo would be working until the sun came up just as he had the night before. It wasn’t any decree that drove him. His own mind goaded him on, refusing to let him sleep while there was a problem to be solved.
Before him stood a steel cage frame and an assortment of metal gears. Not the natural wooden parts that karakuri were traditionally made of. This task required strength. This creation would be more than an amusing parlor trick.
Several months ago, in the heart of winter, Chancellor Sakai had traveled through the snow to reach Hanzo’s humble shack hidden in the mountains. Surprised to have a visitor, Hanzo had invited the official inside and offered what hospitality he could. His workshop had been strewn with tools. Puppet heads with painted smiles had witnessed the curious exchange from the shelves.
“Karakuri no Hanzo has become well-known throughout the province,” the gray-haired official declared, referring to Hanzo by his formal title: Hanzo the Karakuri maker. “The great Lord Mizunaga desires one of Hanzo-dono’s wondrous machines for his court.”
Chancellor Sakai had then laid down enough silver to feed Hanzo for a year.
This had all come as a surprise to Hanzo, who, though a young man, rarely left his workshop. His youth had been spent in apprenticeship, taking devices apart and putting them back together. With his sensei gone, he’d taken over the practice. The mechanical karakuri dolls kept him company and, when patrons came to take them away, he made more.
Flattered to receive such praise, Hanzo had worked through the winter and into spring to finish his most intricate design. Two miniature samurai engaged in a mock duel, directed by the clockwork hidden inside. There were no strings on these puppets.
“A clever toy,” Chancellor Sakai had pronounced when he returned. “Fit for a child.”
But Lord Mizunaga was no child.
Hanzo was far from devastated. Instead, a fire lit in his chest. New challenges meant opportunity for new discoveries.
The chancellor brought Hanzo to Koriya Castle, the seat of the Mizunaga’s domain, and installed him in a workroom in the main keep. It seemed a trivial task for the chancellor to oversee himself, but Hanzo didn’t ponder it for too long. He had work to do.
Hanzo started to design an automaton on a grand scale. One worthy of being presented before the proud daimyo who ruled the province.
“The karakuri should be a warrior,” Sakai insisted. “Fearsome to behold.”
The chancellor had a full suit of samurai armor brought in. It lay on the workbench like a fallen soldier while Sakai lifted a long bow that stood taller than Hanzo.
“What a great tribute this will be to Lord Mizunaga, who is known for his archery skill.” He entrusted the bow ceremoniously into Hanzo’s hands. “Only samurai are allowed weapons, Hanzo-dono. Treat this one with care.”
Once Sakai left, Hanzo lifted the weapon and drew the bowstring back with all his might. The bamboo frame barely yielded beneath the full force of his effort.
The karakuri he needed to build would be no lightweight puppet. It would require a warrior’s strength. In his head, Hanzo envisioned a series of cogs and wheels interlocked. Springs wound tight to store the force required.
Now with the frame built and the gears cut, the thing was heavy. Too heavy to lift itself, let alone wield a weapon. Hanzo stared hatefully at the ugly cage of metal. The thing was hard and lifeless to behold when his aim was always to create something cleverly crafted and whimsical.
To be a karakuri master was to be part engineer, part artist, part illusionist. Right now he was none of those things. He was just a blind fool trying to stumble upon a solution. All the while, he could hear Chancellor Sakai’s snide tone ringing in his ears. “A clever toy. A toy for a child.”
The lantern clock chimed evening hour three.
Hanzo started to attach a spring to an arm joint only to have the metal tear into his palm. A jolt of pain shot through him. Cursing, Hanzo pressed a rag to the wound. It wasn’t a deep cut, but a sudden wave of despair washed over him. It was followed by an unreasonable surge of rage—at himself.
It was all wrong. From the very foundation upward, every bolt and wire was wrong.
Gritting his teeth, Hanzo tore himself away from the monstrosity and pushed himself out into the cool air. He breathed in the night in one long inhale and exhale. If he’d stayed inside a moment longer, he would have dismantled everything and scattered all the parts out of frustration. Then he would have burnt every single one of his sketches and started over.
Instead he walked. It was an aimless, dr
iven sort of pacing meant to rid himself of his doubts. In the mountains, it had been easy. Go outside, climb up into the rocks. Clear his head. Here, he was trapped in the walls of the castle. His mind was trapped as well.
The courtyard ended and another began. And then another. He’d wandered into an unknown part of the fortress while pondering counterweights and spring mechanisms. There were lanterns glowing up ahead, but it was the singing that drew him. A voice, cutting and clear in the middle of the night. He followed it.
The melody rose high, the sound of it so pure it pierced deep into his chest. Hanzo passed through an archway that led into a garden where the trees twisted low to the ground. Pebbled pathways wound through the grass and a raised rock formation lay silent on a bed of sand. The moon cast a murky reflection upon the waters of a koi pond. The song had grown as soft as the evening breeze.
A set of rooms stood at the far end of the garden, and light glowed through translucent panels that formed the outer wall. The outline visible through the mulberry paper was unmistakably feminine. She stood as still as a statue while she sang of a young maiden’s plea to her lost lover. Her kimono flowed around her, the obi outlining a slender waist. The woman appeared uncommonly tall, but it may have been a trick of the light lengthening the shadows.
She must be one of Lord Mizunaga’s oiran, a prized entertainer in the daimyo’s court.
The courtesan wasn’t aware of Hanzo’s presence. For now, she remained a creature of pure sound and shadow that he could mold into anything in his mind. A karakuri maker was a storyteller at heart. The woman could be a moon goddess, a divine spirit of the woods.
Hanzo’s trance was broken by the sound of footsteps. Rough hands grabbed onto his arms and forced him to the ground. The stones of the walkway cut into his knees.
In a daze, he stared up at the guardsmen. Firelight gleamed off of black armor.
“Trespasser,” the guard captain proclaimed. He grabbed a fistful of Hanzo’s topknot and dragged his head back to bare his neck. “State your name.”
He trembled. “Kara—Karakuri no Hanzo—”
“Lord Mizunaga’s honored guest,” another voice interrupted.
Hanzo hazarded a sideways glance and relief flooded him when he saw the chancellor. Sakai’s manner was always courteous, with an understated air that was in contrast to the rest of Mizunaga’s samurai.
The gray-haired official approached with a stately stride. At his approach, the guardsmen loosened their hold on Hanzo and bowed. Hanzo was finally able to draw breath, though he thought it wise to keep his head lowered.
“Lord Chancellor,” the captain greeted. “Entrance to the daimyo’s private courtyard is strictly forbidden.”
The singing stopped. From where he knelt, Hanzo could see the courtesan’s outline turn toward the courtyard. Her hair ornament swung with the movement, a disrupted pendulum measuring time. A sharp command came from within the chamber, and she immediately resumed her song.
“Indeed entrance to this courtyard is forbidden,” Sakai agreed. “But Hanzo-dono is a guest, unaware of our rules. Whose responsibility is it that he unknowingly ventured so far? Does the night patrol not guard the entire perimeter around Lord Mizunaga’s private domain?”
At that, the captain backed away and fell to his knees. “Forgive me, Chancellor.”
“This oversight will be seen to in the morning. Continue with your duties.”
With a wave of his hand, Sakai sent the guardsmen away while Hanzo remained on his knees, unsure of whether he was absolved.
“Hanzo-dono, accept our apologies.” Sakai touched a hand to his shoulder to bid him to rise.
“Lord Chancellor, I’m grateful for your mercy—”
Sakai hushed him, ushering him away from the courtyard. “Quietly, lest Lord Mizunaga’s slumber be disturbed any further. He is most unforgiving in this matter.”
The chancellor took his side even though Sakai was far above him in status. Only when the courtesan’s song faded away did the chancellor speak again.
“You are a guest here, Hanzo-dono. But be careful where you wander.” He glanced back toward the daimyo’s private quarter. An unreadable expression flickered over his face. “Lord Mizunaga is right to fear assassination. Even more so since his brother’s untimely death.”
Chapter Two
‡
A group of children chased Hanzo’s clockwork nightingale around the courtyard outside his workshop. All around, the plum trees burst with blossoms, signaling the height of spring. The mechanical bird hopped from branch to branch, lifting its wings made of copper feathers. After each landing, the bird paused to chirp out a tune before making the short flight to another branch, sending the children into peals of laughter.
Hanzo was so focused on scribbling out a new design that when he raised his head, a stranger had slipped into the courtyard. A young lady holding a silk parasol stood just beyond the trees. From the elaborate leaf pattern and gold threading of her kimono, Hanzo guessed she was one of the ladies of the castle, yet no one attended her as she watched the children play.
Her face remained hidden beneath the shade of the parasol. What he could see of it was moon pale, as if she rarely saw the sun. At first the lady did nothing more than watch, absently twirling the handle of her parasol in a lazy circle. Gradually, she edged closer.
The children were circling the trunk of a plum tree and trying to shake the branches. The nightingale perched above them while blossoms fell from the tree like snow.
“Come down! Come down!” they called up to the mechanical bird.
The nightingale chirped out a taunt before taking off to land on another branch. The lady lowered her parasol to track the flight, and Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat.
For a moment, he forgot about mechanics and joints and wires. Instead, a new weight pressed over his chest. A hint of a smile touched her lips, and it was like a breeze drifting over still water, stirring gently. Setting things in motion.
Yet the children were oblivious to her presence. They swarmed past her to chase the nightingale. To Hanzo’s surprise, the lady pursed her lips and whistled at the mechanical bird, imitating the warbling call of a nightingale.
“Hoo—hokekyo…”
“Hoo—hokekyo…Hoo—hokekyo…”
The nightingale whistled back and the children erupted into more laughter. The older ones attempted to imitate the call themselves while the younger ones continued to run and run. The lady’s face brightened, and he lost all sense of equilibrium. She was beautiful, the most captivating woman he had ever seen.
Hanzo found himself rising to his feet, though for what purpose, he didn’t know. The lady turned to meet his gaze, and for the first time, he saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her startling beauty faded into something more flawed and vulnerable, which only fascinated him more. He’d never seen her before, but perhaps that had something to do with the circles under his own eyes. His waking hours were spent shut away.
It took several moments before Hanzo realized he was staring. He averted his eyes and tried to form a proper greeting, but by the time he turned back, the mysterious lady had disappeared.
*
The arrival of Lord Itô along with his retainers warranted a feast day. Mizunaga’s fields were cleared for a tournament of both mounted and target archery.
“You should come, Hanzo-dono. A good opportunity for you to study a warrior’s technique.”
Sakai seemed in good spirits as he delivered the invitation. The chancellor delivered all of his communications to Hanzo in person. It was an anomaly that Hanzo acknowledged only briefly before shuffling it away. Chancellor Sakai had taken special interest in his endeavor and it wasn’t for him to question.
On the day of the celebration, Hanzo hovered at the edge of the target area, making sketches in his notebook. The postures of the archers, the position of the hand before and after release. Some of these movements would be important for designing the machinery. Others would go toward cr
eating the illusion—an archer should stand in this way, head and shoulders back, and lift his arms just so.
Hanzo didn’t realize he’d ventured close to the warlord himself until he looked up to find the daimyo looming before him. It was the first time Hanzo had seen Lord Mizunaga up close, and the sight of the warlord made the hairs on his neck stand on end.
Mizunaga shifted to reveal a thick black beard matched by a pair of eyebrows that slashed sharply downward. A scar cut across the bridge of his nose. Hanzo cowered instinctively, though it wasn’t he who had drawn the daimyo’s attention. Lord Itô was in conversation with Lord Mizunaga, but not about battles or government.
“Lady Yura is known throughout all of Edo. I heard her sing once! Ah, a voice like a summer breeze through the trees, that one.”
With his gaze fixed onto Lord Itô, Mizunaga handed his bow to a page as he lowered a hand to his belt. While the vassal continued to speak, Mizunaga unsheathed a dagger and approached Itô with a slow, deliberate stride.
And proceeded to slice the man’s ear off.
Hanzo stared as Lord Itô reeled backward with his hand clutched to the wound. Blood poured over his face, flowing so freely that Hanzo’s mind told him it must be paint. Red paint, and this was a drama being performed on stage. But this was no performance.
Itô’s screams split the air, pitching high into delirium. His men reached for their swords at the same time Mizunaga’s men reached for theirs. A mixture of anger and horror was etched upon every face. Chancellor Sakai rushed to the center of the impending battle to call for restraint.
Hanzo remained crouched between the two factions with a charcoal stick clutched in his hand.
Lord Mizunaga turned. For a moment, his black eyes fixed onto Hanzo’s like an eagle who had spotted a mouse. This was a man who’d known battle and death. This was a man who had no interest in anything so frivolous as a mechanical puppet to entertain his guests.