The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  Lightning struck him in the chest, and he flew a few feet into the air before landing painfully on the other side of the corridor.

  “Koyata-sama!”

  The two policemen hurried to his assistance.

  “I’m all right. Kuso! When is Sakuma-dono going to help us with this barrier?”

  “He said he won’t leave his son’s bed as long as the kid is unconscious,” explained Ishida.

  “Such a tragic accident…” added the other.

  “If it was an accident,” Koyata said under his nose.

  “You don’t think — “

  “I think it looks like somebody’s targeting the Rangaku scholars, and I think that’s why Sakuma-dono doesn’t want to leave his house.”

  The only item found at the scene of the crime was an antique bronze dagger, covered with dried-up blood, discovered on the road a few yards away from the gate of the residence. Koyata recognised the pattern from his days in the forgery trade — he would not have progressed so high up in the hierarchy if he hadn’t a keen eye for such detail. The dagger was at least two hundred years old, of the type used in the Yōkai War. The bronze blades were manufactured with a singular purpose — to vanquish magical creatures, or users of magic.

  He rotated the bronze dagger in his fingers. He could feel the barely noticeable buzz coming from the blade, a confirmation of the latent magical ability he did his best to conceal from his colleagues and superiors. He had always admired real wizards, in secret. Takashima-sama, Sakuma-dono… Those names meant much to him. It worried him greatly that somebody would wish to hunt them down.

  “Well, if you ask me, I won’t be sorry if they all go to hell,” said the taller policeman. “Just look at all this barbarian junk on the floor,” he added, pointing to the books and magical artefacts scattered all over the study. “I bet he just killed himself with one of these contraptions.”

  “There would at least be a body,” Koyata replied, dismissing the idea outright.

  “Exploded, melted, eaten by a demon,” the policeman said with a shrug.

  The doshin looked sharply at his subordinate and clapped his thigh.

  “Hirata, you’re brilliant!”

  “I am?”

  “We’ll just say the wizard did it to himself! That will save us all the work!”

  And keep the superiors off my back, he thought. Already the magistrate officials had contacted him regarding the mysterious attack.

  “We are certain you will find evidence incriminating the Bataavians.” The city bureaucrat’s fat jowls shook as he spoke.

  “I’m not so sure, tono. You know as well as I do that the Bataavians regarded Takashima-sama with great esteem. What possible motive — “

  “I don’t think you understand, doshin. You will find the necessary evidence.”

  “I… I see.”

  An accident — due to mishandling Bataavian technology. You’ll have your evidence, but good luck incriminating anyone with it. What do you say to that, you fat brush-pusher?

  “It’s a good idea,” Ishida agreed. “It’s just as believable as an abduction by rival mages, or a shinobi attack, or any other mad theory spun by the folks back at the precinct.”

  “Are they really talking about a shinobi attack?” the doshin asked, laughing.

  “Old Jūzō does. He sees ninjas and demons everywhere.”

  “He’s been watching too many kabuki plays. The shinobi are extinct. Let’s go back and write this one off; there’s nothing more for us to do here.”

  Koyata grinned. His mood improved. He would still try to solve the mystery of the Takashima Mansion, of course — but now he could do it in his own time, by his own rules.

  He shook off the doziness and yawned discreetly. He retreated behind the frame of a ground floor sliding panel and observed the courtyard outside through a hole in the paper. The hours of waiting paid off — somebody did appear at the Takashima residence.

  An unmarked palanquin stopped at the gates. The night was pitch-black, illuminated only by a single paper lantern carried by one of the priests accompanying the vehicle. A youth wearing a wide-brimmed, face-concealing hat stepped out of the palanquin and limped towards the main hall, supported by the priest with the lantern. This must have been Shūhan’s heir, Satō, Koyata realised. He had heard rumours the wizard’s daughter preferred to wear male clothes — and a sword. In any other city this would have been reason enough to arrest and disgrace her. In Kiyō this was merely an eccentricity.

  Koyata snuck after the heir and two priests. As she climbed the stairs, the girl dispelled all the protective spells with a wave of her hand. She entered her father’s study without a hindrance.

  The residence, like all aristocratic houses built in times of the assassins, was full of hidden corridors and hideouts, and the doshin had all day to discover most of them. With the magic barriers gone he could now reach a small concealed alcove from which he had a good view of the entire study.

  The girl gingerly touched the floor. The air crackled with remnants of a powerful spell. She gasped with pain, touching her shoulder.

  “We did warn you, Takashima-sama,” the priest with the lantern said in a worried voice, “the wound has barely sealed. If you will not rest now, it may never be healed completely.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I have to take care of my legacy. Help me clear these up.”

  The girl and the priests gathered all of wizard’s belongings into a great pile in the library. Koyata watched it in horror. Was she planning to burn it all? So much knowledge, so much research… If she did, the doshin would have to come out of his hiding place and stop the girl, he decided, even if revealing his continued interest in the case brought the wrath of his superiors upon his head.

  The girl reached for a large black book at the bottom of the pile and picked it up tenderly. The cover and the edges of the pages were burned. Several pieces of paper fell out from between the pages, scribbled with composed writing.

  “It’s difficult to carry such a bulky tome,” remarked one of the priests.

  “I know.” The girl sighed and threw the book back onto the pile. “I don’t need it anymore.”

  I need to find out what that book is.

  She lifted one of the floorboards and picked up a roll of golden coins. A fortune in gold! Koyata gulped. He had only ever seen so much money in the treasure houses of the gambling dens he had raided.

  “There is nothing else I want to take,” the girl said. “All these things…” she pointed to the pile of magic contraptions, books and documents, “I can neither carry nor leave to the robbers or magistrate.”

  Right, that’s it. Koyata grasped the handgrip of his truncheon, ready to pounce, but the girl turned to the accompanying priests and said something which made him stop and let out a quiet sigh of relief.

  “Throw it all into the dry well by the cemetery. Bury it deep. My father and I will come and retrieve it once this is all over.”

  She arrived at the servants’ quarters dressed in the simple common uniform of a shrine attendant; a grey cloth monpe, pantaloons that ended at half-knee, and a brown jute tunic. It was itchy and chafing compared to silk, but Satō found it remarkably easy to walk, even run in the narrow trousers.

  It was Lady Kazuko’s idea for her to hide in the servants’ quarters. Even though the shrine was probably the safest place in the city, its walls still could not provide a complete guarantee of safety.

  “This will be the last place anybody would look for a samurai’s daughter, and it will help you to pick up some of the language and behaviour of the lower classes in case you need to disguise yourself.”

  “Why would I need to disguise myself as a serf?”

  “Do you not intend to look for your father?”

  “Of course I do!” the girl blurted out.

  Finding Shūhan was the only thing on her mind right now. No body had been found at the mansion, and she had recognised the faint pattern of a transportation hex still lingerin
g on the floor of the study. The thought of her father being still alive, somewhere, was the only thing keeping her from breaking down.

  “Well then, you can hardly travel as Takashima Satō, as long as there’s an unknown enemy waiting for you outside the shrine’s gates.”

  “I suppose not,” she agreed reluctantly, “but a servant? They are so uncouth and — and smelly!”

  “Just try to see how they live,” said the High Priestess, “they may surprise you yet.”

  The poor commoners were employed by the shrine to assist with the simplest menial tasks — carrying luggage for the guests, chopping firewood, transporting heavy goods. Satō entered the quarters with hesitation, holding her breath, expecting to find it in a state little better than the village of eta, the untouchables. But, though very poor and simple, the rooms were as clean as any and, to her surprise, everyone inside seemed rather cheerful.

  Despite her being dressed like one of them, the servants immediately fell to their knees.

  “I, uh... why are you kneeling? I’m just a commoner like you...”

  One of the girls raised her face, smiling broadly.

  “Tono, if you want to hide among us lowly serv’nts then by all means you can, but you ain’t foolin’ nobody ‘ere just by wearing the garb of a common’r.”

  Satō winced on hearing the peasant’s crude accent.

  “Please stand up, all of you. I need to learn how to be more like one of you, and quickly.”

  The servants stood up slowly. The girl who spoke first approached the wizardess boldly.

  “Please come, tono.”

  She led Satō to sit beside her on the bedding. Satō looked at the quilt reluctantly, expecting bedbugs and fleas to scurry off it the moment she sat down, but it too was clean and freshly washed.

  “First off, you need to grime yerself. Ye’r not tanned ‘nuff, yer skin’s too pure. Any fool can see you come from a good ‘ouse.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “Lessee… Why don’t you rub some walnut juice on yer skin? Not too much or ye’d look like an oni. There ain’t that much sun now, so it needn’t be much. An’ maybe some lamp oil if yer don’t mind t’smell.”

  “What else?” encouraged Satō, wondering how many other fugitive nobles before her had been through the same ordeal. The girl seemed experienced.

  “Yer need to slouch, like this. See how every’un is bent, that’s from carryin’ all them heavy bags and such. Yer walk straight, proud. That’s a samurai walk. Walk low, don’t look at the high-up folk.”

  “I see.”

  “An’ yer looking mighty grim, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so. You should always smile.”

  “How so?”

  “If we don’ smile, a samurai could think we don’ like summat about’em, and that be trouble, so we smile. An’ what’s not to smile about? Our life’s a good’un.”

  “Eeh! You call this a good life?” Satō cried out.

  She looked around at the squalid dormitory full of people whose combined wealth was maybe less than a tenth of a golden coin, if that.

  “Sure, tono, an’ why not? As long as we do our duty well, we ain’t got nuttin’ to care about. T’shrine gives us food and a place to sleep. That’s more than we’d’ave in our home village. We ain’t be needin’ no more than that and we’re all in the same boat, so we don’t fight or bicker with each other. Ye’ll see if yer spend a day ‘ere, this life’s as good as it gets.”

  Satō pondered the girl’s words for a while.

  “What is your name?”

  “They call me Ikō, tono,” the girl answered, still with the same beaming innocent smile.

  “And how did you come to live in the shrine?”

  “I’m a kambe; a payment, like,” she proceeded to explain. “When t’news of great famine came from up north, all villages in Saga ran to the priests like ‘ens to a cock. Ours was a poor place and t’only thing we could promise to t’great shrines were t’first girl babies born after ‘arvest. The famine never came after all, but a deal was a deal. On t’day after the ‘arvest feast, me mom bore three daughters in one birth. When we were five, we each got sent to one of t’great shrines — ‘ere, Karatsu and Kirishima.”

  “Have you ever seen your sisters?” asked Satō. The three shrines were quite a distance apart from each other, even for a wealthy traveller.

  “Only once, we all came back to t’village for our brother’s wedding five years back. But I know them’s all taken care of well, just like me, and that makes me ‘appy.”

  “And your parents?”

  “Me mom’s died a few years ago, but she lived a long and good life, bless her. Me dad perish’d with t’pox when I was but tiny. ‘scuse me, tono, but I mustn’t tarry no more, there’s work to be done, always. Ye’ll be arright ‘ere, neh?”

  The girl stood up, leaving Satō on the jute quilt alone with her thoughts. The wizardess found her gloominess had disappeared. If the girl managed to stay so merry despite the hardships of her life, what right did Satō have to stay depressed? She was healthy, well fed, a roll of golden coins she’d taken from her father’s safe box — a real fortune by any account — tightly wrapped on her stomach. She had friends and allies. Her father was very likely alive, and even if not — such was the lot of a samurai. She would continue his legacy and rebuild the dōjō. Yes, she decided, there would be no more misery. Like Ikō, she would meet her fate with a smile.

  There was some commotion outside and the few servants remaining in the room scrambled to the small window to see what was happening. Satō stepped up and they politely let her closer to the opening. She could see almost the entire main courtyard from here, as the servant quarters were built on a low prominence to the west of the main gate.

  The High Priestess, accompanied by several other priests and attendants, was arguing loudly with a troop of samurai. The warriors carried themselves very pompously, their rich kimonos gaudily festooned with golden dragons and silver leaves, boasting wealth and prestige. A sign of mallow was embroidered on their collars, and their leader, wearing a wide-brimmed lacquered hat, frantically waved a narrow wooden paddle, the symbol of high status.

  “It’s bugyō, the Taikun’s magistrate!” Satō whispered, recognising the markings of high office. The magistrate was the highest ranking official in Kiyō, equal to the provincial daimyos.

  The servants at the window, and Satō with them, gasped audibly as one of the magistrate’s retainers pulled out his sword by an inch. Lady Kazuko halted her protestations for a moment, before renewing them with even more vigour. At last the magistrate gestured his men to calm down, barked a few more words indignantly and turned away.

  The High Priestess watched the officials march away down the stairs then turned her face towards the servants’ quarters. Satō could not see her face clearly at that distance, but she could imagine the look of anxious concern in Lady Kazuko’s eyes.

  Even the Suwa Shrine was no longer a safe place.

  Lady Kazuko had barely managed to confront the magistrate at the gate when Nagomi approached her with news that the Westerner suddenly grew very agitated.

  “He keeps saying, “Kazuko-hime, Kazuko-hime”,” reported the girl.

  The priestess pursed her lips. What other unpleasant surprises would this day bring?

  It took her priests an hour to find Tokojiro in some tavern by the harbour. By the time she finally called for the Westerner, he had managed to calm himself down.

  “It’s about my dragon. I didn’t think there would be any need to mention this,” the boy said apologetically. “We… I was separated from it in the disaster and I had little hope of seeing it ever again. However, I believe it has now been captured — somewhere in this land.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I have a… link, a mental connection with my dragon. I can tell it arrived on a beach somewhere — to the south of here, if I have my bearings right — and was captured by armed men.”

  T
he priestess closed her eyes and prayed for guidance. How could she have missed that? Of course a dragon rider would have a dragon. She was silent for a long while.

  “This is all too much for me, especially considering the other events... I need to consult the Spirits.”

  “What other events?”

  He does not know, the High Priestess reminded herself.

  “Satō’s house was attacked — by a man in a crimson robe,” she said.

  “Crimson robe… you mean — ”

  “With long black hair and eyes like nuggets of gold, apparently.”

  She let the news sink in as she observed the boy.

  “I must leave this place.” He stood up. “I am putting you all in danger.”

  The boy thinks, the priestess thought with satisfaction.

  “Sit down, please,” she said. “The shrine is still the safest place for you to be right now, if not for very long. The others are also under its protection. We can think of something together.”

  “But I need to find my dragon. It can’t be kept in a cage for too long. It may even die if it’s not taken care of properly. Besides, it… it’s my friend.”

  A friend?

  Lady Kazuko glanced at the interpreter. Tokojiro nodded and shrugged.

  “Does your… friend pose any danger to others while in captivity?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” The boy shook his head. “It depends on how long it is kept imprisoned, and in what conditions… If it turns — ”

  There was a word that Tokojiro did not understand and had to have explained by the boy.

  “Goes wild, breaks the link with me, its rider. A feral dragon will burn villages, slaughter livestock - kill people… Even a small one, like mine, can be terribly dangerous.”

  “I have heard enough,” said the High Priestess, her hand raised. “We will help you, I promise,” she told the boy, “we will find a way, we need just a little more time. Have faith. Make sure you stay out of sight — at all times. I predict further trouble coming our way.”