Lord Tōmatsu stared into his tiny cup of saké as he pondered the problem, as though the answer might be floating there. “My wife has a cousin who married a Shimazu, somewhat unwillingly… but I’m not entirely sure I trust my wife. Her clan is proud of their ties to the Tokugawas.” He laughed, bitterly, and spoke with sudden and unexpected candor. “I think she’d be happy to turn my head in to the Shogun, and keep my lands and holdings, ruling in our baby son’s name until he is of age.”
Lord Tōmatsu sighed and made his decision. “Let me try with my classmate from long ago. The more I think on it, the more I believe Satsuma would actually like the plan. And Satsuma would make a powerful ally, both against the Shogun and against the foreigners, if Lord Shimazu is willing.”
Problem solved, for the moment.
Masuyo moved briskly to her next topic.
“Here is what we can make here, using Tōru’s diagrams and books.” She handed them each a lengthy list of manufacturable items. “The big issue is skilled labor. I need weavers, blacksmiths, seamstresses, Babbage calculators—“
“I’m afraid to ask, but what is a ‘Babaji calculator’?” interrupted her father.
Tōru jumped in. “An English mathematician has invented a Difference Engine for calculating anything almost instantly. It is a mechanical device that generates calculations we need for making complex parts and planning inventory in our factories. The calculators input the data and push the levers to generate the calculations. In England, they are often young women trained to manage the levers and maintain the machines carefully with their delicate hands. I thought—that is, we could do the same here.”
Lord Tōmatsu snorted. “One woman engineer is plenty. Now you want armies of female Babaji calculators running around as well? And why do we need this Babaji Difference Engine anyway? Our land has functioned perfectly well for over a thousand years without any Babaji nonsense. Our merchants can calculate anything needed with a soroban abacus—”
“We will need every man, woman and child in both your han domains, and a dozen hans more, working around the clock if we are to meet the challenge in time. Our battle is against time. To win, we must try new things.” Tōru paused to let this sink in. “Women cannot fight or do the heavy work of construction, but we should let them do everything else we can so our men can do what the women cannot. We need the women weaving and sewing day and night to generate goods to trade for the materials we need. And yes, we need an army of Babbage calculators programming the Difference Engines to help us do the calculations so we can work in the most efficient way possible.”
Tōru was standing now, and pacing, another of his odd American habits the others found disconcerting. Even Masuyo looked concerned. She wondered if he would wear tracks into her father’s tatami mats with his incessant pacing. He ran his hands through his short foreign-style hair in agitation.
“And we’ll need to work with people you lords don’t usually speak with or deal with. In fact, wait here.” Tōru ran out of the room, most unceremoniously, after giving an entirely unsuitable command to his superiors. In ordinary circumstances, this would have been unforgivable behavior, but nothing had been normal in Lord Aya’s house since Tōru washed up on his shore.
A few moments later, Tōru ran back in, followed by Jiro the blacksmith from his village.
Jiro threw himself on the floor before the lords and bowed deeply. He was filthy and soot covered, still in his blacksmith’s apron and work pants, wearing a tattered tunic.
“My lords! My apologies for appearing before you so dirty,” he cried out as he knocked his forehead repeatedly on the floor, bowing to the lords.
“My lords, this is Jiro. I’ve asked him to join us. He can make anything and train anyone. I would like to propose him for head of manufacturing for all our metal items.”
Lord Tōmatsu arched a questioning eyebrow at Lord Aya. Lord Aya shrugged and let the young people continue. His daughter jumped into the silence.
Masuyo said, “By my estimates, we need at least ten Jiros working full time to produce the weapons, the dragon ship dirigible, the Difference Engine and the telegraph. Jiro, do you know other blacksmiths we can hire? Other men you trust?”
Jiro hid his surprise at her commanding tone and bowed again before answering. “Yes, my lady, I know the blacksmiths of this area, and who is skilled and who not. You’ll have to pay them well and speak with their lords, for they will not want to leave their villages without blacksmiths. But yes, my lady, I can find you a dozen good men.”
Masuyo turned to her father, Lord Aya. “O-tō-sama, we need barracks for the workers. When can our people have the buildings up and ready?”
Lord Aya was used to his daughter’s commanding tone and too weary to scold her in front of the others. He meekly answered, “I’ve put them to work on it already. Should have completed buildings by month end. We’ve framed up your lab, the weavery and gun factory already.”
“Excellent. Jiro, ask your blacksmiths to join us at the end of the month. In the meantime, you and I will finalize the plans for the equipment and processes so we are ready for them.”
“Yes, my lady.” Jiro was startled to hear Masuyo giving commands, to him or anyone else. He looked uncertainly at Tōru, who nodded that he was free to go.
A few days later, Lord Tōmatsu’s chief retainer Sugieda galloped into the courtyard and shouted for his lord.
He found Lord Tōmatsu huddled with Masuyo, Tōru and Lord Aya as they surveyed the rising walls of Masuyo’s future lab. Masuyo, her face streaked with dust, was wearing a man’s hakama and a ragged hapi jacket. She looked like a young peasant boy wearing a samurai’s cast-off hakama, a young peasant boy who was used to being obeyed, as she fired off orders to the workman. Lord Tōmatsu, no longer marveling at her, listened thoughtfully as she explained the functions the lab would perform once built.
“What news? Success?” Lord Tōmatsu shouted at Sugieda.
The young man, sweaty and dirty from his hard ride to the furthest southwesternmost tip of Japan and back, leapt off his horse and bowed. When his face rose to meet their gaze, he could not hide his excitement.
“He is with us, my lord. Your classmate has convinced his cousin Lord Shimazu to join with us. Satsuma clan has embraced our cause. The daimyō sends a few trusted retainers next week to discuss further plans. He has already distributed requests from our list to a network of trusted merchants, some here and some there, so no one can see the full picture.”
“Will he come?” Lord Aya demanded.
“The new daimyō cannot join us himself. He is not yet secure in his position after forcing his father to retire last year. And the Shogun’s men watch him too carefully. However, he sends you this letter with his advice and counsel. He bids me tell you he supports your plans and will back you with men and resources.” The young samurai handed over the letter to Lord Tōmatsu, stamped with Lord Shimazu’s personal seal.
Sugieda looked past Lord Tōmatsu to Tōru, as disheveled and filthy as Masuyo in peasant’s clothes and construction grime and sweat all over his face as he helped her supervise the workers. “Lord Shimazu asked about your fisherman.”
“How did he know of our fisherman? You did not mention him—I ordered his presence here be kept secret!”
Lord Tōmatsu’s retainer looked abashed. “I did not mean to mention him, sir. My lord Tōmatsu was clear in his orders.”
“Indeed I was!” Lord Tōmatsu said. “Utsuke! You fool!”
“As I explained about the equipment we needed from abroad, and the Babaji thing and the telegraph, Lord Shimazu became curious and asked why we were interested in such gear. He demanded to know how we had learned of the Western technologies. I - I did not know how to explain. I am sorry. He could see I had no idea what a Babaji or a dirijibi was. He called me a liar and a spy and threatened to behead me or send me to the Shogun. Finally, to calm him, I told him the truth about the wretched shipwrecked fisherman.”
Tōru watched Sugieda
, rapt.
Masuyo watched Tōru, puzzled. Of course, revealing his presence was unfortunate, given the Shogun’s policy of executing such travelers, but what she saw on Tōru’s face was not fear of exposure but keen interest or excitement.
“As soon as I told him of the fisherman, and his story of being shipwrecked and rescued by the Americans two years ago, his manner changed. One minute he was threatening to kill me, and then next he had a thousand questions about the fisherman. I tried not to reveal much, but…”
Sugieda looked miserable. He turned to Tōru and bowed his regrets. “He knows your name, your town, your mother’s name because of me. I’m sorry.”
Lord Aya regarded Tōru and shook his head at the bad news. “Let’s hope Lord Shimazu is on our side. Or it’s not just your head, boy, but mine as well for harboring you.”
Sugieda spoke up again, more cheerfully this time. “My lords, perhaps I read him wrong, but he seemed pleased to hear of our fisherman. In fact, he sends all this to Lord Aya.” He tugged out a long slender bundle from under his saddle. He handed over a heavy bag, clinking of coin, and a sealed letter to Lord Aya. He held the long bundle carefully as he watched Lord Aya read the message.
Lord Aya looked up from the letter. “He asks—” He looked incredulously at Tōru as he read, “that I name you a samurai of middle rank. He asks further that I name you as a retainer to myself, and that I use this coin to buy good land for you nearby granting a living of at least 50 koku per year.”
Tōru stared back at his host and captor, Lord Aya, as amazed as Lord Aya and Lord Tōmatsu themselves at the extravagant gifts and extraordinary requests from Lord Shimazu. He knelt before Lord Aya. “If it is your will to take me on as retainer, I will serve you well, my lord.”
“Stand up, boy! This is ridiculous. You know nothing about being a samurai.” He spat. “Fisherman! Lord Shimazu mocks me.” Lord Aya crumbled the message and threw it to the ground.
Sugieda interrupted. “Lord Aya, please forgive me for contradicting you, but I saw Lord Shimazu’s face. I did not hear mockery in his voice. There is more.” He handed the long slender bundle to Tōru. “Lord Shimazu commanded I give these to you.”
Tōru unwrapped the protective leather and cloth around the bundle to reveal a daishō pair of beautifully made samurai swords, the long katana and short shōtō, snug in their sheaths. They were signed by their maker and decorated with the Shimazu crest, a cross within a circle, ornate dragons and sea lions and the inscription “Himasaki Tōru, Wayfarer.”
Lord Aya snatched the swords from Tōru. He examined them, holding the katana up to the sky and tracing the fine sharpness of the blade with a fingertip. “These are fit for a prince! Do you even know how to hold them, boy?”
He handed them back to Tōru.
He drew his own katana. “Let us see what you know.”
Tōru looked uncertainly at Lord Aya, no longer jovial but deadly serious and pointing a katana at his throat. Tōru stepped back, bowed and swept into an attack position, his katana at the ready against Lord Aya’s. He held this position, waiting. Lord Aya bowed and then leapt forward with a great blow.
Tōru parried, not the clumsy slash of an untrained fisherman, but an expert swift small block, effortless but solid as stone, sending Lord Aya’s blade bouncing back to him. Tōru whirled around and laid a mock blow with the flat of his sword on Lord Aya’s arm. Lord Aya glanced down at his arm as though it were in flames. Tōru danced back, holding a guarded but neutral position. “I don’t wish to injure you, Lord Aya. You have been so good to me. May we practice rather with bamboo shinai, to avoid injury?”
Lord Aya said nothing but pressed his attack again with the naked blade.
Tōru deflected and dodged his blow, then spun around and laid a second mock blow on Lord Aya’s shoulder. He danced away.
Lord Aya’s good nature dissolved entirely as he attacked for a third time.
Tōru evaded him again, vanishing like smoke where Lord Aya aimed his blow.
Tōru refused to strike any offensive blows against the man who had saved his life and hidden him from the Shogun. However, he also did not allow a single blow to land on himself. He had the strength and speed of wiry youth and the skill of a master swordsman. Long and silently they danced their katana together and apart, young Tōru against the skilled but middle-aged Lord Aya, old enough to be his father.
Finally the older man tired and sheathed his katana. Panting, he offered a shallow and grudging bow to his young opponent.
Tōru returned the gesture with a deep bow.
“I don’t know how a fisherman learned such swordplay in Iwamatsu, but you have been well taught, boy. But how can I take as retainer one whose name I am not sure I know? Whose parents are so…mysterious? Who stands condemned to death by the Shogun’s law?”
Lord Tōmatsu nodded agreement. “And yet…Aya, he wins powerful patrons effortlessly. He won us over, did he not, barefoot and shabby though he was? And Lord Shimazu’s interest, while unexpected, is welcome. Someone has trained the fisherman masterfully. I will take him into my own household if you do not want him, Aya.”
Tōru felt like a prize warhorse being auctioned off as they argued over his fate.
“No, the request came to me, and so I must decide yes or no. He would be too conspicuous in your household. Your wife’s ties to the Tokugawas…no, too dangerous. Lord Shimazu knows the boy is safer in my small household, off the beaten track. Curious he would ask such a thing as his price for cooperation.”
“Curious indeed,” said Lord Tōmatsu, eyeing the young fisherman.
Lord Aya turned back to Tōru.
“It is illegal for a man who is not a samurai to wear these daishō swords. Obata, my chief retainer, will hold them for you. No point in giving the Shogun a second reason for taking your head. Obata will test your knowledge of the skills and knowledge a samurai must have.” The older, quiet man constantly at Lord Aya’s side nodded curtly at Tōru. Tōru bowed.
“I accept that you will not give me a true name, Himasaki Tōru, whoever you are. I trust your reasons are valid. But do not lie to me or my man about anything else. Not one word. Do not hide a skill. I suspect you read and write. Show Obata how well. He will test you. If he finds you worthy, I will consider Lord Shimazu’s request. In the meantime, I will find you the land, so we do not offend your patron, our new ally Satsuma. Perhaps someday you will explain to me why Lord Shimazu takes such an interest in a fisherman.”
Tōru bowed deeply. “I understand, my lord. I am loyal to you from this day. Thank you.”
The next morning, the two lords and their men gathered in the courtyard.
“Quit skulking around, boy!” Lord Aya barked at Tōru, who had been hovering near the lords preparing to depart. An evening’s rest had not improved Lord Aya’s mood.
“Sir, one more topic we must discuss…”
Aya turned to Tōmatsu and protested. “You see what I must put up with? My daughter wears hakama and runs a research lab and a factory and commands a small army of workers and engineers. Our ally demands that I elevate my prisoner to samurai and buy him land, while that very prisoner informs me of additional topics we must discuss. You require me to ride all over creation helping you sell this whole plan…”
Tōmatsu chuckled. “You’re the one who rescued him. So all this,” he waved at the furious rushing around of everyone in both households as preparations were made and supplies readied, “is your fault, Aya. As much as it pains us both, let’s hear the fisherman out. Although I admit I am quite certain we are going to loathe whatever he is about to propose. He has the guilty look he always gets before he wants to talk us into some new American barbarism.”
“Whose side are you on?” Lord Aya demanded.
“Mine first. Then yours. Then that of the wild fish you hauled from the sea,” he said, pointing at Tōru. “All of us want to keep the Americans off our shores and our heads safe on our shoulders. So out with it, fisherman. What barbaric
American trick are we going to learn today?”
Tōru flushed. He was indeed about to spring on them a new American barbarism.
Furthermore, he knew that of all his recent ideas, this was the one they were going to hate the most. The lords Aya and Tōmatsu were not merely samurai, but proud daimyōs, descendants of great leaders who had fought with honor in battles hundreds of years ago. Even in this peaceful era, where the Shogun’s tight control kept everyone from fighting any actual battles against real enemies, still they considered themselves warriors, officers and swordsmen. They adhered to strict codes of honor and prestige among warriors. They were acutely aware of their own special status as daimyō, and knew down to the man which of their men descended from the right level of samurai to command other samurai and how many. All of which meant they were going to hate his new idea.
“We need more men,” Tōru began. Always start from an unarguable premise when you can.
“Yes, of course. We agreed we would get the other daimyōs to commit men to our alliance. We’re off, in the mud and rain, to go get them for you.” Aya grumbled, pulling his feet out of sticky mud and losing his geta.
“No, I mean many more men. Even if all four daimyōs you are meeting with agree to join us, all of their samurai put together would only be a few thousand. We need more. Tens of thousands, trained and able. In addition to our core army, we need airship captains, train conductors, merchant marines for our trade shipments, and submarine captains, and crews for all of these.” Tōru took a breath. He hadn’t told them the worst part yet. But they were working out the arithmetic on their own.
Lord Tōmatsu exploded. “You cannot have tens of thousands! Among us all, the six of us would have at most 2,500 samurai! Take out the garrisons they each need to protect their own lands and the administrators to run their domains. That leaves only a thousand five hundred or so who can fight. So make your plan with 1,500.”
Toru: Wayfarer Returns (Sakura Steam Series Book 1) Page 6