Iron master, p.4
Iron Master, page 4
On Ieyasu’s advice, Yoritomo had awarded the manufacturing licence for the flying-horses to Kiyomori Min-Orota, whose lands, bordering the Eastern Sea, lay just across the water to the north of Aron-giren. Kiyomori’s father had married one of Yoritomo’s aunts and the Min-Orota were on the list marked fudai.
As the snows deepened, burying the old year, Toshiro had returned with his first dispatch: a flying-horse had landed near Bu-faro, a harbour on Lake Iri on the western border of Lord Yama-Shita’s domain. It carried two riders: a long-dog called Brickman and his escort, a female Mute warrior from the clan M’Call, who were the donors of this long-awaited object.
Without more ado, the craft and its riders had been shipped via the canal and river system to Ro-diren and from there by road to the aptly named Heron Pool, the site chosen for this new enterprise. The workshops had not yet been constructed at the time of Toshiro’s first visit, but he had brought back sketches of the alien craft together with verbal portraits of Brickman, the brown-skinned long-dog, and Clearwater, his blue-eyed Mute escort.
After an initial hesitation, Brickman had proved remarkably co-operative and eager to please. The Mute, on the other hand, had informed Yama-Shita – with all due deference and through the usual intermediaries – that the clan M’Call had delivered the flying-horse on the understanding that she and the long-dog were to be shipped back to her homeland when the wheelboats made their next voyage across the great lakes.
But there had been no such understanding. The eventual fate of those delivering the craft had never been raised by the white-haired leader of the M’Call’s trade council. And Yama-Shita had no intention of renegotiating the agreement with a female Mute. Once they set foot in Ne-Issan, Mutes were slaves; non-persons with no rights whatsoever. But even if this had been the case, by the very nature of the enterprise, Clearwater’s request was bound to fall on deaf ears. It was vital that the Federation should remain unaware of what was afoot for as long as possible. If she and the long-dog were to return to the Plainfolk and subsequently fall into enemy hands, it would be a secret no longer.
As the Mute had no further part to play, she had been placed in the custody of Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba, nephew to the domain-lord of that name. Nakane was the permanent representative of the Shogun to the House of Min-Orota. Military men, appointed by Yoritomo, held similar posts in all subject domains. They occupied imposing residences on private estates maintained by the Shogunate and which also served as a base for a team of provincial administrators, tax inspectors, and a regiment of government soldiers.
At the Heron Pool, the necessary buildings were completed and a team of long-dogs, recruited from mines and quarries, was set to work under the supervision of local craftsmen. The dark-haired, brown-skinned Brickman quickly revealed himself to be an ideal overseer, totally dedicated to the task he had been assigned. He was, moreover, endowed with a formidable intellect and displayed a keen interest in, and appreciation of, every aspect of Iron Master society; its art, culture, custom and tradition, its spiritual ethos. His grasp of these matters was so instinctive, Min-Orota was moved to seek permission to allow him to be taught Japanese.
Ieyasu had passed his written request to the Shogun with an appended note recommending its rejection. For once, Yoritomo and his Chamberlain found themselves in agreement. Despite his willingness to share his skills and knowledge, the long-dog was an alien, a renegade, and was thus without honour. The language of Ne-Issan was a sacred relic from The World Before that had to be zealously protected. Never again was it to be debased by foreign influences and, above all, it must never be allowed to issue from the mouths of the unworthy. Yoritomo, like his Heralds, might speak what the long-dogs called ‘Basic’ but that was merely a means by which they could discuss confidential matters in the presence of others.
Brickman, unaware of the representation made on his behalf, continued to work like a man possessed, and by early March, a much-improved version of the craft he had delivered was ready to take to the air. It was to be launched from high ground, gliding like a sea-bird from its clifftop nest. Preparations had also been made to produce several more but, before they could be completed, a suitable mechanism had to be found to move them through the air. Steam was a possibility, but none of the existing engines was small enough, and the craft could not be fuelled by logs or coal whilst in the air! If steam was the answer, then a special lightweight engine using entirely new principles would have to be created. Undaunted by the problems, Brickman set to work.
Lord Kiyo Min-Orota, impressed by Brickman’s energy and his impeccable demeanour, which was the equal of a samurai’s in every respect, sought some way to reward him for the host of useful devices created by his restless pen. This was a goose driven by some inner compulsion to lay golden eggs. The bird must be kept well-fed and given a comfortable nest until it was time to wring its neck.
Like Mutes, long-dogs had traditionally been accorded slave status, but Min-Orota felt that Brickman was a special case meriting more favourable treatment. And so it was, as if by magic, that Brickman was installed in a small but elegant dwelling-house, staffed by Korean female body-slaves. Lord Min-Orota accepted his effusive thanks without telling him that Koreans, along with Thais and Vietnamese, were one of the ‘unpure’ breeds who inhabited the lower strata of Iron Master society. To a true Son of Ne-Issan – a samurai from a noble family – the provision of such inferior servants would have been a mortal insult; to the long-dog, unaware of such subtleties, it was an undreamt-of luxury.
During an earlier visit, Toshiro had tactfully conveyed to the domain-lord the Shogun’s feeling that Brickman’s unprecedented elevation from slave status was both unnecessary and inappropriate. Lord Min-Orota had been at pains to reassure him that it was purely a temporary arrangement which could bring important material benefits not only to his house but to the Shogun himself. And the long-dog’s eventual fall from grace would provide an amusing diversion.
But there were other aspects of the present situation which were less amusing and it was upon these that Toshiro proceeded to report. The female Mute who had been taken into protective custody by Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba had mysteriously dropped out of circulation. By diligent detective work and with the help of the local network of agents and informers, Toshiro had uncovered an illicit sexual liaison which, although disturbing in itself, had turned out to have far more sinister ramifications.
Toshiro reported on Brickman’s latest work, then made a casual reference to the fate of his Mute escort. ‘I regret to tell you I have received information from an unimpeachable source that the Consul-General of Masa-chusa and Ro-diren has given a new meaning to the phrase “protective custody”.’
The Shogun reacted with a sharp-eyed glance. ‘Are you sure of this?’
‘Absolutely. By all accounts he has been gripped by a grand passion. The, ah… “lady” in question has been set up in some style with her own body-slaves. Picked from the gutter, of course.’
The Shogun’s face showed no sign of the wave of revulsion that swept through him. His eyes remained fixed on the garden. ‘Where?’
‘His estate includes a lake with a small island in the middle. Apparently there is a house on it. The trees which surround it make it difficult to see from the shore. I believe it has been put to similar use before.’
The Shogun nodded. His face remained impassive but Toshiro knew the mental anguish his news had created. Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba was married to one of Yoritomo’s sisters. To visit her bedchamber after coupling with a Mute slave was an affront to her honour – and one which, at the appropriate moment, would have to be avenged.
‘It’s not quite as bad as it seems,’ said Toshiro.
‘You mean… that’s the good news?’
‘Yes, sire. The bad news is… she’s not a Mute.’
The Shogun closed his eyes and breathed deeply. ‘How come you didn’t notice when she arrived?’
‘I had no reason to suspect anything. We had been told the long-dog would have a Mute warrior escort. Who could have figured she was decked out in body-paint? I don’t know what prompted her to remove her disguise, but she’s clear-skinned – just like Brickman. They’re two of a kind.’
‘Both long-dogs…’
Toshiro watched the Shogun as he weighed up the implications. Their eyes met. ‘Why the deception?’
Toshiro chose his words carefully. ‘Perhaps the deal that Lord Yama-Shita claimed to have set up with the Mutes was a…cover for a more direct arrangement with the manufacturers.’
‘The Federation…?’
Toshiro bowed under the Shogun’s piercing gaze. ‘It’s the only explanation that makes sense, sire. On the other hand, you may know something I don’t.’
‘I wish I did.’
‘Lord Yama-Shita is a man who likes to make deals.’
‘And he’s also ambitious. But to suggest he may be in business with the Federation…’ Yoritomo left the sentence hanging in the air.
‘I am aware it’s a serious charge.’
‘The worst kind of treason. Death for him and his immediate family, plus the confiscation of his entire domain. But before I put Ieyasu on the case I’m going to need more than inspired guesswork.’
‘Given time, I think I can get proof. But that doesn’t solve the problem of how to put the collar on him.’
‘Exactly. Is Kiyo Min-Orota involved?’
‘Let me put it this way. I find it hard to believe he doesn’t know who the Consul-General is spending most of his afternoons with. Even if the family weren’t in on the deal with the long-dogs, they must have put two and two together by now.’
The Shogun sighed regretfully. ‘That’s all I need.’ His mouth tightened. ‘How long has my dear brother-in-law been…?’
‘Since early January.’
‘And you’ve only just found out…?’
Toshiro bowed. This was not the moment to make excuses.
‘I just don’t understand,’ mused Yoritomo. ‘My sister and her children were here just a few weeks ago. She never gave the slightest hint that anything like this was going on.’
‘She may not know, sire. The reason it took me so long to get on to this was that certain people have gone to great lengths to keep the whole thing under wraps.’
Yoritomo breathed out sharply through his nose. ‘If he wasn’t part of the family he’d be on the mat tomorrow morning. How could he do this to me? It’s unforgivable.’ He regained his calm and a measure of rueful good humour. ‘On the other hand, I can’t say it’s all that surprising. I’ve known for some time that he has somewhat eccentric tastes in that department.’
A silence descended as Yoritomo considered the moves that were open to him.
‘I suppose we could always put a stop to it by putting something in her rice bowl. Or maybe catch them both together. Make it look like a suicide pact.’
Toshiro answered with a shake of the head. ‘Bad move, sire…’
‘Are you suggesting it can’t be done?’
‘Not at all. Compared to Lord Yama-Shita, the Consul-General is a reasonably soft target. I just don’t think that killing any of the players at this stage of the game would be to our advantage. If the hit was traced back to you…’
‘Ye-ess.’ The corners of the Shogun’s mouth went down as his face darkened. ‘What a mess. We’ve always known that Yama-Shita’s family would be the focal point of any move against the Shogunate. And it was clear that my brother-in-law was the kind of idiot who would eventually self-destruct, but…’ He sighed, then said, ‘The person I feel most let down by is Kiyo. Are you absolutely sure he’s in on this?’
‘I’ll stake my life on it, sire.’
Yoritomo shut his eyes tightly as if trying to ward off this revelation. In a slow, deliberate movement he drew both hands down over his face, wiping it clear of all emotion, then placed them palm down on his splayed knees. ‘So… we may have lost the Min-Orota. And one of my Consul-Generals is in their pocket too.’
‘Not totally. I don’t believe he knows what they’re planning. He may not have been minding the store properly but he’s still on your payroll, and he is family.’
‘Don’t remind me…’
‘Lord Yama-Shita’s prepared to take chances but he’s no fool. Can you honestly see him conspiring with a man who’s prepared to lay everything on the line in order to hump a long-dog?’
‘No, I guess not. So how does it play?’
‘If Yama-Shita is in bed with the Federation then he must have known who was delivering the winged pony.’
‘So it was a set-up.’
‘It has to be. But whichever way you slice it, the Consul-General had a chance to blow the whistle when he found out what was under the body-paint. He didn’t take it. From there on in he was on the hook. What can Lord Min-Orota tell you? I’m sure he and Lord Yama-Shita can produce a string of witnesses to swear they handed over a female Mute. And we can’t check out the Plainfolk clan that Yama-Shita claims to have done a deal with because –’
‘He’s our only contact.’
‘End of story. Toh-Shiba’s the one in the hot-seat. He’s been caught with his stick out and they’re aiming to use it to gain some leverage.’
‘Like persuading him to order his garrison to look the other way if and when the Min-Orota decide to move against me…’
Toshiro shook his head. ‘There’s a long way to go before we reach that bend in the road. They haven’t even begun to consider the military options yet. Even with the help of the Min-Orota, Yama-Shita and his friends are not strong enough to topple the Shogunate with one, swift, bloody stroke.’
‘They might if Toh-Shiba’s family was to change sides.’
‘We must make sure they don’t.’
‘So, in other words, I must let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘I’m sure we can come up with some ploys that’ll give them a few restless nights. But even if the Toh-Shiba went over, it still wouldn’t guarantee Lord Yama-Shita a clean hit. Neither side wants to get bogged down in another long-running civil war. We’ve all got too much to lose. No – what we’ve got on our hands right now is a battle for hearts and minds.’
‘The most difficult kind of battle to win.’
Toshiro bowed. ‘Sire, with you at the helm…’
‘Is that all?’
‘Not quite.’
Yoritomo sighed again. This time, the air of regret had been replaced by a note of weary exasperation. ‘Tread carefully, my friend. You’re beginning to spoil the view.’
Toshiro accepted this philosophically. The risk of incurring the Shogun’s wrath by being the bearer of bad tidings went with the territory. ‘A rumour, sire, nothing more. I just thought you ought to know about it.’
I’m waiting.’
Toshiro steeled himself. Rumour it might be but it was still dynamite. ‘The flying-horse was driven through the air by an engine whose workings could not be fathomed.’
‘I know. Yama-Shita ordered it to be destroyed.’
‘It wasn’t.’
The news raised the Shogun’s painted eyebrows.
‘Nothing’s happened yet, but the word is our friends in the north have decided to ask their tame long-dog to reveal its secrets and help them devise ways to –’
‘To what…?’
‘To recapture the…’Toshiro’s throat dried.
‘… The Dark Light.’ The words conjured up a chill spectre of death and disaster.
The five samurai guarding the Shogun did not understand what he was saying, but they sensed the feeling of dread in his voice and looked at each other uneasily.
Toshiro averted his eyes as Yoritomo willed himself to remain calm. In this situation, the laws of etiquette forbade him to look at the Shogun. He had to kneel with his head bowed until Yoritomo addressed him.
As the present holder of the supreme office and guardian of the sacred principles and traditions that governed the world of the samurai, the Dark Light was the thing Yoritomo feared most. It was the evil force that had led to the destruction of The World Before; the power that must never again be allowed to fall into the hands of men. Its secrets had become hidden knowledge, shunned and feared like the magic spells cast by the wizards and witches of ancient times.
The long-dogs were masters of the Dark Light and also its slaves. It gave strength to their awesome weapons and controlled their thoughts. It was the lifeblood of their underground world; its beating heart. But it was a diseased organ; within it were the seeds of a plague that weakened the body, paralysed the brain and destroyed the soul. In time, the Sons of Ne-Issan would find a way to tear that heart from its earthly body. And once it was stilled, the long-dogs would be trapped like maggots in a buried corpse, forced to feed on each other in the darkness until the last were overcome by suffocation and the stench of decay.
But first, their advance had to be halted with the aid of the Plainfolk. Only then, when a way had been found to overcome their war machines, could they be driven back into their desert lair and sealed off for ever from the rest of mankind.
The Dark Light was both beautiful and terrible. It seduced and corrupted, and made prisoners of all who tried to master it. The fools who now sought to resurrect it would first be driven mad, then be utterly destroyed by the demons that dwelt within it. From the moment the warriors of the Seventh Wave had stormed ashore, those demons had been banished from the lands bordering the Eastern Sea, and those that haunted the minds of the long-dogs had been kept at bay far beyond the Western Hills. But now, moved by blind ambition, a cabal of domain-lords was planning to let them loose again! It was insane! Yoritomo felt himself gripped by a deepening despair. Was history forever bound to repeat itself?
Like all true Sons of Ne-Issan, Yoritomo knew the story well. It was a cautionary tale that had been handed down through the ages; a lesson to which, from early childhood to his accession, his parents, teachers and advisers had constantly returned.
