The sharp clapping of hands brought the meeting to order.
The staff of Flash-in-the-Pan Productions (FlashPro) sat up attentively as their general director entered the conference room. Scriptwriter-translator Murasaki Fujiwara and Yôji Urushihara, the director for creative development, escorted Kunihiko Yamato into the room.
Everyone in the room was silent, expectant. The general director was not one to announce a meeting so suddenly unless it involved a project. Even then, the only ones who would be involved were those in the department concerned, not the entire studio. Something was definitely up.
Most of those who worked at FlashPro – if not practically all – were actually covert operatives of the Fujiwara, Urushihara, and Taira clans. It was probably a coincidence that they were also talented, but it was FlashPro’s collective talents that led to their success. Nevertheless, anything that smacked of national emergency was quick to grab their attention.
“I will be going away for a few days”, Kunihiko informed his people without preamble. “There are matters of pressing urgency that need to be addressed in Nikko.”
There was a sharp intake of breath in the room. This was definitely not a corporate problem: they did not have a satellite office in Nikko. The general director’s tone spoke volumes that it was most certainly serious. The staff exchanged glances with each other and silently agreed that it was time to bring the heavy-duty kevlar suits out of storage and to start loading up on heavy ammo.
“Miss Fujiwara will be joining me”, Kunihiko went on. “While I’m out, Miss Yamato, my sister, will be filling in for me. Together with Shinya Urushihara and our associate director, Miss Takegami, Rei will be holding down the fort here. You are to accord her the same respect you show me.”
“Wakarimashita”, came the chorused reply.
Rei, however, had been absent for quite some time. It was common knowledge among them that the ningyô-hime was on red alert in the Palace. Though her brother had assigned her to take his place, they knew that Shinya and Chiho Takegami would be the ones calling the shots.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and preview a few episodes before I wrap things up for today.” Kunihiko rose and left the room. Murasaki motioned to her cousin Yôji to follow her master. He was never to be left alone, not ever at a time like this.
Murasaki rose and switched on a viewscreen that lay beside her on the table. Looking grim, she looked over the crowd gathered before her.
“I trust that we have our usual vow of silence beyond these walls?”, she asked them as she moved forward with a laser pointer. The picture of a person clad in the Saracen-like uniform appeared. “This is what we’re up against”, she told her audience. “A bunch of people dressed in a uniform similar to the Moors the Crusaders encountered back in the Dark Ages.”
“Ninja”, someone in the audience mused aloud.
“Presumably so”, Murasaki agreed. “The one we failed to corner back at Fujiwara Manor was both extremely quick and quite efficient.” She also flashed on a blown-up shot of the medallion. “If you see anyone with this sort of medallion in his or her possession, you are duty-bound to report that person to your respective command centers ASAP.” She switched off the viewscreen. “With all that said, this meeting is adjourned.”
As Murasaki walked back to the office she shared with her master, one of the artist-agents, Kikuko Hisakawa, caught up with her.
“A word with you, Milady Fujiwara?”, she asked, rather timidly. She was a very fresh agent, a diminutive girl just recently graduated from college.
“Of course”, Murasaki nodded. She motioned for Hisakawa to follow her into her office. Once there, she waved the girl to a seat and asked what the problem was.
“It’s that medallion you flashed on the viewscreen, ma’am”, Hisakawa replied. “The lettering on it.”
“What about it?”
“I could be wrong, ma’am, but I grew up in Nikko. There’s a temple there where they use that same medallion as temple currency. You know: the coins you have to buy when you gain admittance to the temple, the sort you use for offerings.”
Murasaki knew a lead when she saw one. Eagerly, she pressed Hisakawa on.
“Um…” Hisakawa pursed her lips worriedly. Then, “I know it’s sort of funny, but the meaning on the coin doesn’t seem to read right. I mean, it’s in kanji and all but it doesn’t read like it’s supposed to.”
“That’s very strange”, Murasaki nodded in agreement. “Buddhist temple coins here in Japan are inscribed with kana syllables, not kanji ideograms.”
“What’s more”, Hisakawa continued, “is that the monks there speak with Yokohama accents.”
“Yokohama?”
“Yes, ma’am. They talk funny: they sound Chinese.”
“Chinese? Are you sure, Hisakawa-kun?”
Shaken by the intensity of Kunihiko’s questioning, Hisakawa nodded in fear and trembling.
“Hai, ôjisama”, she replied in a tremulous little voice. “They keep slipping over the r’s when they talk. I studied linguistics in school, so I’d know. We Japanese have a hard time pronouncing the letter ‘l’; the Chinese stumble over the letter ‘r’. Those monks at Yakushi-do Temple couldn’t possibly be Japanese.”
“This casts a different light on things, Highness”, Yôji noted.
Kunihiko nodded. “But why the Chinese?”, he wondered aloud. “We’ve had pretty good diplomatic relations with China for over a century.”
“I really wouldn’t have a clue, Highness”, Hisakawa shrugged. “But they seemed Chinese to me.”
“I don’t recall your father’s government doing anything to rile the folks in Dragon Country, master”, Murasaki joined in, leafing through a volume of laws and diplomatic activities done by the current emperor and his immediate predecessor. “Neither did your grandfather’s.” A puzzled look came over her face. “And why would the Chinese lob attacks at you when you haven’t really done anything significant as yet? That’s really more than a little suspicious, Kuni-sama.”
Meanwhile, Kunihiko and his ningyô would probably have been interested in something that was happening down in Hong Kong.
Satsuki Yamato-Ang was having tea in the lobby of the Hong Kong Peninsula. Tea at four at the Pen was part of any tai-tai’s schedule in Hong Kong, but this afternoon was a different one for the former Princess Satsuki.
Her eldest son, dressed in his usual ratty shorts and shirt ensemble, joined her. None of her usual teatime companions was present.
Sora looked angry as his mother poured him coffee with his usual cream and two spoonfuls of sugar. The reports from his agents in Tokyo were not good; the two he’d sent had been thwarted in their attempt. One was dead, skewered by a booby trap. The other had been tripped into a ditch and was being held in the dungeon of his uncle’s Palace.
“You needn’t look so glum, Sora”, Satsuki chided the boy as she handed him his coffee. “We could always send one of our assassins back to finish the job.”
“Are you crazy?” Sora stared at his mother in furious consternation. “The last assassin we sent almost got it right.”
“Almost? I thought she fled without a trace!”
“Almost, but not quite.” He took a noisy gulp of his coffee. “The damn broad dropped something.”
It was Satsuki’s turn to stare. “How could she be so careless?”, she demanded. “I thought she put the guards to sleep!”
“The guards, yes. But three of the Fujiwaras showed up; that lent wings to her departure!” He set the cup down on the table with a clatter. “I mean, jeez! Who wants to be caught by a Fujiwara on attack mode?”
“You would”, Satsuki grinned maliciously. “At least by one Fujiwara, anyway.”
Sora grinned back. They both knew whom they were referring to.
But, “Pshaw, Mama! She’s got her sights set on ol’ cousin scrawny.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Whatever did she see in him?”
“Well, don’t worry about it, dear.” Consolingly, Satsuki patted her son’s arm. “It won’t be long now till she’ll start setting her sights on you.”
Hideaki Teno had been a schoolmate of the Crown Prince’s in college, but he never joined the animation field despite having shown so much promise as a student.
Instead, Hide joined his father in the family business: a fairly successful traditional apothecary and holistic healing clinic in their hometown of Nikko. The 32-year-old seemed happy in his chosen profession. At least, it seemed that way. For beneath the slow-drawling exterior, there was a lot more to Hide than met the eye.
He had just opened the shop for the day when they arrived, quietly arranging the shelves the way he usually did. He’d raised an eyebrow when he saw who was coming down the narrow, old-fashioned street. A slender young man, fashionably dressed with blond highlights in his hair. He was accompanied by a stunning beauty clad in an exquisite black bodysuit with dark glasses and her bobbed hair blown into an attractive mess by the late autumn breeze. Behind them, another relatively young couple was quarrelling over a map of the city.
Hide had to smile. He recognized the young man and the couple following close behind almost at once. The girl, however, was a stranger to him though she did seem more than a little familiar.
They entered the Tenos’ shop and the youth bowed politely to Hide. “Hideaki-senpai”, he said. “Konnichiwa.”
“Kon’chiwa”, Hide drawled as he bowed. Before anyone could speak, he grabbed the boy in a bear hug. “Double-boiled snakes’ livers! What are you doing in Nikko, Prince Kuni-chan?” He winked at Mamoru and Maria. “Mamo! And Maria-chan, too! Well, now, missy; have you cornered that there confirmed bachelor or is he still as free as the breeze?”
Maria laughed and fondly embraced Hide as soon as he’d released Kunihiko. “You never change, do you?” She shook her head, laughing. “Nah, I haven’t tied him around an apron string just yet, Hide-chan. We’re much too busy.”
“So I heard.” Hide jerked a thumb at the ravishing miss who held Kunihiko’s arm in a death-lock. “Do I know this missy here or we haven’t met?”
“Hide-senpai!”, Murasaki exclaimed in protest. “Don’t you recognize me? You taught me how to identify different poisons and things, remember?’
Hide’s jaw dropped in shock and he had to adjust his eyeglasses just to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. “Sweet honeyed rose blossoms!”, he gasped in awe. He turned to Mamoru with his eyes ready to pop out of their sockets. “This your baby sister? She sure ain’t no baby no more, that’s for sure!”
“Actually, she’s more like my baby.” Kunihiko winked and hugged Murasaki. Seriously, though, “You know how we can get into Jinjaodo Temple, Hide-senpai?”
“You tried getting through with Sakurazaki-sama’s secretary?”, Hide asked him as he ushered them into a small sitting room at the back of the shop. “If you didn’t, I can’t blame you; they’ve been getting real prickly down at Jinjaodo these days.” He leaned forward secretively. “All sorts of rumors are spreading about the monks of Nikko, but you probably know that by now.”
“Do you suppose the monks at Jinjaodo are involved?” Mamoru asked as Hide poured them all tea.
“The guys at Jinjaodo?” Hide shook his head as he set the pot down on the table. “I should say not. Those monks have been hell-loyal to Emperor Junichi since Sakurazaki-sama took the reins about ten to twelve years ago.” He sat back and looked thoughtful, idly fingering his sparse moustache. “Come to think of it, you shouldn’t worry about the Jinjaodo monks at all. It’s another monastery that people are whispering about these days.”
“Could it be Yakushi-do?”, Murasaki suggested. “One of my covert ops is from Nikko and she says that there are monks at that temple who speak with a pronounced Yokohama accent.”
“They would talk like that”, Hide nodded. “Yokohama’s been home to the Chinese expats for ages. Little Peking they called it some few decades ago. Those born there sort of mangle the language, trading ‘r’ for ‘l’ at times.” He shook his head gravely. “Yokohama’s been like ol’ Shanghai of late, y’know. Triads hang out there: good ol’-fashioned Chinese mafia.”
“That’s funny”, Kunihiko mused. “Why would the Triads don Lawrence of Arabia gear and try to snuff me out? I don’t have a bone to pick with them and vice versa. Besides, that’s not their style.”
“So’s making a grab in broad daylight, Kuni-chan.”
“In that case, maybe we should go talk to that abbot-friend of our fathers”, Kunihiko turned to Murasaki.
The young ningyô shrugged. “Well, that’s probably the best start we can get.”
“Holiness, the Crown Prince requests an audience with you.”
“Well, little brother, what did you do?”
“I told him that you were not to be disturbed.”
“Ah, you acted too brashly, little brother. That was no way to treat the son of an old friend.”
“But Holiness…!”
“Get back out there and call for him. There is much that we must discuss.”
“Holiness, the Crown Prince is at Jinjaodo Temple. Shall we attack?”
“No. But be sure that you post someone there. The master will want a report in full of what may happen there.”
Daigoro Sakurazaki was a kindly monk of advancing middle age with a ready smile and keen eyes. He had joined the Buddhist clergy as soon as he’d finished college and never turned back even as his friends rose tremendously in the world beyond Jinjaodo Temple where he’d chosen to commit his life to the pursuit of Nirvana.
Nevertheless, Kunihiko had been told that the abbot was a formidable man with a rather short temper and a stern sense of morality and loyalty. He and his companions would have to tread carefully around him.
“Kuni-chan”, Daigoro nodded for the Crown Prince and the others to take seats on cushions set around a low table. “I haven’t seen you since your father’s coronation ten years ago.” He nodded at the young man’s appearance. “You’ve the look of your mother’s family – as well as your mother’s spirit.” He smiled at the memory of a very young Naoko. “Your mother was a little spitfire if there ever was one, always spoiling for a fight.”
The abbot’s wise eyes turned to Murasaki and Maria. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, these two lassies here would be ningyô”, he noted. “Maria Taira, of course. I thought you were nursemaiding Princess Haruko’s son in London.”
“His Majesty thought the work of a network surveillance agent suited me better than playing nanny, Holiness”, Maria grinned. “Besides”, she jerked a thumb at Mamoru, “it keeps me closer to the man I love.”
“Ah, Mamoru…” The abbot fired a teasing grin at him. “When’s the wedding?”
“Probably next summer, Holiness”, Mamoru declared proudly.
“That’s good.” He winked mischievously at Murasaki. “I remember this young lady only too well! Only I seem to recall that you used to be a little butterball who used to roll down the Palace corridors after Kuni-chan!”
Murasaki laughed aloud. The image had been all-too familiar, really. Her master looked upon her indulgently; a bit sad that the little girl who used to traipse after him was gone, but was no doubt elated that this strong beautiful woman had taken her place.
The abbot pursed his lips worriedly. “No doubt you are here to investigate if there are possible traitors here in Nikko.” He sighed. “There are no traitors here at Jinjaodo, children. All of those who disagreed with me with regard to our community’s relations with the Palace have all left or have died. The monks here are very young with few fully ordained monks taking care of the novices.”
Kunihiko looked crestfallen; he’d been hoping that the abbot would be able to shed some light on matters.
“However…”, the abbot raised his hand before anyone could say anything. “There have been strange things happening at one of the other temples since the onset of fall.
“There has been an influx of Chinese novices at Yakushi-do temple. That, in itself, is more than a little suspicious. China has been a bastion of the Buddhist faith since restrictions on religion were relaxed about a century ago.” Abbot Sakurazaki raised an eyebrow at his listeners. “Now, how’s this? Why would there be Chinese novices in Japan when there are so many monasteries in China and the Island Territories?” He spread his hands apart in bewilderment. “Unless they wanted instruction in Zen Buddhism – which is practiced in Kamakura and not in Nikko! – it would be downright implausible!”
“Would you know if the Chinese novices at Yakushi-do have anything to do with the Chinese mafia, Holiness?”, Murasaki chimed in.
“Well, yes, I would.” Abbot Sakurazaki rose and walked over to his desk where he picked up a bound volume of records. When he got back, he handed the volume over to Murasaki. “Triad members are like the Yakuza: they have a distinctive manner about them that no amount of immersion in Buddhist training will ever remove. I did not see that manner on those novices.” He turned to Kunihiko. “Not to change the subject, Kuni-chan, but how are relations between your father and your Aunt Satsuki?”
Kunihiko looked taken aback by the question. “Father hasn’t spoken to Aunt Satsuki since Grandfather died, Holiness”, he replied. “They had this quarrel over the succession.”
“We didn’t know that!”, Mamoru exclaimed.
“You didn’t – only because there’s this thin veneer of civility Aunt Satsuki puts on whenever she’s in Japan.” Suddenly, something dawned upon the Crown Prince. He turned to the abbot sharply. “Surely you aren’t hinting that…” He dared not say it; to admit it would be horrible. It would probably tear his family apart.
“Maybe I am”, Abbot Sakurazaki mused, cupping his chin in his hand. “But, maybe I’m not.” He threw a level, unwavering gaze at the stupefied Crown Prince. “I may be a cloistered monk, Kunihiko, but not so cloistered that I know nothing about the world beyond this temple. Satsuki was the apple of your grandfather’s eye and it galled her that she would not be inheriting the throne. It was bad enough that she’d been born female, but it was worse when she saw that she wouldn’t be ruling even if she’d been born male. She was the youngest of four: she would have to pick up fights with both Fujiko and Haruko if she wanted the throne.” The abbot counted the line of succession with his fingers. “In case both you and your father are killed, Satsuki’s eldest boy still wouldn’t inherit the throne. Fujiko is twin to your father and she has a son.”
“Fumi-chan”, Kunihiko agreed in a hushed whisper.
“Yes, and even if he were eliminated, Sora Ang would have to contend with Haruko’s Haruhiko. Young as that boy was when I met him, I took him to be a most ambitious young man. Harry Tremaine would fight tooth and claw to make his presence known.”
“But what has this got to do with the Chinese monks at Yakushi-do?”, Murasaki demanded, growing impatient with the roundabout way things were going. “We were told that they were from Yokohama’s Chinatown.”
“That has got to be the biggest fib of all, Murasaki-chan”, the abbot corrected her. “Those men aren’t from Yokohama – they’re from Hong Kong.”
“What?” Everyone stared, stunned by the bombshell the abbot had dropped. Unfortunately, that wasn’t all they had to deal with.
“Holiness!” The shoji slammed open and two novices helped a somewhat tattered, bloodied, and wild-eyed Mitsuru in. Masami lumbered in close behind.
“What is the meaning of this?”, the abbot demanded jumping to his feet.
Kunihiko half rose from the floor, all the color draining out of his already pallid face. Something had happened; it was like a cold hand had suddenly grabbed his heart.
“What?” Mamoru and Murasaki quickly helped the obviously injured Mitsuru onto a cushion. Maria grabbed a fan off the abbot’s desk and whisked it open to fan the shaking boy.
“I’m sorry about this sudden intrusion, Holiness”, Masami rumbled apologetically, but his eyes were haunted and spoke of a harrowing ordeal. “But the Empress Dowager has asked us to come and bring His Majesty and Lady Murasaki back to Tokyo at once.”
Murasaki was startled by the sudden change of address and realized what had happened. She fell to her knees, crushed by the realization. However, she would have to save her mourning for later. Almost at once, she swept forward to her master’s side, placing her hands gently on his trembling shoulders as Mitsuru spoke in tremulous tones:
“We did everything that we could, your Majesty, but it all happened so fast.”
“We’re very sorry, your Majesty”, Masami fell on his knees and bowed low before Kunihiko whose face plainly bore signs of deepest foreboding. “We did everything that we could.” He took a deep breath before dropping the bomb. “But your father has been murdered.”
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