Chapter 12: Prelude to Ruin

The air above the wide complex of British Embassy rang with the sound of a single rifle shot, scaring off the sparrows that were resting on the roofs. Down on the open yard behind the buildings, space had been cleared to create a large empty area sprinkled with sand. At the end of the area, against the wall, several thick wood blocks had been set against the wall. Each of them had a meter-wide paper with crude hand-drawn picture of a human torso and head. The rough targets were riddled with holes, mostly centered around the head or the center chest area.

One of the paper picture was fresh and unblemished except for a tiny hole centered on the left chest. Straight where a human heart would have been.

Jamieson lowered his rifle, wisp of smoke smelling of distinctive gunpowder still escaping from its end barrel.

A clapping sound from the side made him turn around. Adrian Devonshire put down his hands and nodded towards the target. “You are still as excellent a marksman as ever, Major.”

Jamieson pulled out the trigger lock and inserted a fresh bullet, careful of the hot metal chamber. “Thank you, but you can do this simple target practice just as well, if not better.”

Adrian sauntered closer, “Yes, unmoving target is not much challenge, is it? Back in England, at least we have the hunts to practice on live targets. One can easily get rusty here.”

Jamieson lined up the loaded rifle against the target. “I understand you’ve been practicing on birds.” Another loud bang, the rifle bucking in his hands, his shoulder steady against the familiar recoil of the weapon. A new hole bloomed in the target, the center of the forehead.

“As I said, not much of a challenge.” Adrian’s smile was coolly polite, but as always, it never reached his grey eyes. “A fox or a deer, now… they know the fear of the hunt. A deer’s fleet foot and a fox’s cunning made for a far more interesting chase.”

“Jamie.”

Jamieson looked up to see Isabelle descending the steps leading towards the open courtyard. Adrian cocked his head towards the girl. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave the two of you now. I still have some business to finish.”

Jamieson watched Adrian murmured a greeting to Isabelle, which the girl returned politely. She was wearing a simple floral dress and the hem swished around her ankles as she skipped towards him.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you all morning,” she greeted him cheerfully. “Target practice, Jamie?”

He nodded. “Have to keep on practicing or…”

“…or your skill will dull.” Isabelle finished for him, smiling impishly. “I know, you’ve just been telling me that since I’m old enough to walk. Careful, you’re going to sound like an old man before you even have grey hair.”

“Is that any way to talk to your elder?” Jamieson demanded with mock seriousness. For a moment, Isabelle looked as if she wanted to stuck a tongue out at him. Jamieson had a sudden flash of a dirt-smudged girl-child, dress torn and muddy from a forbidden wild ride with her favourite horse down the estate lands. This young woman in front of him, while she had learnt more reserve, was not that far away from the wild and unrestrained child.

“I do that to my father all the time, and he doesn’t seem to mind. Anyway, I have a favor to ask…“

Six years apart or not, Jamieson could still recognize the look in Isabelle’s eyes. “What are you up to this time?”

Isabelle smiled at him very sweetly. “I haven’t practice for so long, my aim’s rusty. Can I do target practice with you, Jamie?”

“You want to fire my gun?!”

“What’s wrong with that? I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing on my own in our old estate, and I can shoot as well as any man there.”

“All right, you can stop bristling at me now,” Jamieson said ruefully. “I promise we’ll practice together sometime, but not right now, all right?”

The mulish look on Isabelle’s face was decidedly familiar. “Why not?”

“Because your father’s office overlooked this courtyard. And if his sentiment has not changed over these years, he would have my hide for letting you touch a gun.”

“Oh.” Isabelle considered that solemnly. “Very well, I will let you off this time.” Jamieson had to bit his tongue to stop himself from doing something foolish. “But the next time he went on a trip outside, I will come looking for you.”

“Yes, of course,” Jamieson replied hurriedly. He needed a change of subject, fast. “Tell me, how is it that you and Chris ended up coming here? In the last letter I had, I was given to understand the two of you would be staying with your aunt’s family.”

Isabelle gave him a dirty look. “You’re being very obvious, Jamie.”

Jamie gave her his most winsome smile. “Does it work?”

The girl gave an indelicate snort, but the corners of her mouth twitched. Jamieson took that to be a good sign and continued, “I know the report back home had underestimated the state of unrest here, but still… an ambassador usually do not bring his children along with him. And Christopher is still so young.”

“I know.” Isabelle’s smile looked slightly forced. A small silence stretched before she sighed and relented. “Actually, one of the reasons was because I insisted.” She ignored the surprised look Jamieson gave her and continued moodily, “Also, right now Kyoto is probably safer for me and Chris than London.”

“What do you mean?”

Isabelle shrugged. “You know that my father’s relationship with my uncles and aunts are not very good. In fact, it’s atrocious. Most people think that with my mother gone, Chris and I are going to be the only inheritors of the Rutherford family’s wealth.”

“Are you saying that they would actually try to…”

“Get rid of me and Chris? Definitely. And father must have thought so too, or he wouldn’t have bring us here, no matter how much I begged.”

Jamieson did not know what to say to that. He had expected something along the line, but what he had not expected was the depth of understanding the girl in front of him had in the matter. At that moment, Isabelle looked older than her sixteen years. “’belle, it may not be what you think…”

“Oh stop, Jamie.” Isabelle tossed her head back, glaring at Jamieson. “I know you think that I’m still a child to be coddled. Father certainly thinks so, but he’s not the one who had to live with those… vultures back home. The way they looked at Chris and me…” Her face was taut with anger. “He was going to dismiss my words, but I told him that if he leaves without us, the next time he comes back, mother won’t be the only one who’ll be waiting for him in the graveyard.”

“Isabelle!” Jamieson thundered. “That is quite enough.”

The girl half jumped, staring at him. Staring at the unfamiliar bleakness in those blue eyes, Jamieson cursed himself for not seeing. It was high time to remember that he was no longer talking to a ten-year-old chit of a girl.

“I’m sorry,” he said more gently. “But ‘belle… you know your father loved you and Chris more than anything in the world. Your saying that, it must had hurt him badly.“

“…I know.” It was a while before Isabelle looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Don’t… tell him about this, Jamie. I wasn’t thinking.”

“’belle, your mother…”

“I know. It wasn’t his fault.”

The reply was just a tad too quick, too light for Jamieson’s liking. But before he could push, Isabelle had pushed herself up. “Well,” she said with a cheer that sounded slightly forced to Jamieson, “I had better left you to your practice. Unless you would like an impartial judge?”

Jamieson snorted. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not have you standing here giving me a running commentary on how badly I’m doing.”

Isabelle smiled a much more sincere smile, batting her lashes at him. “Would I do that, dear Jamie?”

“Oh yes, you would,” Jamieson’s reply was very dry. “Go on now girl, find someone else to disturb.“

He watched her traipsed back into the house, before sighing and leaning his rifle against the wall. The hot afternoon sun was starting to make him feel thirsty and he set off for the kitchen for some water. A group of female servants were busy bringing out vegetables from woven baskets held by one ole grandmother and two younger women. They must be the regulars who carried and sold groceries to the household.

As he poured himself a cup, he watched the women packing up to leave. However he noticed the old woman struggling with her basket of vegetables. He moved in and lent a hand under the basket.

“Be careful there.”

The old woman cackled, “Ah, thank you young man. Such a good youngster, it’s so hard to find one like you these days.” She grabbed Jamieson’s hand and patted it with familiarity that was prerogatives of the old. “Your parents are so lucky.”

Jamieson smiled slightly, discretely trying to pry his hands off without being offensive. But then he stopped, his gaze turning sharp and piercing.

The old woman was peering up at him, still smiling brightly, but the eyes that met Jamieson’s were as piercingly intense and with none of the previous slightly muddled look. A small curve to the lips, and the innocent smile turned into something else.

The ‘old woman’ patted his hands again and under Jamieson’s eyes she transformed once again into an ordinary old vegetable seller. She called and herded the two younger sellers towards the exit, and they left together, bowing repeatedly at Jamieson.

Jamieson nodded and left the servants with their errant. It was only after he was safely ensconced in his room did he open his palm to gaze at the small message tube slipped expertly during the handshake into his hand.

Vegetable seller, eh?

With a grimace, he extracted the thin paper inside. The message was very short and to the point.

-- Tonight, midnight. Behind Marubeni. –

It was not signed. There was no need.

Marubeni. It was a restaurant four blocks from the British Embassy.

Jamieson sighed. It would seem that he would not be sleeping early tonight.

***

After going into the house, Isabelle went to hunt down Chris for some company, but the boy was sound asleep in his bed. Disappointed, she turned for the kitchen to see if anything was ready yet, but hesitated when she passed by her father’s office door. She could hear faint rustlings of paper from inside.

She had not seen her father for the last three days, except during breakfast and dinner. The hand that was raised to knock on the door hesitated. What if he was busy?

Well, she wouldn’t know until she knocked. So she knocked.

A muffled voice answered from within. “Come in.”

Upon her entrance, Lawrence Rutherford looked from his stack of documents. “Ah, Isabelle. Come in, come in. I haven’t seen you much lately, have I?”

“Well,” Isabelle demurred, “you said it, not I.”

Lawrence laughed softly. “Yes. I’m sorry for being away so much lately. What can I say? There’re a lot of things happening in the embassy these days.”

Isabelle shrugged, trying to appear non-challant. “That’s all right.” She wandered near the wooden cabinets arranged on one wall of the room.

“Still carrying this everywhere?” Isabelle half-chided Lawrence, looking at the rows of porcelain bottles arranged in a neat row inside the wooden cabinet. The palm-sized bottles were rounded at the bottom with a long, thin neck. Tiny pictures depicting animals and sceneries decorated the bodies, and their top was either sealed shut with wax or stuffed with red cloth.

“Well,” Lawrence replied absently, “if I can be said to have a hobby, you can say that collecting Chinese medicines is it. A Chinese friend of mine back in China is a very knowledgeable physician. He gave me most of those medicines. And their bottles of course. Lovely, aren’t they?”

Isabelle’s eyes was attracted by one of the bottles, a delicate thing in blue porcelain with tiny patterns that almost looked like fine cracks, but upon closer examination was a part of the bottle itself. A red bird-like drawing decorated the little bottle, and the top was sealed with a silvery cloth, the only one of its kind. “What’s in this one?”

“Which one?”

“The one with the silver top and red-bird thing.”

“Silver...? No, don’t open it !”

“What?” Isabelle looked up, startled. She had pulled out the cloth and a nut-sized black ball of something was lying on her palm.

“Oh, Isabelle,” Lawrence groaned. “Stay there, don’t move.” Lawrence hurried over to her, snapping on a glove in one hand before carefully handling the piece of medicine back into the bottle. He very deliberately re-sealed the bottle, then turned to Isabelle with a rather worried frown.

“Alright, now you are going to go and wash your hand *very* thoroughly. Use scrubbing stone and throw away all the water you used.”

“What’s in there?” Isabelle asked, puzzled.

“Poison.”

“WHAT?!”

Lawrence smiled at her reassuringly, patting her with his ungloved hand. “Don’t worry. It won’t poison by touch alone. You have to swallow it. But I don’t want you to take in any traces of it by accident.”

Isabelle pointed accusingly at the harmless-looking bottles. “You keep *poisons* too?”

Lawrence pointed at two bottles sealed with wax. “Only a few. Those two are poisons. Strong ones. But this one that you took out... it’s not exactly poison. Except that...well, you’d probably end up like you *were* poisoned.”

“Faaath-eer.. you’re certainly not making me feel any better.” Isabelle glowered at him.

“I’m sorry,” Lawrence sighed, opening the door and steering Isabelle towards the indoor washroom, purpose-built for this part of their embassy. As he helped Isabelle scrubbed her palm pink with a washing stone, he explained, “It was a very strong medicine. Very strong. I didn’t actually want anything that dangerous with me, including the poisons, but that friend of mine insisted that they might come in handy one day. Especially the little black pill in the phoenix bottle. Oh, that red bird was supposed to be a phoenix by the way.”

Isabelle glanced at him. “Phoenix... as in the bird with eternal life?”

Lawrence nodded. “My friend called that medicine a ‘last hope’, the last resort only to be taken on extreme circumstances. Though he strongly advise to exhaust all other options before taking that one. That medicine isn’t really very safe.”

“I thought you said it’s a poison,” Isabelle complained. “No poison is safe.”

Before Lawrence could reply, a knock on the washroom door was followed by Adrian’s soft voice. “Mr. Rutherford, sir? The escort is ready for our departure.”

“Oh yes, I’ll be a minute.”

“You’re going again,” Isabelle said without looking at him.

“Honey,” Lawrence looked down at his daughter helplessly, “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be back early tonight, all right?”

Isabelle shrugged. “Fine. Don’t keep the escort waiting.”

Lawrence harrumphed. “Escort. I’m not complaining, mind you, but I wish for once I can be assigned to some country where I don’t need to be guarded whenever I go out. Made me wish I could go incognito again like I did back in Shanghai.”

Isabelle giggled, eyes widening, “You mean you disguised yourself? You sneaked away from your guards?”

“Well,” Lawrence hedged, “it’s just a few times. Keep in mind that I was younger then. And no, I will not hear anything of the sort from you, young lady.”

“Me?” She gave him her most innocent smile.

Lawrence sighed. “I’m serious, Isabelle. Don’t try to go out unescorted here. Kyoto is dangerous, really dangerous. If I’d known how bad it’s going to be, I’d never have allowed you and Chris to come along with me, no matter what you said.”

“Oh, fine,” Isabelle sighed. “I know, Jamie told me the same thing only about every other day. But honestly father, it’s so boring in here! There’s absolutely nothing to do.”

Lawrence hugged her lightly. “Next Friday our new shipment is going to arrive by the river. I’m going to go there and an extra translator will be very helpful. Bring Chris along then, we might as well make it into a family outing.”

“You promised?” Isabelle beamed at him, making Lawrence smile back. “Yes, I promise.”

Another knock sounded.

“Coming, Adrian.”

“Go on, father, you’re going to be late,” Isabelle pushed him playfully. “See you later.” She pensively watched her father walking away with Adrian, then shook her head once. Determined not to let the loneliness creep into her again, she purposely trotted towards the kitchen.

Outside, as Lawrence boarded the carriage, he tapped Adrian’s soldier. “Remind me to bring Isabelle and Chris next week, when we go to check the new arms shipment.”

Adrian smiled. “Of course, sir.”

***

A faraway clang of the night round marked the time as three hours past midnight. The streets were dead and empty, the silence not disturbed by even the sound of night animals. The thin slice of moon overhead was shrouded in dark clouds more often than not, casting the alleys into deeper shadows than usual.

Jamieson hurried along one such dark alley, a black hooded coat concealing his face and melding him into the night. The coat he wore was a Japanese manto, not Western overcoat, and he wore sandals instead of army boots. Outwardly there was nothing that would give him away as a foreigner, except possibly his unusual height. But there was nothing he could do about that.

He turned a corner and reached a stand of weeping willows by a narrow canal. A sweep revealed the place to be completely deserted. Jamieson settled back and wait.

He did not have to wait very long. Soon ears sharpened from a life-long passion for hunting caught the soft threads of straw sandals on dirt.

“Jamieson-san?”

Jamieson turned, heart thudding from the sudden break of silence. A man stepped out of an alley in front of him. The lantern he held in front of him was barely strong enough to light the patch of ground in front of him. Deliberate, no doubt.

He tensed as the man approached, right hand resting on the butt of his revolver, carried concealed under the coat. He only relaxed when the man was near enough for him to recognize his face. He had seen him in previous meetings.

He asked in Japanese, “Is Katsura-san with you?”

The man shook his head, turning and gesturing towards the alley. Another man walked out, shorter and stouter across the shoulders than him. But he walked with a smooth, fluent grace that immediately marked him as a skilled swordsman in Jamieson’s experienced eyes.

“Major Jamieson?” Jamieson started at the English words, spoken with an accent, but pronounced cleanly enough. The swordsman bowed slightly at him. “I am Sakamoto Ryoma. Pleased to meet you.”

Ah. He had heard of him. And heard of the rumors concerning him.

“Arthur Jamieson. The pleasure is mine, Sakamoto-san. I believe I missed you the last time our ambassador visited Osaka Marine Academy.”

Sakamoto grinned. “Yes, that was before I was demoted, wasn’t it? Never mind, old history.”

Sakamoto Ryoma used to be an instructor in the newly-established, prestigious Marine Academy. Jamieson wondered how openly he should ask the question, then decided to go right out and ask. “Katsu Kaishuu-san spoke very well of you. May I ask what events brought you to the Ishin Shishi’s side?”

“What you really want to ask is - am I standing in both boats at once, isn’t it?” Sakamoto’s eyes glinted with a hint of steel for the first time. “I would think that Mr. Roschenchild had informed you very well where my loyalty lies. He’d certainly been busy supplying my company with arms.”

Jamieson inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the hit. Roschenchild was the Directing Manager of Nagasaki branch office of Thomas Glover Pte Ltd. The company was the source of many valuable information to the British Embassy.

“In any case,” Sakamoto continued, “I believe your own intelligence has already given you material about me. Whatever I said on behalf of myself is suspect, but you can trust your own agents.” He grinned again, his eyes locked unflinching on Jamieson. “And I think, you’ve already decided to trust me for this meeting, or you’d have just turn around and left.”

Jamieson raised his assessment of the man a notch and smiled despite himself. Sakamoto Ryoma was almost refreshingly direct for a Japanese. “Very well. Then let’s talk.”

“Let’s,” Sakamoto agreed. “I’m here on behalf of Katsura Kogoro, and I shall negotiate for him. He told me to ask you when the shipment promised could be delivered.”

Jamieson was ready, but he doubted the Japanese would like the answer. “The original shipment had arrived here a month ago, but it was taken during one of the local raids. I presume you didn’t know anything about it?”

He was right. Sakamoto did not look happy, though it was indicated by little more than a slight tightening of his eyes. “No, I didn’t. I can assure you it’s not us. Do you know who did it?”

“No. We’re even less familiar with the local groups, I was hoping you have some idea.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you right now. We’ll try to find out more about this.”

He wished it was just his feeling, but the last words sounded more like a threat than not.

“Can you tell me what exactly are in the shipment?”

This he could do. “Fifty crates of rifles and ammunition each, five samples of the latest gatling-gun, and...” He winced inwardly, “...as promised before, a sample of the new land-based, breech-loading Armstrong cannon. Believe me when I said that we mourn the loss as much as you do.”

Sakamoto nodded. “We’ll keep an eye open for it. Something like that is bound to be very conspicuous. You will have the replacement shipment?”

“Yes. If the journey goes well, it should arrive next Friday.” Jamieson changed the topic. “Is there any chance I can arrange a meeting with Mr. Katsura? A certain person from my homeland has arrived and would like to meet with him.” If Sakamoto was as high up in the chain as he implied, then he would know of ambassador Rutherford.

“Yes, we know.” Sakamoto paused almost minutely, then a smile covered his lapse. “I can arrange for a meeting... say... next Friday, right after that certain shipment arrive, eh? ”

All right. It was nothing more than he had expected. He supposed if their position were reversed, he would be suspicious too. He could afford to let them play cautious for a while. It would also give his men more time to dig into the shipment raid. They would see if Katsura Kogoro’s hands were as white as he claimed to be. The Japanese were not the only one who believed in the virtue of caution.

“Very well. You will contact me again next week?”

“Yes. We’ll confirm the meeting time with you.” Sakamoto’s eyes gazed past him and he gave a slight nod and spoke in Japanese, “We’re finished here.”

What...? Jamieson whirled abruptly around, just in time to see a shadow detached itself from the dark walls of an alley behind him. A dim silhouette of a slender person barely as tall as his chest, hair tied up in a high ponytail. There was not a single sound as he approached, and the way he moved...

If Sakamoto Ryoma was a skilled swordsman, this one was beyond that. He had seen dancers and fencers who flowed as gracefully, but they did not come close to having that sense of cold lethality that infused the man’s every movement.

A living shadow, quiet as death.

As he came nearer, Jamieson was surprised to discover him to be much younger than he had expected. The bangs of his hair cut short the way young Japanese male not yet passed twenty did, and the face was smooth and unlined except for a stark cross-shaped scar on his left cheek that was at odds with the rest of him. But one gaze into the youth’s sharp, deadly cold eyes wiped any doubts he had over his earlier assessment.

He found himself tensing despite his best efforts as the man moved into what would be attack range. It was ridiculous - if he was one of Sakamoto or Katsura’s men, then he had nothing to fear from him, at least for now. But his reflex came from things deeper than thought, a primal level that had sensed and reacted to danger long before humans could understand or articulate that state of mind.

The youth looked up at him fully right before he passed. Jamieson braced as the full weight of that hard gaze was focused on him. In that brief instant, he had the feeling that he had been analyzed, strengths and weaknesses dissected, and catalogued in the other man’s brain. He found himself gripping the handle of his gun again.

Sakamoto Ryoma nodded at him again before leaving, the youth shadowing his back. Jamieson let his breath go, then started on his journey back. He was not disappointed with the meeting, Rutherford had expected that they would remain wary. He had his own priority for coming - he needed to know if the Ishin Shishi had not simply swiped their goods and pretended innocence.

He was ambivalent about his conclusion. Sakamoto Ryoma had been lying when he said he did not know of the stolen shipment. But why was he lying, and what was he hiding – that was the most important question. If the Ishin Shishi was genuinely innocent from the raid, suspicion on their side could make them conceal some important information. Worse, if the Shishi thought that they had been double-crossed, they might turn on them like rabid dogs.

Jamieson could not shake the suspicion that the young man Sakamoto had called was there as a warning. A subtle gesture – Don’t cross us.

The night felt a bit colder.

***