Clockwork Samurai by Jeannie Lin Page A

stand?” Chang-wei asked quietly.
    They were two wolves, quietly circling each other.
    â€œI’m only loyal to the twin gods of gold and silver.”
    â€œBut you’re samurai.” Chang-wei’s gaze dropped to the swords at his side.
    Makoto dragged the edge of his cloak over the weapons. “I was once samurai. That is all you need to know.”
    * * *
    We climbed the stairs up to the empty distillery floor. The room was dark, though light filtered in from the street outside. I could make out the outline of several large vats. Pipes formed a maze between them, and we wove around the machinery as we followed Makoto. The scent of fermented barley filled the air.
    â€œShōchÅ«,” he explained. “Good quality.”
    Despite the darkness, Makoto moved with ease. At the door, he stopped and turned to us.
    â€œThere is a magic lantern play at the Kabuki theater house tonight. Most of the night city will be gathered there. If we encounter anyone, keep your heads down and say nothing. Now stay close.”
    The door opened to cool night air. Sounds of the Nagasaki nightlife filtered through the streets. A startled cry rose, presumably from the theater crowd, and I was hungry to find out more about this magic lantern, but we had no time to explore.
    The underground passage had taken us far from the walls of the Chinese quarter. The buildings rose two or three stories high and were packed closely together. We moved along the empty streets as quietly as we could, using only the light of the moon to guide our way.
    Gradually, the sounds of the city faded behind us. More than an hour passed in silence, with me putting one foot in front of the other and wondering about the man who’d been enlisted as our guide as well as the nature of our mission.
    When we reached the fields, Makoto adjusted a panel over his lantern, narrowing the light down to a single beam. It emitted a thin ray to illuminate the way ahead of us but shielded the rest of the lantern from sight. My wooden sandals sunk into the soft earth as we followed through the fields. Crops grew in rows on either side of us.
    â€œWho is this Sagara Shintarō?” Makoto asked finally, breaking the chain of silence.
    â€œA scientist and an inventor. Our chief engineer met with him many years ago. I wish to speak with him.”
    â€œSeems like a lot of trouble for a conversation.”
    â€œAs you said, Makoto-san, ideas can be powerful.”
    â€œDangerous. I said that ideas were dangerous,” Makoto corrected. “Which is why the flow of foreign books and writings into our domain is strictly regulated.”
    â€œWhat is it you usually smuggle?” I asked.
    Makoto glanced over his shoulder. I couldn’t see his expression clearly in the dark, but he answered readily enough. “Silk. Porcelain. Whatever there is a taste for in Nagasaki. Taxes on foreign shipments make Chinese goods two or three times more expensive. Some merchants prefer to bypass the port authorities.”
    â€œDo you ever transport opium?” I had to know.
    The swordsman stopped so abruptly, I almost collided with his back. I was close enough now to see the cold look on his face. “If I had discovered you were smuggling that filth, I would have left you in the tunnels to rot.”
    He bowed to me as he delivered the threat, the polite gesture making his warning all the more dire. From what I knew of samurai, they did not lie. And certainly not when it came to killing.
    â€œGood,” I replied, my voice grating in my throat. Despite my fear, I held my gaze steady, though I had to tilt my chin upward to meet his eyes. “Then I know we can trust you.”
    â€œWhy is that,
Shina
?” he challenged.
    â€œBecause there are things you won’t do for money.”

Chapter Ten
    We walked for hours through the surrounding fields with only brief stops for rest. Before dawn, we had reached the foot of the hills and