The Apothecary Diaries - Volume 4 - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Fox and the Tanuki Match Wits

In the capital it was said there was a tanuki to the west and a fox to the east. In Li, the military’s headquarters was located to the east, so that “the east” was sometimes used as a way of referring to the army, while “the west” meant the civil bureaucracy.

Since ancient days, people had believed that when wild animals reached a venerable age, they became supernatural spirits. Basen sometimes thought maybe that was what had happened with these two.

The tanuki of the west was Shishou, son of the ruler of Shihoku-shu in the north. The word “son” was somewhat misleading, though; he was in fact a son-in-law. His wife’s parents had adopted him into their clan.

His family situation notwithstanding, he had found favor with the empress regnant, and thus been a weighty presence even as a young man. Though the empress regnant had been in her grave for a long time now, Shishou’s corpulent figure was still prominent in the palace.

As for the fox to the east, that was Lakan, the man called the strategist. Though he himself came from a family of long-standing renown, his power and privilege couldn’t touch Shishou’s. Nonetheless, there was a tacit understanding among the officialdom: Lakan was the one man with whom one, under no circumstances, picked a fight.

Basen’s father had taught him that he shouldn’t let his own bias control him, but sometimes it was impossible to avoid. Faced with the tanuki and the fox, Basen could only stand trembling.

What should we do? he tried to ask his master with his eyes. No, not his master; in fact, he might have felt less nervous if his master had been present. But the masked figure with him wasn’t the august personage whom the rear palace knew as Jinshi. The long robe hid platform shoes that added almost three sun, or ten centimeters, of height, while cotton was stuffed into the shoulders of the robe to make them appear wider. It all concealed the person’s true size and shape rather nicely, transforming them from someone who was altogether too short for the job into a natural body double for Jinshi—or rather, for the Imperial younger brother.

Basen’s companion carried himself with a certain self-importance. Well—there was the hunched back, and the air of reluctance, but it was very much the personality expected of the Imperial younger brother. Anyone would believe it was him.

If the other side had a tanuki and a fox, Basen’s side had a dog—not a mangy cur, either, but something more like a proud hunting dog.

“And what business do you bring?” Basen spoke on behalf of his temporary master. The man wore a mask because he was self-conscious about burns to his face that he had sustained when he was a young boy. He rarely spoke in public, but if he ever did so, that story would be more than enough to explain things if anyone thought his voice sounded odd.

He spent much of his time cooped up in his chambers doing paperwork; it had been nearly a month since he’d appeared at the court council. Even now, he simply sat in his seat, giving no indication that he would speak. But that was fine. That was how it had to be.

He very rarely sent a stand-in to the council. When he did, it was only to submit the paperwork he’d done. The more obtuse the Emperor’s younger brother seemed, the better. It was what the heir himself wanted, and the ruler allowed it. Why, exactly—for what purpose they would prefer and allow it—was not something Basen was in a position to wonder about.

“Oh, heavens, it’s simply that we’re graced with such an unusual presence today; I thought perhaps a spot of tea might be a nice idea. We still have plenty of time until the military council,” said Lakan. To be precise, he had plenty of time until the military council; Basen hadn’t said anything about his master’s schedule. Far be it from Lakan, however, to show consideration for another’s calendar. “I thought perhaps Sir Shishou might wish to join us, since he’s here today.”

Behind Lakan was a subordinate holding a bottle. It looked like imported grape wine, but no doubt there was only fruit juice inside. Basen’s father had mentioned to him that the monocled eccentric was a featherweight drinker.

“Who, me?” the wily old tanuki smiled. Basen didn’t know what Shishou carried around in that portly belly of his—only that one had to be forever on one’s guard, for it might be something harmful to him and his. Normally, he might have weaseled out of the invitation easily enough. Basen thought that even the eccentric military commander couldn’t and wouldn’t simply manhandle a man of higher station than himself. At least, he sincerely hoped not.

The tanuki, however, proved far more accommodating than he had expected. “I’m afraid I don’t have any particularly interesting stories to share over a drink, though,” he said.

That put Basen on the spot. Thinking that the only thing to do was refuse, he opened his mouth—but then he felt a tug on his sleeve. It was the masked body double, stopping him. Did that mean he wanted to hear what the men had to say? Then Basen would have to accept the invitation, even if it was only at the body double’s behest. He took a step backward. “Shall we go to the inner courtyard, then?” He couldn’t imagine what his “master” was thinking, but Basen was a servant, and that meant he would serve.

The central courtyard was rife with signs of autumn. The osmanthus blossoms gave off a powerful aroma. It was sweet, but Basen didn’t like it much. The strategist, however, chose an open-air pavilion right near the flowers, then instructed a minion to prepare silver cups.

The three of them sat around a circular stone table, eyeing each other like the snake who feared the slug who feared the frog who feared the snake. Basen stood behind the masked lord.

“Truth be told, this is best savored out of a delicate glass vessel—more fragrant, and lovelier on the eyes,” Lakan said, pouring some juice from his bottle—a light-green liquid. It did indeed have a cloying fragrance that mingled with the smell of the osmanthus. Basen wondered if he ought to taste the drink for poison, but it seemed the silver cups were intended to avoid the need for that. The strategist arranged the three cups before him, allowing the other two men to pick their drinks first before he drank down the contents of the remaining cup in a single swallow.

This demonstration left the others with no excuse not to drink themselves, so the tanuki and Basen’s temporary master both brought their cups to their lips. The latter pulled his mask down to drink, then tugged on Basen’s sleeve.

“He says it tastes lovely and refreshing,” Basen said. The most secluded princess, one suspected, wouldn’t have been as reticent as the man in the mask. The thought almost made Basen want to smile—but if the man with him were to speak in this situation, his true identity might be discovered.

The strategist had been looking at the masked lord with amusement for some time now. Basen thought he seemed to have some kind of mischief in mind, but he didn’t know what it could be.

The old tanuki swirled his cup, enjoying the aroma, then drank. Just for a second, his expression was one of distaste, but then, the drink really did need a glass vessel to bring out its full aroma.

Seeing that the others had finished their refreshments, Lakan took a piece of paper out of the folds of his robe. The other two leaned in; grinning, Lakan unfolded the paper.

Basen nearly choked when he saw what it was, but he managed to maintain his composure and looked around as calmly as he could. The tanuki, the fox, and the dog each had one attendant; otherwise, there was no one here. Yet even so, how could he display something like that so proudly?

The paper contained a plan for a feifa firearm, drawn in great detail. Not a traditional feifa such as Basen had used in the past, either, but one of the latest models, small and light. Presumably, the plan had been prepared by analyzing the weapon used to attack his real master on the hunt recently.

“I believe this is one of the newest models from the west. Observe! This is the real innovation—no more fuse,” Lakan said, pointing to the weapon’s trigger. The end of the hammer appeared to have not a fuse, but something else. Basen looked at it, somewhat perplexed.

“Maybe it’s not so easy to tell from the picture, but there’s a flint attached here,” Lakan said, the eye behind his monocle squinting. “It obviates the need for a fuse. Fewer misfires, and remarkably simple construction.”

“Most impressive.” Shishou stroked his beard. His expression, though, was inscrutable.

“Yes indeed—if we were to mass-produce these, we could revolutionize the organization of the army. Tighter, more mobile formations—it would be beautiful. Like a Lance that can move horizontally.”

By “Lance,” he seemed to be referring to a Shogi piece. If one could take a piece that could only attack forward and give it lateral movement, what a threat it would be.

“To think, a weapon like this in the hands of rogues who would dare endanger the heir’s life,” Lakan said. He shook his head dramatically, but there was still a smile on his lips. He was enjoying this—even the somewhat oblivious Basen could tell.

“Strange indeed,” said Shishou. “How do you suppose the fiends got their hands on such implements?”

“Excellent question. I thought it was your job to answer it,” Lakan said.

“In principle, yes, but... Well, I’m sorry to say that the person in charge of getting that answer from those who might know it got a little overenthusiastic, and now I’m afraid none of them will be telling us anything.”

It was easy enough to guess what the person had gotten overenthusiastic about. Criminals, let alone would-be assassins of a member of the royal family, had no rights. Still, to get that “overenthusiastic” about torturing people who were supposed to provide valuable information was a major misstep. Were Shishou’s people really that bad at their jobs?

“If only we could at least figure out their point of origin.” Lakan crossed his arms, then produced a paper-wrapped parcel from his sleeve. It appeared to be a slice of mooncake; he took a bite, chewed noisily, and swallowed, some crumbs catching in the stubble that covered his chin. The attendant who stood behind him watched with exasperation. “I wonder if you might not have heard anything.” The sweet smell of the snack added itself to the melange of osmanthus and fruit juice. Lakan’s eyes were sparkling, and he was smiling as if this entire exercise amused him.

“If I’d learned anything of the sort I would have reported it long ago,” Shishou replied, swishing the remaining contents of his cup. He made no move to drink them, but only looked at them.

“Is that so? Such a shame,” Lakan said, and sighed mightily. Then he tucked the blueprints back in his robe and pulled out a different piece of paper instead. “To our real business, then.”

Basen was surprised: the matter of the feifa wasn’t what Lakan had really wanted to talk about? The strategist’s machinations could chill the blood, leaving Basen to wonder what he could possibly have in mind. That was when he unfurled the next piece of paper, revealing a diagram covered in white and black numbered circles.

Before he could stop himself, Basen said, “I— Is that...?” The face of the attendant standing behind Lakan had taken on a distant, detached aspect that somehow reminded Basen of his father Gaoshun. No doubt this man had his own struggles; Basen sympathized deeply with him.

“It’s a diagram of the game of Go my wife and I played yesterday.”

“W-Wife?”

Yes, he’d heard the stories, the rumors that the eccentric Lakan had bought out some prostitute from the pleasure district. They claimed the price he’d paid for her could have bought a small castle, and that the pleasure district had celebrated for ten days and ten nights.

Lakan’s face became that of a man waxing lyrical about his beloved, and it was obvious that the change wasn’t lost on the others. The masked lord’s shoulders were quivering, while the tanuki was clearly trying to think of some way to escape.

“Another game like a clash between two finely honed blades. Oh, I can’t tell you how many times my pulse began to race as we played...” Lakan was saying. Basen still had a lot to learn about relations between men and women, but he knew that the strategist had a skewed idea of what they should be like. He rolled straight on through his panegyric: “I never dreamed she would try a move like this in the mid-game. I escaped by the skin of my teeth, but she came at me again with the next stone.”

Lakan was in his glory now, his face flushed. But he was talking about a game of Go, and as Basen had no interest in board games, the entire thing went straight over his head. Or at any rate, he failed to understand what was so exciting about it.

Just as he was beginning to wonder how long the monologue would go on, the tanuki stood up. “I apologize for interrupting your fine speech, but I have work to attend to. Thank you for the drink.”

“Such a shame. It was a fine game, a fine game indeed. I’ll be sure to have a copy of the diagram sent to you along with a booklet of my commentary.”

“Thank you, but you needn’t trouble yourself.” The idea was more than even the tanuki could bear.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, no trouble at all, Sir Shishou. I’ll even include the diagram from my previous game, and I do hope you’ll have a look at them.”

He was very good at foisting things on people; one had to give him that. Shishou, apparently deciding that it would be easier just to play along, finally nodded.

Lakan laughed. “Ha ha ha. You see, there was no need to argue. Ah, yes, how about I throw this in too? I would love for you to enjoy its lovely red in a glass cup. We do so enjoy talking with each other; it would be wonderful to sit down and have a nice, long chat with you about our wives.”

“Indeed.”

“As I said, I wish you would rethink things.”

Hmm, thought Basen. The masked lord seemed to think the same thing, for his shoulders shifted slightly. Shishou, however, said nothing further, but simply left the pavilion. Basen glanced into the silver cup he’d left behind; there was still a mouthful of juice left in it.

“An unusual color, no? Believe it or not, some grapes in the world are green,” Lakan said. The juice was a light-green color. Certainly not red. “It’s just like my great-uncle said,” Lakan continued, putting the last of the mooncake into his mouth and washing it down with a mouthful of juice. “Now, continuing from move 180,” he said, resuming his commentary.

Of the four people left in the pavilion, three of them wore distant, glassy expressions.

It was a full hour later that Basen and his temporary master returned to the office; though they had hardly moved, they felt immensely tired.

“All right if I fix my hair?”

“Go ahead. Take your time; I’ll stand guard.”

Basen and the masked lord were alone in the room. The questioning voice, the first thing the masked lord had said all day, sounded a little high for a man.

The mask came off, revealing a single braid of lovely hair pressing against a cheek. The face in profile was slim and classically lovely; Basen had been told this person was the same age as his father, Gaoshun, but they looked at least ten years younger. Even without the platform shoes, they would have been a good five shaku and seven sun tall, 170 centimeters or so. Standing up straight, they could easily have passed for a particularly handsome civil official.

Nobody would have believed that until the year before, this person had lived in the rear palace; indeed, had been one of the four favored consorts.

Namely, the former Pure Consort, Ah-Duo.

“The fox is such a freak that the tanuki looks downright normal in comparison,” she said bluntly, then sat at the desk and regarded the papers piled on it. Most of them were the work Basen’s real master dealt with, but mixed in among them were secret missives from the Emperor.

“There aren’t many who can prevail against the strategist.”

“He seems to have a soft spot for his wife, though.”

“...And his daughter.”

Basen thought about that very daughter and sighed deeply. He wanted to be an official like his father, but he didn’t want to be run-down with work like him. It seemed, though, that Basen’s personality already tended that way.

Basen thought the reason his master made himself so involved with the girl was most likely because of her father. The girl herself was of illegitimate birth, but her father had only one other immediate family member, a nephew he’d adopted. If his master could bring the young woman into his circle, it might give him some leverage over the fox-strategist.

Basen doubted it would be so easy, though. The very fact that the girl was the strategist’s daughter made her tricky to handle; and indeed, the reason Ah-Duo had been needed so suddenly this morning to stand in for his master had something to do with her. Namely, the girl called Maomao hadn’t come home. Consort Gyokuyou had reported her missing last night.

“What do you suppose would happen if anyone found out?”

“Don’t even say it.”

Ah-Duo’s tone was teasing, but Basen could only clutch his head in his hands. It made him fear for his hairline—afraid he truly was heading down the same path as his father.