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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (22/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
Barbara didn’t consider herself a night owl. She preferred to start the day early rather than dragging it out in the evening. The new exhibit was really taxing that philosophy. She needed to stay late if they wanted to open to the public on time, but she also didn’t feel like sleeping in just to catch up on lost sleep. At this point, she was running on anxiety and adrenaline. She was even considering having a cup of coffee instead of her customary tea in the morning just to get through the day.
Nodding to her co-workers as they passed by, she made her way to her office. Barbara didn’t even have an opportunity to take off her coat when there was a knock at the door. Whoever was on the other side didn’t wait for her response and breezed right in.
“Graphics finished with this. They need you to review it.” A video tape was thrown onto Barbara’s desk, scattering a pile of paper.
Barbara suppressed a sigh. It was too early in the morning for this. “Thank you, Donna.”
“It looks like a tornado blew through here.” The temp quickly restacked the papers. “I was hired to help you out. That does include filing.”
While Barbara was grateful for the help, and Donna had been more than helpful this past week, she didn’t need the woman underfoot. She also had no idea where to begin if there was filing to do. Organized chaos had quickly become just chaos. “If you’re still here after the exhibit opens, I will gladly set you loose on this mess.”
Donna seemed pleased with this compromise and quickly left Barbara to her work. Barbara slipped off her coat and sat down, enjoying a moment of peace. The label on the video tape identified it as the narrative for the Lone Centurion. She made a mental note to review it at some point today.
She started to get out of her chair to hang up her coat when her phone rang. She thought about ignoring it and getting something hot to drink from the staff room, but then she realized it might be one of her staff calling. Hoping it wasn’t an emergency, Barbara picked up the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Barbara.” Dorothy didn’t sound panicked but she seemed relieved to hear Barbara’s voice. “We have a problem.”
It wasn’t a word she liked to hear so early in the day. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve already called security but there’s some woman here in the main exhibit hall and she refuses to leave.”
Barbara relaxed, just slightly. It had nothing to do with the exhibit. She had thought the worse and pictured stolen or destroyed artefacts. “All right, I’m coming right now.”
Forgoing her cup of tea, she hurried out of the administrative wing. The museum was still empty this early in the morning and the sound of her footsteps echoed in the large space. She encountered one security guard on the way, but it wasn’t her security guard. It was strange to think of him as “hers”; it wasn’t as if they were friends, but she felt slightly possessive of him. It was irrational. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking.
Barbara entered the main hall before the other security guard and he mumbled his surprise as he was cut off. If they had to forcibly remove this woman from the premise that was all right, but Barbara wanted to avoid that. After all, who wouldn’t want a peek at the Pandorica before all the crowds came?
The woman in question stood in front of the stone box, looking up at it, oblivious to the heated glare Dorothy was shooting at her. Dorothy only broke her gaze when she saw Barbara.
“Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
Barbara had heard of people protesting outside of museums, arguing that certain artefacts and relics shouldn’t be on display, but this woman was quiet and she didn’t carry any placards damning the exhibit. She thought maybe the woman was lost and gotten confused, but then why was she refusing to leave? With no obvious answers in sight, she approached the woman.
“Hello? Can I help you with something?”
The woman shifted her attention from the Pandorica to Barbara. There was no malice in the woman’s expression, disproving the theory that she was there to protest. Instead, her face lit up with a smile. “You’re Barbara Wright, aren’t you?” The woman held out her hand. “Sarah Jane Smith. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Barbara looked down at the woman’s outstretched hand then back up at her. She shook Sarah Jane Smith’s hand, unsure of what else to do. “You have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Ms. Smith.” From the corner of her eye, she saw the security guard edge forward.
“I’m sorry to cause so much trouble, but a good reporter knows when to seize upon a story, even if it breaks a few rules.”
“You’re a reporter?” Barbara tried not to sound alarmed. The museum didn’t need any bad publicity with a new exhibit set to open.
“I’m a journalist, with Planet 3 Broadcasting. I was hoping to write a piece on the Pandorica.” Sarah Jane reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. She handed it to Barbara.
It would have been easy to fake credentials, but if Sarah Jane was here to mount a protest, she would have done something more drastic by now than handing out a business card. Barbara fingered the raised letters on the thick, white card. “Planet 3,” she mused, trying to remember if she had seen any of their programmes in passing.
“They have a wicked programme about Star Cults,” chimed in Dorothy.
“Among other things,” added Sarah Jane, not missing a beat. “I admit, our programming isn’t the standard fare you see on BBC One, but we enjoy uncovering mysteries and the Pandorica is the biggest mystery out there.”
“How so?” Barbara knew full well about all the mysteries surrounding the Pandorica, but she wanted to hear what Sarah Jane Smith had to say.
“Well, how about this?” She pointed to the timeline poster. “There’s a considerable gap. From the time it arrived in China with Marco Polo to the time it appeared in North America, there aren’t many accurate accounts. How could something as distinct as the Pandorica and the Lone Centurion simply vanish from recorded history?”
She was good. “Not every moment in history is written down, Ms. Smith.”
* * *
Kagoshima, 1368 A.D.
Rory slammed back into the Pandorica, hard enough that his helmet was knocked down over his eyes. He shifted his helmet up and just in time to see the tip of the katana headed straight for his head. A somewhat unmanly yelp escaped his lips but it was too late to do anything else.
At the last second, the trajectory of the sword changed and the tip of the blade struck the Pandorica just a hair’s breadth from Rory’s left cheek. If he had a beard, he was sure a few of the whiskers would have been sheared off. He didn’t dare move. It was no accident that the sword missed. His attacker had something else up his sleeve.
His attacker, who was an honest to goodness samurai. Rory didn’t know if he should fear for his life or laugh with boyish glee.
Through the entire fight, the samurai never once looked away from Rory, but now his gaze shifted upwards, taking in the enormity of the Pandorica. His neutral expression softened slightly and recognition flashed across his features. He recognized the Pandorica. Slowly, he lifted his katana aside. The tip of the blade scraped across the stone surface of the box and when it cleared it completely, it rang out like a tuning fork.
In one swift motion, the samurai slid his katana back into the scabbard.
Rory let out a relieved breath. He had survived stab wounds to the torso, but he wasn’t so sure about stab wounds to the head. He straightened up, but thought twice about retrieving his dropped sword. It was up to debate whether the fight was completely over or not. “Hello,” he said instead. He had learned a number of the Asian languages while living in Beijing. His Japanese was good enough, but his Chinese was better.
The samurai crossed his arms over his massive chest. Rory assumed he was a samurai. He had the katana and the topknot hair and he certainly had a warrior’s stature but he wasn’t wearing any armour, just the usual kimono, hakama, and sandals. The man had to be a samurai, though. With the way he moved, so quick and powerful, and his ability to adjust the path of his sword in a split second, he couldn’t have been a thief.
Also, the average man probably wouldn’t have attacked Rory on sight.
“Are you a thief?” asked the samurai, echoing Rory’s thoughts.
“Why would I be a thief?”
“That is not your property. I have heard enough stories to know that the Stone Puzzle Box belonged to Kublai Khan.”
Rory was suddenly grateful that Kublai Khan used to brag about the Pandorica. The mystery surrounding it probably just saved his life. “If you know about the Pandorica, then you know about its protector. I am him.”
The samurai cocked his head to one side as he regarded Rory. It was getting dark, but there was still plenty of light by which to see. “I admit that your dress is strange, but how do I know that you are not lying?”
Moving slowly, as not to alarm the samurai, Rory reached into one of his wrist guards and pulled out a thin bar of gold. He held it out to the samurai. The characters engraved on the gold bar were in Chinese, but enough of the characters were the same in Japanese that the samurai would understand.
The samurai’s eyes flicked over the short inscription and then he looked back up at Rory. He blinked once and then dropped down onto one knee, bowing his head. “My lord.”
Well, it was better than the kowtowing Rory had to endure for nearly a century. He slid the gold bar back into his wrist guard. It was useless now that the Mongol empire had crumbled, but it still proclaimed him as the “Grand Heavenly Warrior of the Great Stone Puzzle Box”, and it was gold, too, so he could at least trade it if he needed the funds.
“Please, you do not have to do that. I was merely passing through and did not mean to disturb you.” He had been using the older road, figuring there would be less traffic. He hadn’t anticipated running into a random samurai.
The samurai lifted his head, but he didn’t rise to his feet. “Do you require assistance? Thieves are known to plague this road.” His doubt was completely gone now, replaced by a healthy amount of respect.
Rory could defend himself just fine, but it never hurt to have an extra body. Maybe the sight of a genuine samurai would deter any would-be thieves. “I would be glad for the company.” He reached down and picked up his sword, which the samurai had knocked out of his hand at the beginning of the fight. “Your name?”
The simple question caused the samurai to hesitate. He covered by getting to his feet. “You may call me Yamada Torō,” he finally said.
The pause and the wording of the reply made it obvious that Yamada Torō was not the samurai’s true name. He was either still wary of Rory and didn’t want to give away anything about himself or the man was hiding something or was hiding from someone. Giving a false identity was nothing new for Rory and he could respect the samurai’s wish for privacy. Still, he stayed on his guard as he picked up the rope tied around the Pandorica and started dragging the box down the road.
“Your master does not require your services at the moment?” asked Rory. He had seen enough samurai movies to know that the warriors answered to a master and he didn’t want Yamada to get in trouble for being absent.
“No,” and that was all Yamada offered.
Rory took that as a hint to move on to another topic. “I need passage out of Japan. Do you know of any ships that could accommodate the Pandorica?”
Yamada frowned at Rory’s use of “Pandorica”. There was no phonetic translation for the word, hence the “Stone Puzzle Box” epithet. “There are several ships in port of the right size.” He didn’t elaborate, as if the scant information spoke for itself.
“You do not say much, do you?” said Rory, trying not to smile.
There were many port cities in Japan. Nothing about Kagoshima made it better than the other cities Rory had passed through, but if he went any further south, he’d end up in the ocean so it was really his last option. With the Mongolian empire crumbling now that the last Khan had fled Beijing, escaping to Japan had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was close by, and Japan and the empire hadn’t been trading with each other for years, so it also meant that no one from the new dynasty would be looking for him and the Pandorica.
It was only now that Rory was realizing that he should have stayed in China. Dragging the Pandorica back to England would take a long time, but then he wouldn’t have had to worry about finding a ship and sailing back. He had forgotten how much he hated travelling by boat.
With the Pandorica hidden a safe distance from the port, Rory wandered the docks with Yamada. The area was still lively despite the fall of night and sailors and captains called to each other, in high spirits. Some glanced at Rory as he passed, but most noticed Yamada and they stopped talking when they saw the samurai.
“A fishing vessel?” Yamada indicated to a sturdy looking craft whose name translated into the Golden Dawn. The hold looked big enough to accommodate the Pandorica.
Rory thought about it. It looked good for a short trip, but he wasn’t going on a short trip. Potentially, any ship he chose would have to take him back all the way to England. That was far, maybe too far for the majority of the crafts before him. He didn’t want the ship breaking apart if they encountered a bad storm.
“No, I need something…” He paused and tried a different approach. “I want to go west, to Europe. Have you heard of a country called Great Britain?” The look of indifference on Yamada’s face told Rory all he needed to know. “If I choose a ship, the captain has to know that it will be a lengthy journey. He would not return to Japan for some time.”
Yamada thought this over for a moment. “I might have a captain for you.”
The house was modest, neither big nor small or overly decorated. It had the rice paper walls that Rory was used to and the lights on inside told him that someone was home. Yamada called out as they approached; no doorbells here. There was movement inside and then the front door slid aside.
An older man, probably approaching his fifties, stood framed in the doorway. He had a neat beard that was streaked with grey, as was his black hair. Unlike Yamada, who was nearly as tall as Rory, this man was short. He didn’t have a nervous disposition though, like some short men. He regarded Rory and Yamada with an air of detachment, like he would have rather been reading a book than greeting visitors.
“Ichiro.” Yamada bowed. “May we come in?”
“If you must.” Ichiro stepped away from the door, not bothering to show them in. Yamada walked up and entered first, pausing to remove his sandals. Rory followed, removing his helmet. His boots took a little longer to remove, but he didn’t want to disrespect Ichiro and his house by leaving his footwear on.
The layout of the house was simple. There was one large room for eating and entertaining with the kitchen off to the side and then there were hallways branching off to the other rooms. Ichiro sat down around a low table that displayed the remains of dinner; bowls and tea cups with dregs at the bottom. He didn’t invite them to sit but he looked expectantly at Yamada.
The samurai unbuckled his sword belt and sat down next to Ichiro. Rory took up a spot across from them, his helmet tucked under his arm. He waited for Yamada to speak, unsure of how to start the conversation.
“My friend requires a ship,” said Yamada.
“Your friend?” Ichiro scoffed. “I know you keep a different sort of company these days, but I did not think you would befriend someone who looks so strange.” The man spoke like Rory wasn’t there. He probably thought that Rory didn’t understand them.
“Yamada has been more than kind,” interjected Rory.
Ichiro was clearly surprised to hear Japanese coming from Rory’s mouth but he wasn’t embarrassed by his blunder. He looked to Yamada instead with an eyebrow raised. “Yamada?” The way he spoke the name, in disbelief, further proved that it wasn’t the samurai’s true name.
“He is the Grand Heavenly Warrior, protector of Kublai Khan’s Great Stone Puzzle Box. You should honour him.”
“Why should I honour him when Kublai Khan is long dead? We have no allegiance to those mongrels.”
“No, you do not.” Rory was growing tired of listening to Ichiro grumble, but Yamada had brought him here for a reason. The man deserved to hear the entire story. “And I am not asking you to do anything in the name of the Khan. I need the ship. I need it to get home. I cannot pay you for your services and you will be gone for a very long time, but if you help me, I would be forever in your debt.”
It wasn’t much in the way of motivation, but it was the truth. Now Rory could leave here knowing he had given it his all.
“Home?” repeated Ichiro.
“Great Britain,” said Yamada. He repeated the syllables and the sounds as he had heard them from Rory, though with great difficulty.
“You think this impresses me? Again I ask why I should help. There is no profit in this.”
“You should help,” said a female voice, “because it is the right thing to do.”
Rory looked over his shoulder. Of course. The meal on the table and the place settings were too much for one man. Ichiro didn’t live here alone.
She stood at the threshold of the room, having entered from one of the hallways. She was petite like Ichiro but her features were softer; a smaller nose, fuller lips. There was some similarity in the eyes, though. Ichiro’s daughter? Her black hair was loose and cascaded down to her shoulders. She looked as old as Rory did, maybe a little younger. Now that everyone was looking at her, she kept her gaze down, but not because she was afraid but more because it was expected of her. Her posture was confident; she was undeterred by the strange men in the house.
Ichiro got to his feet and tried to gently lead the young woman out of the room. “This is none of your concern,” he said in a hushed voice.
“You have made it clear that this is none of your concern, either, but you still make your opinion know. I am merely doing the same.”
Rory bit his tongue. He didn’t watch them but he could hear their every word. The young woman was definitely Ichiro’s daughter. Only family would be so frank with each other.
“Kasumi, we do not need the trouble. This is our home. I will not sail off to some distant land just because a blessed warrior tells me to.”
“But what is there to keep us here, Father? This is our house, but it is not a home. Not anymore.”
Rory reached out and started fiddling with a chopstick. This was turning into a conversation that he had no right to listen to. He glanced over at Yamada, in hopes to strike up a conversation of their own but the samurai had closed his eyes, almost like he was meditating.
“I will not leave you behind, Kasumi.”
“Then the answer is simple. I will come with you.”
Ichiro grumbled something that Rory didn’t quite catch. He peeked over at the father and daughter and caught a fleeting smile from Kasumi. Oh, she was good. Smart and persuasive. It really seemed like Ichiro couldn’t say no.
“We are all outcasts here.” Yamada opened his eyes, acting like the conversation had carried on normally.
Ichiro ran a hand over his beard and looked around at the people gathered before him. His resolve was wavering, but it hadn’t cracked yet. “Find me a willing crew and I will consider this… proposal.”
“A crew?” asked Rory.
“A ship does not sail itself, boy. The Hikaru Maru is no different.”
“I will find you a crew, Ichiro,” replied Yamada. He uncrossed his legs and stood up, acting very confident about his claim. “We will meet you at your ship after dawn.”
“Yes, fine,” Ichiro said tersely. He just wanted them out of their house it seemed; he wasn’t really listening to Yamada. Yamada bowed and he headed for the front door at a sedate pace. Rory, realizing that they were leaving, scrambled to get to his feet before Ichiro kicked him out of the house.
A crew? Where were they going to find enough men willing to leave Japan just for the sake of getting a Roman soldier and his box home?
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
Part Five: The Long Way Round
Barbara didn’t consider herself a night owl. She preferred to start the day early rather than dragging it out in the evening. The new exhibit was really taxing that philosophy. She needed to stay late if they wanted to open to the public on time, but she also didn’t feel like sleeping in just to catch up on lost sleep. At this point, she was running on anxiety and adrenaline. She was even considering having a cup of coffee instead of her customary tea in the morning just to get through the day.
Nodding to her co-workers as they passed by, she made her way to her office. Barbara didn’t even have an opportunity to take off her coat when there was a knock at the door. Whoever was on the other side didn’t wait for her response and breezed right in.
“Graphics finished with this. They need you to review it.” A video tape was thrown onto Barbara’s desk, scattering a pile of paper.
Barbara suppressed a sigh. It was too early in the morning for this. “Thank you, Donna.”
“It looks like a tornado blew through here.” The temp quickly restacked the papers. “I was hired to help you out. That does include filing.”
While Barbara was grateful for the help, and Donna had been more than helpful this past week, she didn’t need the woman underfoot. She also had no idea where to begin if there was filing to do. Organized chaos had quickly become just chaos. “If you’re still here after the exhibit opens, I will gladly set you loose on this mess.”
Donna seemed pleased with this compromise and quickly left Barbara to her work. Barbara slipped off her coat and sat down, enjoying a moment of peace. The label on the video tape identified it as the narrative for the Lone Centurion. She made a mental note to review it at some point today.
She started to get out of her chair to hang up her coat when her phone rang. She thought about ignoring it and getting something hot to drink from the staff room, but then she realized it might be one of her staff calling. Hoping it wasn’t an emergency, Barbara picked up the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Barbara.” Dorothy didn’t sound panicked but she seemed relieved to hear Barbara’s voice. “We have a problem.”
It wasn’t a word she liked to hear so early in the day. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve already called security but there’s some woman here in the main exhibit hall and she refuses to leave.”
Barbara relaxed, just slightly. It had nothing to do with the exhibit. She had thought the worse and pictured stolen or destroyed artefacts. “All right, I’m coming right now.”
Forgoing her cup of tea, she hurried out of the administrative wing. The museum was still empty this early in the morning and the sound of her footsteps echoed in the large space. She encountered one security guard on the way, but it wasn’t her security guard. It was strange to think of him as “hers”; it wasn’t as if they were friends, but she felt slightly possessive of him. It was irrational. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking.
Barbara entered the main hall before the other security guard and he mumbled his surprise as he was cut off. If they had to forcibly remove this woman from the premise that was all right, but Barbara wanted to avoid that. After all, who wouldn’t want a peek at the Pandorica before all the crowds came?
The woman in question stood in front of the stone box, looking up at it, oblivious to the heated glare Dorothy was shooting at her. Dorothy only broke her gaze when she saw Barbara.
“Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
Barbara had heard of people protesting outside of museums, arguing that certain artefacts and relics shouldn’t be on display, but this woman was quiet and she didn’t carry any placards damning the exhibit. She thought maybe the woman was lost and gotten confused, but then why was she refusing to leave? With no obvious answers in sight, she approached the woman.
“Hello? Can I help you with something?”
The woman shifted her attention from the Pandorica to Barbara. There was no malice in the woman’s expression, disproving the theory that she was there to protest. Instead, her face lit up with a smile. “You’re Barbara Wright, aren’t you?” The woman held out her hand. “Sarah Jane Smith. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Barbara looked down at the woman’s outstretched hand then back up at her. She shook Sarah Jane Smith’s hand, unsure of what else to do. “You have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Ms. Smith.” From the corner of her eye, she saw the security guard edge forward.
“I’m sorry to cause so much trouble, but a good reporter knows when to seize upon a story, even if it breaks a few rules.”
“You’re a reporter?” Barbara tried not to sound alarmed. The museum didn’t need any bad publicity with a new exhibit set to open.
“I’m a journalist, with Planet 3 Broadcasting. I was hoping to write a piece on the Pandorica.” Sarah Jane reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. She handed it to Barbara.
It would have been easy to fake credentials, but if Sarah Jane was here to mount a protest, she would have done something more drastic by now than handing out a business card. Barbara fingered the raised letters on the thick, white card. “Planet 3,” she mused, trying to remember if she had seen any of their programmes in passing.
“They have a wicked programme about Star Cults,” chimed in Dorothy.
“Among other things,” added Sarah Jane, not missing a beat. “I admit, our programming isn’t the standard fare you see on BBC One, but we enjoy uncovering mysteries and the Pandorica is the biggest mystery out there.”
“How so?” Barbara knew full well about all the mysteries surrounding the Pandorica, but she wanted to hear what Sarah Jane Smith had to say.
“Well, how about this?” She pointed to the timeline poster. “There’s a considerable gap. From the time it arrived in China with Marco Polo to the time it appeared in North America, there aren’t many accurate accounts. How could something as distinct as the Pandorica and the Lone Centurion simply vanish from recorded history?”
She was good. “Not every moment in history is written down, Ms. Smith.”
* * *
Kagoshima, 1368 A.D.
Rory slammed back into the Pandorica, hard enough that his helmet was knocked down over his eyes. He shifted his helmet up and just in time to see the tip of the katana headed straight for his head. A somewhat unmanly yelp escaped his lips but it was too late to do anything else.
At the last second, the trajectory of the sword changed and the tip of the blade struck the Pandorica just a hair’s breadth from Rory’s left cheek. If he had a beard, he was sure a few of the whiskers would have been sheared off. He didn’t dare move. It was no accident that the sword missed. His attacker had something else up his sleeve.
His attacker, who was an honest to goodness samurai. Rory didn’t know if he should fear for his life or laugh with boyish glee.
Through the entire fight, the samurai never once looked away from Rory, but now his gaze shifted upwards, taking in the enormity of the Pandorica. His neutral expression softened slightly and recognition flashed across his features. He recognized the Pandorica. Slowly, he lifted his katana aside. The tip of the blade scraped across the stone surface of the box and when it cleared it completely, it rang out like a tuning fork.
In one swift motion, the samurai slid his katana back into the scabbard.
Rory let out a relieved breath. He had survived stab wounds to the torso, but he wasn’t so sure about stab wounds to the head. He straightened up, but thought twice about retrieving his dropped sword. It was up to debate whether the fight was completely over or not. “Hello,” he said instead. He had learned a number of the Asian languages while living in Beijing. His Japanese was good enough, but his Chinese was better.
The samurai crossed his arms over his massive chest. Rory assumed he was a samurai. He had the katana and the topknot hair and he certainly had a warrior’s stature but he wasn’t wearing any armour, just the usual kimono, hakama, and sandals. The man had to be a samurai, though. With the way he moved, so quick and powerful, and his ability to adjust the path of his sword in a split second, he couldn’t have been a thief.
Also, the average man probably wouldn’t have attacked Rory on sight.
“Are you a thief?” asked the samurai, echoing Rory’s thoughts.
“Why would I be a thief?”
“That is not your property. I have heard enough stories to know that the Stone Puzzle Box belonged to Kublai Khan.”
Rory was suddenly grateful that Kublai Khan used to brag about the Pandorica. The mystery surrounding it probably just saved his life. “If you know about the Pandorica, then you know about its protector. I am him.”
The samurai cocked his head to one side as he regarded Rory. It was getting dark, but there was still plenty of light by which to see. “I admit that your dress is strange, but how do I know that you are not lying?”
Moving slowly, as not to alarm the samurai, Rory reached into one of his wrist guards and pulled out a thin bar of gold. He held it out to the samurai. The characters engraved on the gold bar were in Chinese, but enough of the characters were the same in Japanese that the samurai would understand.
The samurai’s eyes flicked over the short inscription and then he looked back up at Rory. He blinked once and then dropped down onto one knee, bowing his head. “My lord.”
Well, it was better than the kowtowing Rory had to endure for nearly a century. He slid the gold bar back into his wrist guard. It was useless now that the Mongol empire had crumbled, but it still proclaimed him as the “Grand Heavenly Warrior of the Great Stone Puzzle Box”, and it was gold, too, so he could at least trade it if he needed the funds.
“Please, you do not have to do that. I was merely passing through and did not mean to disturb you.” He had been using the older road, figuring there would be less traffic. He hadn’t anticipated running into a random samurai.
The samurai lifted his head, but he didn’t rise to his feet. “Do you require assistance? Thieves are known to plague this road.” His doubt was completely gone now, replaced by a healthy amount of respect.
Rory could defend himself just fine, but it never hurt to have an extra body. Maybe the sight of a genuine samurai would deter any would-be thieves. “I would be glad for the company.” He reached down and picked up his sword, which the samurai had knocked out of his hand at the beginning of the fight. “Your name?”
The simple question caused the samurai to hesitate. He covered by getting to his feet. “You may call me Yamada Torō,” he finally said.
The pause and the wording of the reply made it obvious that Yamada Torō was not the samurai’s true name. He was either still wary of Rory and didn’t want to give away anything about himself or the man was hiding something or was hiding from someone. Giving a false identity was nothing new for Rory and he could respect the samurai’s wish for privacy. Still, he stayed on his guard as he picked up the rope tied around the Pandorica and started dragging the box down the road.
“Your master does not require your services at the moment?” asked Rory. He had seen enough samurai movies to know that the warriors answered to a master and he didn’t want Yamada to get in trouble for being absent.
“No,” and that was all Yamada offered.
Rory took that as a hint to move on to another topic. “I need passage out of Japan. Do you know of any ships that could accommodate the Pandorica?”
Yamada frowned at Rory’s use of “Pandorica”. There was no phonetic translation for the word, hence the “Stone Puzzle Box” epithet. “There are several ships in port of the right size.” He didn’t elaborate, as if the scant information spoke for itself.
“You do not say much, do you?” said Rory, trying not to smile.
There were many port cities in Japan. Nothing about Kagoshima made it better than the other cities Rory had passed through, but if he went any further south, he’d end up in the ocean so it was really his last option. With the Mongolian empire crumbling now that the last Khan had fled Beijing, escaping to Japan had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was close by, and Japan and the empire hadn’t been trading with each other for years, so it also meant that no one from the new dynasty would be looking for him and the Pandorica.
It was only now that Rory was realizing that he should have stayed in China. Dragging the Pandorica back to England would take a long time, but then he wouldn’t have had to worry about finding a ship and sailing back. He had forgotten how much he hated travelling by boat.
With the Pandorica hidden a safe distance from the port, Rory wandered the docks with Yamada. The area was still lively despite the fall of night and sailors and captains called to each other, in high spirits. Some glanced at Rory as he passed, but most noticed Yamada and they stopped talking when they saw the samurai.
“A fishing vessel?” Yamada indicated to a sturdy looking craft whose name translated into the Golden Dawn. The hold looked big enough to accommodate the Pandorica.
Rory thought about it. It looked good for a short trip, but he wasn’t going on a short trip. Potentially, any ship he chose would have to take him back all the way to England. That was far, maybe too far for the majority of the crafts before him. He didn’t want the ship breaking apart if they encountered a bad storm.
“No, I need something…” He paused and tried a different approach. “I want to go west, to Europe. Have you heard of a country called Great Britain?” The look of indifference on Yamada’s face told Rory all he needed to know. “If I choose a ship, the captain has to know that it will be a lengthy journey. He would not return to Japan for some time.”
Yamada thought this over for a moment. “I might have a captain for you.”
The house was modest, neither big nor small or overly decorated. It had the rice paper walls that Rory was used to and the lights on inside told him that someone was home. Yamada called out as they approached; no doorbells here. There was movement inside and then the front door slid aside.
An older man, probably approaching his fifties, stood framed in the doorway. He had a neat beard that was streaked with grey, as was his black hair. Unlike Yamada, who was nearly as tall as Rory, this man was short. He didn’t have a nervous disposition though, like some short men. He regarded Rory and Yamada with an air of detachment, like he would have rather been reading a book than greeting visitors.
“Ichiro.” Yamada bowed. “May we come in?”
“If you must.” Ichiro stepped away from the door, not bothering to show them in. Yamada walked up and entered first, pausing to remove his sandals. Rory followed, removing his helmet. His boots took a little longer to remove, but he didn’t want to disrespect Ichiro and his house by leaving his footwear on.
The layout of the house was simple. There was one large room for eating and entertaining with the kitchen off to the side and then there were hallways branching off to the other rooms. Ichiro sat down around a low table that displayed the remains of dinner; bowls and tea cups with dregs at the bottom. He didn’t invite them to sit but he looked expectantly at Yamada.
The samurai unbuckled his sword belt and sat down next to Ichiro. Rory took up a spot across from them, his helmet tucked under his arm. He waited for Yamada to speak, unsure of how to start the conversation.
“My friend requires a ship,” said Yamada.
“Your friend?” Ichiro scoffed. “I know you keep a different sort of company these days, but I did not think you would befriend someone who looks so strange.” The man spoke like Rory wasn’t there. He probably thought that Rory didn’t understand them.
“Yamada has been more than kind,” interjected Rory.
Ichiro was clearly surprised to hear Japanese coming from Rory’s mouth but he wasn’t embarrassed by his blunder. He looked to Yamada instead with an eyebrow raised. “Yamada?” The way he spoke the name, in disbelief, further proved that it wasn’t the samurai’s true name.
“He is the Grand Heavenly Warrior, protector of Kublai Khan’s Great Stone Puzzle Box. You should honour him.”
“Why should I honour him when Kublai Khan is long dead? We have no allegiance to those mongrels.”
“No, you do not.” Rory was growing tired of listening to Ichiro grumble, but Yamada had brought him here for a reason. The man deserved to hear the entire story. “And I am not asking you to do anything in the name of the Khan. I need the ship. I need it to get home. I cannot pay you for your services and you will be gone for a very long time, but if you help me, I would be forever in your debt.”
It wasn’t much in the way of motivation, but it was the truth. Now Rory could leave here knowing he had given it his all.
“Home?” repeated Ichiro.
“Great Britain,” said Yamada. He repeated the syllables and the sounds as he had heard them from Rory, though with great difficulty.
“You think this impresses me? Again I ask why I should help. There is no profit in this.”
“You should help,” said a female voice, “because it is the right thing to do.”
Rory looked over his shoulder. Of course. The meal on the table and the place settings were too much for one man. Ichiro didn’t live here alone.
She stood at the threshold of the room, having entered from one of the hallways. She was petite like Ichiro but her features were softer; a smaller nose, fuller lips. There was some similarity in the eyes, though. Ichiro’s daughter? Her black hair was loose and cascaded down to her shoulders. She looked as old as Rory did, maybe a little younger. Now that everyone was looking at her, she kept her gaze down, but not because she was afraid but more because it was expected of her. Her posture was confident; she was undeterred by the strange men in the house.
Ichiro got to his feet and tried to gently lead the young woman out of the room. “This is none of your concern,” he said in a hushed voice.
“You have made it clear that this is none of your concern, either, but you still make your opinion know. I am merely doing the same.”
Rory bit his tongue. He didn’t watch them but he could hear their every word. The young woman was definitely Ichiro’s daughter. Only family would be so frank with each other.
“Kasumi, we do not need the trouble. This is our home. I will not sail off to some distant land just because a blessed warrior tells me to.”
“But what is there to keep us here, Father? This is our house, but it is not a home. Not anymore.”
Rory reached out and started fiddling with a chopstick. This was turning into a conversation that he had no right to listen to. He glanced over at Yamada, in hopes to strike up a conversation of their own but the samurai had closed his eyes, almost like he was meditating.
“I will not leave you behind, Kasumi.”
“Then the answer is simple. I will come with you.”
Ichiro grumbled something that Rory didn’t quite catch. He peeked over at the father and daughter and caught a fleeting smile from Kasumi. Oh, she was good. Smart and persuasive. It really seemed like Ichiro couldn’t say no.
“We are all outcasts here.” Yamada opened his eyes, acting like the conversation had carried on normally.
Ichiro ran a hand over his beard and looked around at the people gathered before him. His resolve was wavering, but it hadn’t cracked yet. “Find me a willing crew and I will consider this… proposal.”
“A crew?” asked Rory.
“A ship does not sail itself, boy. The Hikaru Maru is no different.”
“I will find you a crew, Ichiro,” replied Yamada. He uncrossed his legs and stood up, acting very confident about his claim. “We will meet you at your ship after dawn.”
“Yes, fine,” Ichiro said tersely. He just wanted them out of their house it seemed; he wasn’t really listening to Yamada. Yamada bowed and he headed for the front door at a sedate pace. Rory, realizing that they were leaving, scrambled to get to his feet before Ichiro kicked him out of the house.
A crew? Where were they going to find enough men willing to leave Japan just for the sake of getting a Roman soldier and his box home?
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Date: 2013-07-03 02:12 am (UTC)