Seas of Fortune(190)

“Also, eager though I am to sit at the feet of the great mathematicians of the realm, I must consider it my duty to put my poor skills at work where they are most needed, in this New Nippon, an island in a sea of, of . . .”

Iroha mouthed the word he was looking for.

“. . . barbarism. Not only as a mathematician, but also as a keeper of the sacred water, like my father before me.” Shinto also had water purification rituals, and this, Iroha-hime knew, would logically call to the lord commissioner’s mind the practices of Shintoism, including priestly inheritance.

Hiraku took a breath. “Moreover, I have not accomplished any great feats of mathematics yet; I am still unworthy to be adopted by so great a lord. Instead, I ask that I be permitted the honor of incorporating a single kanji of your name into my own.” This was common enough, actually. Japanese changed their names on certain occasions; for example, when a samurai child became an adult, usually at age fifteen, he would take an adult name, which included a character from the name of his father or godfather.

Hiraku bowed again.

“Well, that was well spoken,” the lord commissioner said. “If that is truly what you want . . .”

* * *

First-to-Dance reached for another mallard feather. She hummed as she carefully inserted the feather between the stitches of the basket she was finishing. It had to stick out enough so that the colors could be seen, but not so much that it would tear out easily.

She had no need to make baskets, of course; her Japanese connections had assured her access to premium trade goods, and by Ohlone standards she was extremely prosperous. She had even been courted by the eldest son of a chief of the Uypi, who lived on Soquel Creek, near Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz. But unfortunately for him, her aspirations had changed.

So. Japan. Should she go? The sea journey would be long and frightening, of that she was certain. But Lord Commissioner Sakai, the friendly one, had promised that if she came, he would look after her as if she were his own daughter.

Chiyo had told her that she had been described to the lord commissioner as being an “Indian princess,” and to say nothing to contradict that. The higher her assumed status, the better she would be treated.

Was it worth it? It would bring her to the very center of power, Edo Castle itself. The contacts she would make! The advantages it would give her people! The profits it could bring her! It made her head spin, just thinking about it.

But wait a minute. She knew from discussions with Chiyo and her other Japanese female friends that Japanese women were expected to be seen but not heard. In public, at least. That would make it rather difficult for her to make any deals.

Unless . . . Unless she picked the male Indian. One who was impressive to look at, easy to push around, and spoke no Japanese whatsoever. Or at least willing to pretend that he didn’t. So she would be his “translator.” She smiled. He would babble something, and she would say whatever needed to be said.

She would miss Toshiro Kanesada, of course. But it wasn’t as though there weren’t plenty of samurai in Japan!

Chiyo had warned her to expect to be exhibited to the shogun’s other guests as an exotic discovery. She didn’t mind that, either, within reason. As long as the shogun didn’t decide to make her a permanent part of his menagerie. Chiyo’s father would, of course, obliquely and delicately remind the shogun’s councillors of the diplomatic importance of permitting her to return, but the shogun’s whim was still law. So there was an irreducible risk.

Still, life was full of risks.

First-to-Dance looked at her basket. It was made in the traditional way, from woven shoots and roots, dyed in vegetable colors, but it showed a grizzly snarling at a dragon, the latter copied from one of Chiyo’s sake cups. The grizzly was brave and powerful, but she had no doubt that the dragon would prevail if the grizzly insisted on fighting.

“I will go to Japan,” she announced. “If I may choose my companion, that is.”

* * *

The lord commissioners were seated on a dais, with their herald on a mat nearby.

Date Masamune was on a second, smaller dais, facing them, with his son and Shigetsuna flanking him. His daughters, Iroha and Chiyo, were nearby, hidden beyond a screen. Other high-ranking samurai of the New Nippon colony sat in ranks behind Date Masamune, and servants stood just outside the audience room, ready to enter if summoned.

“At least I am not on the white sand,” Masamune whispered to Shigetsuna. This was a reference to the place where prisoners and witnesses knelt before a magistrate.

The commissioners’ herald rose. “Date Masamune, Echizen no Kami, Mutsu no Kami.” Those were Masamune’s formal titles, normally used only when he was presented at court.