George Hamilton-Gordon scowled out at the ocean. Melbourne was a staunch Whig, and surely recognized the importance of opening trade with Japan. Why would he allow a member of the opposition to head the post? This was all Henry’s fault, of course. The man was a veritable wizard, temporarily removing key members of the opposition in time for important votes. Gordon let out a long sigh.
A wave crept up the side of the boat, and whipped Gordon in the face, leaving the emissary sputtering. Cape of Good Hope, indeed! The only thing found here was the perpetual, terrible storm. He had never liked the sea. Even his travels as ambassador to the Austrian Hapsburgs across the docile Mediterranean, he had disliked how the ship could not possibly keep steady. How was a gentleman to enjoy his tea with the infernal rocking?
Putting that out of his mind, Gordon brought himself back to the task he had been assigned. The Japanese were desperate to find another power for trade, so as to not remain dependent on the Dutch. This was good, and should require very little concessions on his part. Temple may have misjudged his political abilities. This trip could definitely be used for his own benefit. The population respected a man who sought to serve the crown in the colonies and with the uncivilized princes. Perhaps he could force Henry Temple to eat his own advice. That was very pleasing to Gordon’s mind
The old woman awakened to barking. Blinking twice to clear her head, she sat up. The woman turned her head to the window near the ceiling behind her. The first rays of sunlight had begun to creep across the dark, cloudy sky. The city of the Emperor had not yet wakened, but the woman stood up, and donned her rose-embroidered kimono. She left her shack by the outer wall, and walked towards the marketplace, a mere two blocks distant.
Osahito carefully stretched his back, feeling for any excessively tense muscles. He found none, and began gathering his belongings from the bush he had slept under during last night’s steady drizzle. It was not the best of accommodations, though it was no different than sleeping in a tent. He poked Nishimura lightly with a stick.
“Dawn is coming, Nishimura. The gates open soon, and we must be ready.”
Nishimura grunted, and rolled over. Osahito sighed to himself. The man was not necessary to his journey, and would just slow him down. If the country were in such a crisis as Tanaka had recounted, hours could be precious. He stepped up onto the road.
“Catch up, Nishimura, if you can.” That came as a whisper, as the man would not hear it anyway.
Osahito rounded the bend around Atago San, the heights he knew so well as a boy, and walked towards the imposing gates of Kyoto. They were not open, but would be soon. He sat down on a rock, and waited.
Danger and opportunity awaited, as they always did. The stakes were high, and surely Ieyoshi knew where he was by now. Perhaps he would find nothing, and perhaps a knife in the back. Perhaps he would find Tanaka, and perhaps he would take to road to Edo alone. So many possibilities, but worrying would gain him nothing. He leaned back on the granite, listening to the bird chirp in the crisp predawn air. This was his favorite time of the day, before people awoke, where the only sounds were the birds, the wind, and the creatures of the Earth. This was the favorite time of poets and writers throughout the land, when thoughts flowed most lucidly, and ideas became reality.
