Arturo Serrano - To Climates Unknown - An Alternate History of a World Without America

She took him out of the building and looked around them before saying, “You will talk to the Emperor. I’ve made sure of it.”

“Rome has already sent missionaries here. Why is it so important that he hears me?”

“I didn’t take all the risks I took to have you chat with him. I brought you as a healer.”

“What? I’m no healer.”

She sat on the steps outside of the palace complex to rest her feet for a while. They had not been bound for very long, but their full strength would never come back. “You said you were a healer. You saved the king of Liuqiu.”

Hasekura opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His heart was busy searching for an exit from his body, and his back shook from a sudden cascade of cold sweat. He saw for the first time how gravely she had misunderstood him and how trapped he was as a result. “What… what am I supposed to do to the Emperor?”

“The same thing you did in Liuqiu.”

“But will I even be admitted to his presence?” he asked, hopeful for some way that her plan could fail.

“Leave that to me. The Chief Eunuch has granted me his permission, and Guard Guangkui has access to the Emperor’s private chamber.”

“Is that the guard—”

“He is.”

He mulled over his self-inflicted predicament and asked, “What happens if the Emperor dies before I see him?”

“No, that won’t happen. Guangkui has instructions to keep soldiers watching him and to use a taster for his medicines. Trust me on this: I will not allow him to die.”

“But what if he does?”

She decided to be honest. “Someone may use that as an excuse to have us executed.” His terrified face prompted further explanation. “The Emperor has enemies in his own family.”

“How does that relate to us?”

She looked around them. The paths between government buildings appeared empty, but she knew all the ways someone could lurk in unseen spaces. She continued to speak in a hush, praying that Lady Zheng’s servants didn’t understand Japanese. “The previous Emperor wanted to give the throne to the son he’d had with his favorite concubine, but the law favored the eldest, who reigns now.”

“I can see why that would bother her.”

She gave the slightest nod. “Five years ago, she hired an assassin. He was stopped, but she managed to avoid punishment.”

“Where is she now?”

“She still has her own palace in the Forbidden City. We suspect she’s behind the Emperor’s sickness.”

“Do you have proof?”

Her voice became almost inaudible. “Lady Zheng arranged for an orgy to follow the coronation. She made sure everyone heard she’d hired the prostitutes as a gesture of reconciliation. The Emperor fell ill the next day.”

Hasekura took a moment to process all the intrigue he’d fallen into. Suddenly it occurred to him to ask, “Does her son live?”

She waved the question away. “Yes, but far. He has no claim to the throne anyway.”

“Then why is she hurting the Emperor?”

With a sigh that came from a sore place, Xiaobo replied, “To be honest, I can’t blame her. She has become a widow. In China, that means her own life is over too.”

His mind made a connection. “Is that what happened to you?” She opened her eyes wide and had another quick look around them. He went on, “Feet are only bound if the girl is to marry. You must have been too young when he died. You had to find a way to support yourself.”

“You shouldn’t talk so loudly,” she snapped. “Why did your lord even give you a diplomatic job?”

Seeing the truth at last, he confessed, “I was expendable.”

She examined his clothes. “I thought you were something of a lord yourself.”

“A minor one. I was given this assignment as a chance to improve my family’s name.”

She wanted to know what exactly had caused his family to fall into disrepute, but chose to let him keep some pride. “I think you’ve done plenty to bring merit to yourself, with enough to spare for your grandchildren.”

“What good is that? Can’t you see that I’m stuck here?”

“Only for now. After you do your magic on the Emperor, things should go back to normal. He might even allow you to leave China.”

“How are you so sure I’ll have a chance to talk to him?”

“You will. Guangkui is on our side.”

“He’s just a guard. What can he do?”

“He’s the Emperor’s nephew.”

Morning, October 1 (Gregorian), 1620

Beijing

The private chamber of Emperor Taichang at the Palace of Heavenly Purity was filled with ministers and councilors and priests who murmured speculations and accusations that were hushed down the moment the foreigner was led inside. Even after receiving repeated promises that not a finger would be laid on him, he found the number of strangers intimidating. Without Guangkui and Xiaobo by his side, he knew he would’ve been executed on sight.

He heard her speak into his ear, “Do it now,” and was pushed toward the royal bed.

Of the wide circle of people standing at the maximum possible distance from the Emperor, he tried to guess which was the court pharmacist. He suspected it must be the one who appeared the most displeased with his intrusion. Avoiding the indignant gaze as soon as he met it, he directed his attention to the bed, which occupied more than half the room and he thought to be larger than the boat that had rescued him at the Ryūkyūs. Upon approaching it, he understood why everyone kept so far from it: the aroma of incense was there to mask the stench of loose bowels. The precise nature of the affliction had not been made clear to him, but he sensed he was expected to be able to deal with anything. He was trying to recall the prayers of his conversion when his mind went blank at the sight of the Emperor’s face.

He had forgotten that this was a newly crowned ruler, an inexperienced man on whose shoulders a world had been dropped. His face, simultaneously youthful and cadaveric, struck Tsunenaga as a contradiction in the order of the world, an incongruous first footprint of death on territory where it didn’t belong. It also reminded him that he was not before a divine being, as emperors everywhere claimed to be, but a vulnerable creature of this world. The man who could order anyone’s death had no power over his own. Reassured that one fearful of God ought to fear nothing from a man, he stepped closer to the soiled bedsheets and began reciting, “Pater noster qui es in caelis…”

“That’s the secret tongue of the barbarians!” cried the officer whose gaze had scared him before. Tsunenaga, not knowing what had been said against him or, if he was honest, what he was saying himself, went on without noticing the gesture with which Xiaobo had just urged that angry man to let him finish. He accompanied the Pater noster with an Ave Maria , a Credo and a Gloria in excelsis Deo , and with that he ran out of all the Latin he knew.

He turned to Xiaobo. “The Heavenly Lord will take care of him now,” he said in Japanese. She waved him out of the room and, along with Guangkui, hurried out of the palace.

After leaving Tsunenaga under the vigilance of the Embroidered Guard, Xiaobo sought an unoccupied office in the barracks to speak with Guangkui. “You didn’t tell me he was that ill,” she said after closing the door.

“He was improving last week. When your letter arrived, I had all the kitchen staff replaced and appointed a guard to follow the medic at all times.”

“What happened, then?” She sat beside the writing table, grateful for the opportunity to rest her feet.

“That pharmacist, Li Kezhuo. He went behind the medic and prescribed another remedy.”

“Didn’t the taster catch it?”