September 20, 188—, 1:13 a.m.
Tokyo
At dusk, as if it were the work of a sorcerer, a fog had appeared and filled all Tokyo. It was now well into night, and the fog had yet to clear.
The flames from the gas lamps along the Ginza’s streets were blurred by the fog but still penetrated the darkness and, like so many stars in the galaxy, pulsed. It gave the city a romantic air, enchanting to young couples. But the fog was also so thick several people had been run over by carriages or trampled by horses. And, ominously, bats flew about here and there.
“It feels like something foul is about to happen.”
“Yeah.”
The two men stood on the wharf that overlooked Tokyo Bay, where they watched the bats fluttering around them. The men, Yashichi and Sansuke, were dockworkers.
Nearby was a hut where poor laborers could spend the night. Although the board was free, the stay was limited to two nights in order to discourage loafers.
As usual, the hut was badly overcrowded, so Yashichi and Sansuke had found themselves squeezed out with no place to sleep. Without the money even for sake, they wandered along the bay and resolved to find both room and employment the very next day.
Ten feet ahead was the edge of the wharf and, beyond that, the black water. In the distance, ships of various sizes were anchored, but they faded unseen into the darkness and fog.
At the boundary where the bay ended and the ocean began stood a lonely lighthouse. Its beacon was barely perceptible. The sound of waves crashing against the wharf cast gloom over the spirits of the two men. Dozens of Japanese sailing vessels and foreign steamships were anchored in the bay, but they were all hidden by darkness and fog.
“Edo sure has changed,” Yashichi said grimly, looking around.
Born in 1839, Yashichi had grown up at a time when the Edo shogunate was still a strong presence.
One day he had been told, “This city is no longer called Edo. Starting today, this is Tokyo.” However, he had never quite adjusted to the change. “Those country bumpkins from Satsuma and Chôshu are having their way with this city. On top of that, redheaded and blue-eyed foreigners from across the ocean are invading our shores. What do they want, anyway?”
“Trade. They want to trade,” said Sansuke somewhat irritably. He was ready to turn in for the night. “People are saying this country has treasures that we don’t even know about. Otherwise, why would the foreigners bother to come all this way?”
“What treasures?”
“Well, like gold and silver. And silk.”
“Hmm … You know, Sansuke, I have a funny feeling.”
“What do you mean?”
“So the government signed all those treaties, one after the next, and ever since then plenty of foreigners from America and England have come here. I can’t help but wonder if a strange one snuck in along with them.”
“A strange one?”
Yashichi suddenly pulled back. An enormous bat had nearly clipped his head. “Damn!” He swatted at it, but the winged creature quickly disappeared. The distraction gone, Yashichi resumed, “When I see them walking around the city, they remind me of the old haunted house in Asakusa. Granted, they don’t look anything like the One-Eyed Boy or a ghost. But I see them standing on the street or in an alley, and Edo begins to look like a completely different world.”
Sansuke laughed. “You talk about foreigners like they’re monsters or something.”
“What I’m trying to say is… maybe some of them are.”
“Come on. This is the Age of Cultural Enlightenment, as they say. How long do you think it’s been since the birth of the Meiji government? All that talk about monsters and ghosts… that kind of outdated nonsense belongs to the past.”
“That may be true, but that doesn’t mean we can keep them from coming here,” Yashichi replied. Sansuke was quiet.
Suddenly the night seemed to grow darker, and the fog thickened. Chills ran up the two men’s spines.
And then—
Rumbling from behind a row of warehouses was the sound of a coach.
They might have asked who it could be at that time of night, but after their conversation, they just yelped. They hid in the shadows, which could hardly conceal even one man, but the fog and pitch black provided adequate cover.
A black coach, drawn by four horses, tore through the fog. The horses were black, and the driver, who wielded a whip, was also clad in black from head to toe.
The coach sped recklessly toward the edge of the wharf.
Was it going to fall in?
The moment the two men closed their eyes, the coach veered sharply and came to an abrupt halt parallel with the wharf’s edge. Only the panting and snorting of the horses could be heard, but even that subsided after a moment, and all was quiet. The driver sat motionless.
It was very strange.
“What’s that coach doing here?” whispered Sansuke.
“I don’t know. But it looks like the driver’s waiting for something. He’s looking out at the ocean.”
“Huh?”
They squinted, but there was nothing in the bay but darkness and fog.
In any case, no ship ever came into port so late at night, and were such a ship expected, a crowd would have gathered. Only the black coach waited in the darkness.
There was a sudden gust of wind. The thick fog lifted, and now the beacon from the lighthouse could be seen.
And so could something else.
“A ship?”
“Couldn’t be …How?” They shrieked, but fortunately the driver did not seem to hear them.
Next to the wharf, where only moments ago nothing had been visible, was a gray vessel with large masts and an enormous smokestack.
It wasn’t a passenger vessel. Perhaps it was a freighter. Even though the ship had appeared in a most mysterious fashion, it was apparent that it had arrived from a distant country.
However, the dockworkers noticed something unnatural.
“Isn’t it odd…?”
“Yeah.”
No matter how strong the wind, it was customary for a ship to blow its whistle or ring its bell to celebrate its safe return to dry land. The deck should have been alive with the footsteps and voices of the crew.
However, the gray ship was completely devoid of such activity. It was pitch-dark—not a single ray of light emanated from the bridge or from the windows.
“No one’s talking, and no one’s out on the deck.” Yashichi’s voice was quivering. “They’re probably all dead.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Sansuke looked as if he were about to cry.
A door creaked open.
“Someone’s coming out!”
A shadowy figure appeared on deck. His face was concealed, but they could make out that he wore a cape.
Without a sound, the shadow approached the exit and floated off the ship.
“Huh?”
Before they could blink, he was already standing on the wharf ten feet below where he had just been.
The driver had gotten off the coach and was now standing on the wharf. After bowing respectfully, the driver gestured toward the coach.
Without a word, the shadowy figure began to walk.
From his gait to his stature, he had a kind of presence that impressed Yashichi and Sansuke and had them cowering in terror. Most samurai would pale in comparison. He was clearly no ordinary man. But why had such a man arrived on a cargo ship in the middle of the night?
As the man boarded the coach, he turned his head in the direction of the two dockworkers.
His eyes were two crimson orbs.
Before the two terror-stricken men had time to react, the shadowy figure disappeared inside the coach. The driver cracked the whip, the four horses kicked into a gallop, and then the coach was gone.
Thus, on this early autumn night, before two random passersby, a mysterious figure had appeared out of the dark waters. And then, like a curtain being lowered on a stage, the black fog descended once again and covered the city.