Furious

49

Kris arrived, attired in a six-hundred-year-old kimono, and placed her geta footwear on the stone pavement of the Imperial Palace’s entrance at exactly 5:45 P.M. the next day.

It had been a closely run operation.

Kris had never seen Abby in such a swivet. It took less than half an hour to determine that there were several five-hundred-year-old kimonos in the house, but none fit anyone within a foot of Kris’s height.

Mrs. Fujioka was brought in by conference call. Yes, her family had several older kimonos, but all of her ancestors had run to short, by modern standards, and certainly by Kris’s standard. She offered to contact all of her acquaintances. “Certainly some women in Japan needed a longer kimono.”

By midnight, Mrs. Fujioka happily called back. “We have found a furisode for your Kris. You may need to add seven or eight centimeters of cloth at the hem, but this will work.”

“A furisode?” Abby asked.

“Yes, a kimono that an unmarried woman wears. Your princess is unmarried, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she cannot visit the Emperor dressed as a married woman, can she now?”

“No, no, of course not.”

Kris had never seen Abby so out of her depth. Never.

“So,” Abby said, “it seems this matter is even more complicated than I thought. Nelly, Mata Hari, why didn’t you catch me on this?”

“I’m sorry, Abby,” Nelly said. “None of you humans seemed to have a problem, so I figured a kimono was a kimono. I’m now researching the matter and discover there are all kinds of kimonos and parts to them. We will not make this mistake again.”

“Nelly in a mistake!” Penny said.

“I have explained and apologized. Can we please go on from here?”

“Yes, let’s,” Kris said. “Just how gussied up am I going to have to get?”

“Very,” Abby and Nelly said at once. “We dare not offend anyone,” Nelly added.

“Or shame ourselves,” Abby added. “Shame is definitely not an option.”

“What do you say that you go get your beauty rest?” Penny said, taking Kris by the shoulder and aiming her toward the stairs to the south wing. “We girls can get you all set up, and you must stay awake while the Emperor serves you tea.”

“I think the Way of the Tea is a bit more than a tea party.”

“Don’t I know. I’ve had Mimzy do my research on that one. It may take all of our supercomputers to get you through tomorrow, but trust us, we won’t let you down.”

And with that, Kris found herself led off to bed.

Sadly, Jack took the other stairway to the north wing. Right now, it would be nice to have someone hold her and tell her it would be all right.

Kris snorted. Be held, yes. Lie to each other. Not her style.

Next morning over breakfast, Kris discovered that most of her female staff had managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep. However, most of the serving staff of half the older families in Kyoto had lost sleep making sure Kris was letter-perfect for tea.

Abby began listing all the parts of Kris’s ensemble and where it had been borrowed from. Kris cut her off after reaching the conclusion that fieldstripping a 24-inch pulse laser was easier than getting one six-foot-tall woman . . . make that unmarried woman . . . properly attired for an evening with an Emperor.

Maybe Grampa Ray’s informality wasn’t so bad after all.

At 1100, Ko-san had been brought in. Nelly mentioned to Kris that the name meant “peace,” but Kris had met Gunny Sergeants who were more peaceful . . . and more flexible. Ko-san was the recognized expert in proper dress in all of Kyoto. She ruled the dress staff with an iron rod and saw no need to spare the princess at the center of it all.

Comments on Kris’s posture and the grace of her movements . . . or lack thereof . . . were blunt and pointed.

Kris had survived Officer Candidate School without blowing her top at the DIs and others put there to teach her the strange art of subordination.

Kris gritted her teeth and set about learning to be a proper . . . unmarried . . . woman of Musashi.

But even the great Ko-san met her match at Kris’s height. The furisode had originally been made when the style was to drag the ground. Even with that extra cloth, it rose to above Kris’s ankles.

It was a scandal in the making. Not possible.

The great Ko-san called in reinforcements. A chemistry professor from Kyoto University arrived with a team of experts on dyes, cloth, and color matching. But not the usual experts. These men and woman specialized in ancient materials: cloth no less than two hundred years old.

They took one look at Kris in her furisode . . . and called for reinforcements of their own. The great hall at Fujioka House took on the appearance of a war room as experts debated one strategy over another, one option versus another.

In the end, they matched the cloth’s color, even extending the dyed pattern all the way to the floor for Kris. Rather than put the original cloth at risk, they manufactured a special glue in the master bathroom and glued the strip to the hem of the original furisode.

All of this almost came to naught when Ko-san produced her makeup box and prepared to paint Kris’s face white.

“No,” Kris said, putting her foot down. “I am a Navy officer and a battle commander. I will not show up looking like a geisha.”

“Geishas are highly respected in our culture. It is only you barbarians—”

“I will not have a picture of me in white face paint show up the next time my father runs for office,” Kris said, knowing the immovable object and the irresistible force were going head-to-head here.

Under the cold, firm, game face that had ordered the death of billions, Ko-san blinked. “Some modern women do wear lighter makeup.”

“Show me a picture,” Kris said.

So Kris got into her van with thirty minutes to spare.

Kris found herself standing, just like Emiko had the day before, holding on to straps as the rig made its way toward the Imperial precincts.

For once, Jack was torn between watching traffic and watching her. “You sure you can handle those getas without breaking your neck?” Getas were like two-inch high heels, back and front.

Kris held on tight as the van took a tight turn. “If Princess Emiko can survive them, so can I.”

“But she talked her way out of them. Do you think you can talk the Emperor out of your wearing them?”

“I will not even ask.”

“Yeah, I figured that.”

“Slight change in plan,” the driver announced. “The formal entrance to the Imperial Residence is packed with newsies.”

“No surprise there,” Kris and Jack both muttered.

“However, there are many gates to the Imperial precincts. We have been honored to use the Hanzo Gate. Hold on,” and with that little warning, Kris found herself thrown to the left and off her feet. She hung on for two more quick turns before managing to regain her footing.

Jack eyed her, but she shook her head, and he didn’t make another suggestion to change footwear.

After several more hair-raising turns, the van came to a halt. Jack gave Kris a slow ten count before he nodded. The door behind Kris opened, and four Imperial Marines stood by a set of stairs they had put there just for her. They offered their hands to help her down, then gave a similar help to Ko-san, the main reason Kris was still in getas.

Ko-san came to rest a hand on Kris’s arm and its near floor-length sleeves. “Stand up straight,” she whispered. “No slouching. Walk gracefully. You must float over the ground, not clomp like a cow.”

Kris wondered how much she would be billed for this torture and found comfort in the thought she was too broke to pay for this violation of the laws of war.

“Smile for the cameras,” brought Kris back from her reveries of poverty.

Yes, over a dozen newsies were lined up along the moat walls, standing among the small pines and pointing cameras her way.

The full detachment of Marines had spread out around her. None of the newsies chose to risk penetrating that line, but several called questions at Kris.

“Ignore those prattling gnats,” Ko-san muttered. Finally, some advice Kris was glad to hear.

Ko-san went on in full tour-guide mode. “The Hanzo-mon crosses the moat, separating the Hanzo moat from the Sakurada moat. These are exact replicas of the moat around Edo castle on Earth that dates back over a thousand years. Imagine trying to storm this with swords and arrows.”

Kris eyed the tall, steep, stone-lined walls of the moat. “I wouldn’t want to take this place with modern tanks and body armor,” she said.

The gate itself was wooden, set in rather imposing stonework. Kris’s Marines came to a halt. Two men in ancient Japanese uniforms opened the gate.

They bowed to her from the waist. Ko-san made sure Kris’s bow was as low as theirs. “I can go no farther. Do not embarrass your family, or more importantly, me.”

Kris was prepared to promise anything, but the guards were motioning her in, and Ko-san had already turned to go. Kris said nothing but walked, carefully, in very small steps, as gracefully as she could into the Imperial Residence.

The massive wooden door closed behind her without so much as a creak. Ancient they might look, but their lubrication was as up-to-date as yesterday. Kris found herself confronted with a small electric cart. The guards motioned her to the back, where there was a place to stand and a solid handhold. She stepped aboard, and they quickly got her in motion.

This portion of the palace, like the original on Earth and the other copy on Yamato, were closed to the public and reserved for the Imperials themselves. Fukiage Gardens were more a forest at first glance, then Kris found herself coming to a halt beside a pond covered with flowering water lilies.

The guards quickly dismounted and bowed low at the waist to a man in traditional attire who looked only a few years older than the official portrait Kris had memorized.

Kris dismounted herself, careful to get the getas under her before taking a few steps forward and joining the guards in their low bow.

“You honor me,” Kris said in the best Japanese Nelly had assured her and with an accent that the help at Fujioka house did not have to work too hard not to smile at.

The Emperor returned a bow, his much shallower, and smiled as he joined her in speaking Standard, “No, on the contrary, you honor me and my house greatly. Where did you get such a lovely furisode that fitted a woman as tall as you at short notice?”

Kris rose from her bow, as he offered his hand to take her elbow and walk with her. “I honestly don’t know. The staff made me get some sleep last night while they turned Kyoto upside down. That faint chemical smell is the glue holding the last extra material to my hem, so I don’t embarrass us all by flashing my ankles.”

“Ah, yes. Now, if I could just get my daughter to wear a skirt that even approached her knees.”

“Princess Emiko is a delightful young woman.”

The father chuckled. “Yes she is. And I understand she talked you into letting her get out of that ancient outfit in which she was dispatched.”

“It seemed the thing to do. Was it returned in satisfactory order?”

“My sister has inspected every inch of it with her museum specialist and returned the historical artifact to the cold nitrogen bin from which it was borrowed.”

“Good,” Kris said.

“Now, you will notice that I am not risking my neck on getas. Our court photographer already has taken his pictures for tonight’s news which will make Aki-san gnash his teeth. Would you like to settle into a nice pair of flat zori my wife chose to go with that magnificent furisode?

Kris glanced around. Apparently the photographer to the Imperial Family was very discreet; she’d seen no one, much less a camera. The reference to Aki, the present Prime Minister, Kris let pass. “Yes, please. My security chief has been very upset with me many times, but getas were a unique risk for the both of us.”

At that, a man trotted forward and put two zoris, handwoven with golden thread running through the straps, on the ground before Kris. He offered her a hand to lean on as she lost two inches of altitude. Kris could almost relax as they continued their walk among the pines and incense cypress.

“Ah yes, Jack. I hope you two are getting along well.”

“If you know Jack by name, you must also know that his rooms are in the north wing of Fujioka House, and mine are in the south. They do not even share the same stairs. What with the reports that I seduced the admirals into following me into battle, I will not risk any scandal.”

“Good. You are wise as well as courageous. That is a good combination.”

“It has kept me alive so far.”

“And with a little luck, we will keep you alive some more. Do you know that my daughter has been following your career more religiously than she has been following her studies? She wants to join the Navy when she finishes her education.”

The father eyed Kris . . . and, for once, Kris found herself at a loss for words.

Her love for Jack was changing her perspective on a lot of things. Things like maybe someday having a daughter. A daughter who might want to do some of the damn fool things she’d done.

“I see you pause before answering me,” the father beside her said. “Could it be you have second thoughts about what you have done?”

Kris didn’t need time to think about that. “Second thoughts, sir? No. I have done what I have done, and may your gods and mine forgive me, but I would do it all again if I had it to do over. But if I was a mother, and my daughter said she wanted to follow in my footsteps, I think I would be badly torn. We face a crisis, Your Imperial Majesty. It must be met with courage, and, no doubt, much suffering, blood, and loss for all of us. How can I fault anyone willing to meet it? But, to risk all the tomorrows I dream of sharing someday with a little daughter?”

Kris found herself shaking her head.

“You wear a furisode, but I think you are about ready to trade it in for a married woman’s kimono,” the Emperor said.

“If I can ever find time to properly court a man, I just might.”

“Ah, yes. The balancing of our duties to humanity with our duties to family. Or even to ourselves. Trust me, over time it does get easier. Look at me. While you must prance about like a clothes pony in ancient regalia we tremble might tear on a twig, my kimono is a gift from my wife from last Landing Day. Let us get you to the teahouse, so you can change into something both magnificent and wearable.”

“I don’t know if I once get out of this stuff I’ll ever get back into it properly.”

“Don’t worry. My household staff includes the old biddy who taught Ko-san everything she knows. If they can’t redress you, then I clearly need a new staff.”

He paused for a moment. “I don’t know what you know about the Way of the Tea.”

“Little,” Kris said.

I RESEARCHED IT THOROUGHLY, Nelly said.

SHUT UP.

“Princess Emiko and her mother will be joining us for the ceremony. Part of it is to remark upon certain scrolls of wise sayings that I will hang up. I have given much thought about just what I would like you . . . and my daughter . . . to reflect upon.”

Kris nodded. After meeting the Buddhist monk aboard Mutsu, she would have expected nothing less thoughtful from a ceremony.

“You will be asked about the things we speak of. I would prefer that you tell nothing of our time together.”

“I learned at my father’s dinner table that what is said there stays there. Will there be a table in the ceremony?” Kris asked, letting the imp get her tongue.

“No, there will not be, but the same principle applies.”

“It certainly will. Nelly, turn off your recording system.”

DO YOU REALLY MEAN IT, KRIS?

YES, NELLY.

“Recording system off,” Nelly said.

“You record everything?” the Emperor said.

“Since I was a teenager. This will be the first break.”

“I am honored.”