The Last of the Wine
by DJ Clawson
This is the last story in my series that began with "A Bit of Advice." At this point you should not be starting with this story, unless you really like a challenge. You should go to my profile page for links to the stories in order.
HUGE AUTHOR NOTE: Book 3 - "Mr. Darcy's Great Escape" (the book version of the story "Left to Follow) is now available in some stores and on Amazon, even though the official publication date is February 1st. What I said in the last chapter stands.
And now, back to our story:
Chapter 8 – Wolf and Cub
1855 (9 Years Later)
Gunpowder was the most distinct smell in the harbor of Nagasaki. Three American and two Dutch warships floated just beyond the docks, as Japanese recruits trained with cannon after cannon, as much as the Shogunate could afford. After the American Commodore Perry forced open the country to foreigners with his impressive battalion of warships in 1854, the Japanese government was working hard to insure its own, if belated, naval safety, purchasing the latest technology from all who would sell in the newly-opened ports of Nagasaki, Shimoda, and Hakodate. The Americans were given priority and their whaling ships sailed up and down the coast, seeking precious whale oil.
One Dutch steamship arrived in September 1855 with only passengers – businessmen and ambassadors from the Continent, mostly. The passage was expensive and the wild nation of Japan was still deemed quite dangerous to outsiders, whatever treaties had been signed. This particular ship also carried a Japanese, or the remains of one.
"Never seen a sight like that before, have you, Sir?"
Geoffrey Darcy looked at the British Ambassador and turned back to the port city of Nagasaki, with the city of Dejima out in the ocean and the giant steps leading up to the main square. "I was here, years ago. I could not say it is the same sight, though." There were too many American flags, and far more activity than the port had ever enjoyed. Foreigners walked along the docks, on land, without samurai escorts. Some of the Japanese did not have shaved heads and braided hair and a few wore American naval costumes. "No, I have never seen this before, Mr. Ambassador."
A horn sounded, announcing their imminent arrival to shore. Geoffrey was joined by his wife, who was free from the constricting and impractical hoop skirt she hated so much and looked pleased with the prospect. It was good to see her smile; the journey had been smooth, but nonetheless difficult on all of them.
"Our trunks are packed and ready."
He put his arm around her. "At least we don't have to stay in Dejima this time."
"At least you can probably find real alcohol. Beef I wouldn't count on."
"Not that I won't try." He bowed as Nadezhda Maddox joined them. "Your Highness."
Nadezhda nodded to them, but was more interested in looking out at the port. She was still in jet, and it was unclear if she would remain so for the rest of her life, or just until they buried Mugen. She was the only one alone on this journey, though they did their best to make her feel as if she was not.
Brian Maddox was more of a fighter than he gave himself credit for. He made it two and eighty years, having survived being an outlaw, being stabbed multiple times, being in countless bar fights and brawls, and threatened many times by his own relatives.
"I feel some obligation to Danny," he said, grinning through a haze of opium. It eased the constant ache in his back, but made his cough worse. "Though I suppose the older brother ought to die first. Still, I've been watching him my whole life. It's very hard to give up the habit. Not that I've watched him well."
"I turned out all right," Dr. Maddox said. He knew his brother was dying long before anyone else did aside from Nadezhda and George Wickham, Brian's doctor. He said he heard it in his voice. Brian's breathing was increasingly labored, as if there was something in his lungs, and it wasn't the opium. He did stop smoking it when he took permanently to his bed, insisting that the strain on his back was lessened by not moving around.
"I don't expect you to be buried with me," he said to his wife, rather unceremoniously. "I would like it, but I relieve you of any obligation you may feel."
Nadezhda turned her head and cried instead of answering him, and leaned on Caroline Maddox's shoulder. She was younger and in good health. She could still have years ahead of her if she did not develop something. Brian took her hand in his. "If you have it in you, and you are ever in the area, dance on your father's grave for me."
She smiled and kissed him. "I will try. He is my father, you know."
"I said it was for me. You can show him the proper respect if you like." He kissed her hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you children, Nady."
"You filled my life with children."
"They just weren't ours. We had to steal them. But that's how I got everything I have, practically. It's not entirely out-of-character for me, you must admit. I am a gambler and a bit of a thief, and you are a wife beyond what I was worth as a husband."
"You're wrong," she said, clutching his bony fingers. "We were meant for each other."
He grinned weakly. "I think I'll do the noble thing for once, and let you be right about that."
Brian Maddox, the son of Stewart Maddox and the cousin of the earl of Maddox, passed away in his sleep. "The last way he would have ever expected to die," Dr. Maddox said, knowing Brian would have said it if he was still capable of doing so. He was buried beside their father in the family plot in Wales. Only the proprietor of Nadezhda's estate knew if the space beside him would remain open indefinitely or be filled upon her death. She did not share this information. She said he was grateful to see Mugen one last time, even though the circumstances were difficult.
Princess Nadezhda retreated from what little public life she had and remained so until Commodore Perry opened Japan, and made her last promise possible to fulfill. Of all the people who loved Mugen, she was the only one alive who knew precisely where he wished to be buried.
As the ship tossed anchor, the final couple arrived. Alison and Benjamin Foster filled out their group. Alison insisted on the journey even though she was with child, and almost beginning to show. They would be home long before she was due, and if not, she insisted, the child would be born in India, where many proud Englishmen were born. On this, her husband could broker no argument.
Customs was surprisingly easy, and they were set up quickly in the American section of town, which resembled a rather hastily-constructed Yankee shanty town than something part of a Japanese port. The only trouble was that the innkeeper would, under no circumstances, house the body of a Japanese heathen in his establishment, and they made the journey to the graveyard almost directly from the boat.
Nadezhda remembered the Temple, but the graveyard was swollen beyond proportions she could have imagined. Japanese graves were tiny, often only containing ashes, and some built one atop the other. Nagasaki was booming, and so was its population. This was the expected result. "O-priest-sama," she said to the resident temple monk, who looked surprised at her clear and easy Japanese. "We are looking for an empty plot."
"No gaijin."
"He is not gaijin. He is Japanese, and he wished to be buried beside his friend," Georgiana said. "Fuma-no-Miyoshi."
"The oldest grave here," Nadezhda said. "My husband dug it. It was before the plague."
It took the monk some time to find the spot, but it was there. "I always wondered why this was here," he said, referring to a stone slab covering the ground with no markings. Beside it was an old gravestone, covered in moss, and Nadezhda cleared enough away to see Miyoshi's name. Geoffrey and Mr. Foster set the coffin down and had to get the monk to help them move the slab that protected the ground beside Miyoshi's grave from being used for any purpose. There was a layer of dirt and even some plant life on it, but they brushed that all away and cleared the space.
"We will pay for full honors," Georgiana said to the monk. "How long will it take to arrange?"
"Two days, maybe three. His name?"
She had debated which name to use. He had so many. "Mugen."
The rest of the day was unbearably hot, and the night not much better. Since there was nothing much to do and they were too tired to explore, Geoffrey and Georgiana sat in the café on the porch of their inn, talking to the ambassador. He was quite flummoxed by the language, insisting he was usually gifted with them, but as this might become a permanent position, he was obligated to learn it before. He was not yet established, and instead stayed at the inn with them. "This is not my first assignment. I was in Nepal for several years. Not quite as hot as this, but very rugged terrain."
"Where is Nepal?" Georgie said, having only a vague sense of the country.
"North of India, next to Tibet. And when I say bad terrain – half their country is on the west side of the tallest mountain range in the world."
"That must be very tall," Georgie said.
As she set her tea cup down, she felt a tug on her wrist. Instantaneously she grabbed the little hand and pulled it up. "What do you want?" she said to the boy who had appeared from nowhere. "It's very rude to take something that's not yours."
"It is mine," the boy said. His accent, like his dress, was American. He was indignant, almost angry at the implication of otherwise as he pointed to the beaded bracelet she wore. "Mine!"
"So very American," the ambassador said to Geoffrey.
Georgiana did not smile, but removed Mugen's bracelet, which she had worn since his death, and held it in her hand just out of the child's reach. "I will give it to you if you can say my name."
He frowned at this challenge, shifting the weight on his little feet, before he could answer. "Wolf." And he grabbed for it again.
"Michael! No! How many times have I told you – " A well-dressed but somewhat harried American appeared in the doorway, and scooped up the boy before he could grab the bracelet. "Forgive me. His last nurse just quit on me and I'm quite beside myself." He tipped his hat to Georgiana, then the others at the table. "Mr. David Walker. And this is my son, Michael."
The ambassador introduced himself first. Mr. Walker was an assistant to Richard Brodhead, the senator of Pennsylvania. "I do a fair amount of traveling for senators – even those outside my district."
"Which is?"
"Philadelphia."
Geoffrey stood at this turn. "Geoffrey Darcy, and this is my wife, Mrs. Darcy."
Mr. Walker looked down at his son, who was squirming in his grasp. "Say your apologies to Mrs. Darcy, Michael."
"No!" Finally breaking free, Michael ran back into the inn.
"Please," Georgie said, offering the exasperated American a seat at their table. "We understand."
"We have seven children," Geoffrey said. "They can be quite a handful."
Mr. Walker accepted tea, and slowly began to relax in their presence. "I thought traveling might be good for him – to get him out of the house. I can't imagine leaving him to a boarding school, all alone in the city." He was wearing a black band; it didn't need to be said outright that he was a widower. "He was always trouble – not mean-spirited, just ... spirited ... but since his mother passed..." He shook his head.
"How old is he?"
"Five. Nearly six. And where am I going to find an English-speaking nurse? I can barely find an English-speaking carriage driver. They only speak enough English to understand you and ask for your money, not say anything back."
"It's a difficult language," the British Ambassador said.
"We'll be staying at the inn for the rest of the week at least," Georgie said, glancing at her husband but not waiting for his reply. "We could keep an eye on him for you – while we're home."
"I couldn't possibly put you out, Mrs. Darcy."
"You won't," she insisted, and he readily accepted, then excused himself to go find his errant son.
Geoffrey withheld comment until they returned to their room, where his expression said everything.
"Oh, since when are you against caring for children?"
He did not bother to respond.
"He said my name."
"You're wearing a wolf pendent on your neck," he observed. "Though I suppose I would rather have a supervised child stealing my wife's possessions than an unsupervised one."
The next day was hot, and Alison continued resting at her mother's insistence. Georgiana and Princess Nadezhda visited the cemetery again to see how the preparations were going and light incense for Mugen and Miyoshi, only to be surprised by a familiar face.
"Nuba Rinpoché," the Tibetan monk Dorje addressed them in accented by fairly competent English. "Your Highness." Nearly ten years had passed, but he was still a young man, much younger than either of them, and he had a lot of energy in him. "I have been waiting for you."
"Lama Dorje," Georgie said. "For how long?"
"Two months. When the shōgun opened Japan to foreigners, I knew it was only a matter of time, and requested to be part of the Tibetan delegation." He chuckled. "Actually, I am the Tibetan delegation."
She bowed her head. "Lama Lobsang is dead."
"Yes, Rinpoché. He died in Lhasa after our return. He was in a very good state, very good rebirth I think. He was at peace." He bowed to Nadezhda. "Your husband ...?"
"Would prefer heaven over rebirth, I think," she said. "If he has a choice. He wanted badly to come, but I think he knew he wasn't going to make it."
"He was a happy man," Dorje said, though he probably meant 'cheerful.' Brian Maddox did have a certain vigor of spirit about him. "This is good for him, good for his soul in the universe."
"Thank you. Will you join us to dine tomorrow?"
He shook his head. "I am forbidden to your part of town. The Americans think I am Japanese. I told the priests here to tell me when someone came with Mugen's body, hoping to find you in this way. I am housing at another temple – but you can come. I would like to see you." He smiled at Georgiana. There was nothing false about it; he was very happy to see her.
... Next Chapter - Funeral for a Friend
