The ship moved faster than any seagoing vessel Angelique had ever been on. It was almost as exhilarating as riding The Pony Express, though once they were out at open sea, with no fixed reference point, it became that much harder to gauge just how fast they were moving and the novelty soon wore off.

In the harbour on the western U.S. coast, however, they had left the shore with a lengthening wake behind them as they thundered away from the landmass. She could see trees and buildings visibly shrink as she watched, not taking an age, and soon become indiscernible from constant bobbing.

The Ottoman ship and its crew were rebel sympathisers, the captain and crew loyal to Süleyman Reis, who was also aboard.

“I miss the sea and the ship,” he said to her, standing at the bulwark to the fore, water spraying them.

She stared out at the water. “It must be very difficult for you.”

“Life is life,” was all he said in way of response. “Kismet.” He looked sideways at her before offering an explanation. “It was not my fate.”

“I do not believe in such a thing.” Her words were almost an angry outburst.

The Reis gave her an odd look, then he shrugged. “What you believe, or not believe, not make a thing true or not.”

“Truer words have never been said.” She spoke in a calmer manner now. “But I make my own fate. My own kismet.”

He laughed at her, not unkindly. “Only Allah—” he pointed skyward, “god — writes kismet.”

She gave her own chuckle. “As you can see,” she held out her arms, “I am not a scrap of aged parchment to be written on, nor read.”

“When someone know you, they can read.” Süleyman smiled knowingly.

“Not if you do not let anyone know you.” Her smile was more of a grimace, eyes lacking animation or their usual light.

With a smile, the reis pointed to her. “Meyve, ağacının dibine düşer.”

As he walked away, she wondered if she had been imagining it, or if the man had indeed pointed to her locket. Pulling it gently by its chain, she gripped the aged, lozenge-shaped gold in her hand and tried to decipher his words.

If she had it right, he had said, “The fruit does not fall far from the tree.”

Now if she only knew what he meant by it.

#

The journey had been as quick as the one that had taken them across America. If only such travel were readily available to all, she would have travelled more often. But, as it was, she had been luckier than most, having seen America, Europe and Japan, though she had not been back to the last since leaving there many years ago.

No, she thought, and corrected herself. Since she had escaped.

Angelique did not know what to feel as the ship made its way into the bay. Where it had departed San Francisco switly, now it seemed to move slower, each yard an oceans breadth to taunt her.

She had grown up here. Her formative years passing under its skies and on its soils. She had even spent some time in this very bay. Despite the close relations with the foreign Ottoman, however, most Japanese had been reluctant to accept or have anything to do with her. Life would have been infinitely worse, if not for the fact of her adoptive grandfather being the village chief.

Unlike their disembarking from The Pony, there was no greeting of bewildered masses. Neither was there casual banter between their group, or if there had been, she could not recall it. In her mind, one moment she stood atop the deck of the Ottoman vessel, then they wound up a mountain track. Bittersweet memories flooded her mind and Angelique felt something she had not for some time, something she had not allowed herself. The sting of tears.

She blinked them away, and was glad for the distraction when Beechworth spoke to her, being mute for much of the journey.

“How was it you found yourself here?” He looked about them as if they were in a unearthly landscape.

She explained as best she could, her memories of the actual event long since swept away like sand in the wind, the story told to her by others in the same position as her, but old enough to know.

“The Ottoman’s, their privateers and corsairs, regularly capture merchant European vessels in what they considered their waters, hand the spoils to the empire after… taking their cut,” she said the last with some vehemence.”

“Barbaric,” Beechworth’s face soured considerably. “So, you were—”

“The fruits of just such an endeavour?” She saved the man from speaking the words so unpalatable for him. “Perhaps. No one can recall. We were used as slaves, or entertainment.” Her own visage now matched the Briton’s. “When I say we, thankfully I do not include myself. From the time I can remember anything, I was living with the Iga, where we were treated more kindly.”

“No small miracle by the sounds.” Beechworth noted Hideyoshi’s scowled glance, but by now he was getting used to the young man’s seeming dislike of him. “It was not a slight on your people as a whole, Mister Hideyoshi.” He annunciated each syllable slowly and carefully.

“I speak perfect English, Mister Beechworth, as you are well aware.” Hideyoshi said in a low growl.

“One might not need to be a commended constable of Scotland Yard to see what is as plain as the nose on your face,” Beechworth responded, keeping calm. “However, your constant barrage of hostility towards myself might be an indicator,” the constable slowed his speech further, “of some form of simpleness.”

Hideyoshi puffed up on his horse, face reddening, neck muscles bunching. His whole body appeared as a spring, coiled and ready for release.

Beechworth held steadfast.

Hideyoshi’s release came swiftly, though not as the constable had expected. Instead, it came in the form of a great guffaw that became infectious, first affecting Angelique before finally claiming the constable himself.

“I was beginning to wonder,” Hideyoshi said, still laughing heartily, “if the same were true of yourself, and you were dropped on your head as a child.”

Beechworth grew stern once again “What would my grandmother having dropped me on my head as a child have to do with anything?”

Hideyoshi paused before letting out a fresh bellyful of laughter, tears streaming down his face, Beechworth joining him.

“As please as I am that the two of you have settled your differences,” Angelique said, “we are now in effect in enemy territory. Nom de guerre from this point on.”

Both the constable’s and her brother’s faces quickly settled as amusement left them.

Thinking of the first of many challenges to come, she wiped the tears she had allowed to fall under the guise of laughter from her face.

#

As the horses trotted into the village, children gathered to run after them and call after the Japanese man leading them, and to chatter with laughter at the strangers. They were used to seeing Turks with their various coloured fez, denoting what position they held, but real outsiders were a rarity. These two pale people following behind the chiefs son were definitely not Ottoman soldiers, who were usually tan and mustachioed, and most definitely never women in flowing European dresses of many layers riding side-saddle.

Angelique did her best to play the outsider. She waved and cooed at the children as she held the sun back with her parasol, smiling and laughing.

A procession of children ran ahead of them chanting, “Hideyoshi-dono ga kite iru!” until they reached the gates of a large estate and were promptly let in.

“What are they yelling?” Beechworth asked softly, leaning across to her.

“Lord Hideyoshi is coming,” Angelique whispered. “Now, hush.”

Once they had dismounted, a footman bringing some steps from somewhere for Angelique to do so with some dignity, they were ushered within and instructed to kneel some distance from the head of the room.

Seven men in various stages of advanced years entered the room and Hideyoshi bowed low. Angelique followed suit, and Beechworth emulated her, watching from the corner of his eye. Only one of the men who had entered had the bearing of what could be called lordly. After some shuffling, Beechworth saw Angelique rise. When he was sitting upright once more, he saw the man he had assumed to be the lord kneeling at the head of the room, the others fanning out in an arrowhead formation.

All of them were turned with silent, assessing stares aimed at the trio, not a person in the room moving or making a sound.

Beechworth felt the muscles in his legs burn from sitting in the same manner as the Japanese, and his breathing grew louder in the ever expanding silence.

The lord bellowed something so suddenly that the constable wasn’t sure whether he had flinched, or merely blinked. Hideyoshi bowed once more before rising and approaching his father, where he spoke openly in Japanese. The elders were now rapt in attention at their lord and his son.

For some time, all the lord did was blink and grunt as he listened to the tale that was told. Once Hideyoshi finished, he bowed once more.

The lord stared at the two. He then motioned to his side. Hideyoshi half-jogged forward and kneelt, beside and to the rear of his father.

“You wish,” the lord spoke in a voice both deep and deeply accented, but wholly understandable, “to broker passage to Constantinople for yourself and your wife?”

“Aye, that we do, your lordship,” Beechworth said in a thick Scottish brogue. His mother and immediate family on her side were all Scots, so it was not such a stretch for his assumed identity. “I dinnae wish to tarry with your time so I’ll keep it brief as can be.”

As Beechworth spoke, a frown formed on the lord’s whole face that deepened the longer the constable intoned. He suddenly grunted something at his son who shuffled forward, causing the constable to cut his speech short.

“Bailey-san,” Hideyoshi said. “Donald. Fenella.” He indicated Beechworth and Angelique.

“Bailey-san, please forgive me, but I can not understand your words. However, my son informs me that your wife can act as… mediator?”

It was clear the lord chose his words carefully in order not to insult the man, but he was annoyed, both at not having been able to understand Beechworth, and that he now had to resort to dealing with a woman. Just as Angelique had hoped.

“Aye, truthfully I cannae ken your lordship’s tongue hardly maeself.”

“Hush now, Donald,” Angelique said without a touch of French inflection.

The constable looked at her in surprise, recovering quickly. “Though I must warn yae, she can be a feisty one.”

She playfully slapped the back of his hand before bowing lower and addressing the lord. “I do hope you can understand my words more clearly than my husband’s, Lord Ishinari Hideo.”

“Yes. Please do convey my deepest apologies to Bailey-san if he is offended.” He offered a small bow of his head, no more than a nod, and a forced smile that she knew he was not accustomed to. Diplomacy had never been his strength.

“Do not concern yourself, sir, Donald does not offend easily, especially when matters of business are at stake.”

She glanced briefly at the man who sat directly in front of her. He showed no sign of recognition. And why should he, she thought. When Hideo had last seen her, she was a tanned wild thing running around dressed as the children who had led them to the estate had been, in a simple robe.

He had never cared for her, and that was now proving to be a boon. Had their grandfather still here, the plan would have been radically different. There would not have been need of one.

The lord nodded. “What business does your husband have in Turkey?”

“Your lordship, my brother and I travelled to America in order to procure cotton for a business venture. Unfortunately that did not eventuate as there had apparently been some misfortune or predicament with this last years crop.”

Every part of there cover story was accurate down to the last detail, this portion supplied by Agent Wake by way of his knowledge stemming from his Treasury ties.

“He did, however,” she continued when the man made no comment, “come into possession of an incredible machine by way of luck, and he, being the shrewd businessman that he is, acquired that in short order instead.”

“What is this incredible machine you speak of?”

The lords interest was now piqued, she could tell. The look in his eyes was the same as ever. He may not have seen her often, but she had seen him enough to learn his mannerisms. She had made a point of it.

“The Mechanical Turk.” She spoke the words with great reverence.

Hideo frowned deeply before his brow lifted. “The Mechanical Turk?” He snorted. The snort turned into a chuckle when she did not react, and then became open laughter. The elders looked to each other in confusion. When he explained to them with great mirth, they too laughed along with their lord.

“I dinnae ken,” Beechworth exclaimed, looking concerned. “Why does the lord laugh?”

Hideo spoke to Hideyoshi, motioning at the two, apparently far too amused to use English, or to sink to that level.

“My father says, the Ottoman have no need of a hoax chess-playing automaton, and already have puppets aplenty.”

The elders continued to laugh and Angelique smiled along with them. Her smile almost slid from her face as she was gripped by a memory, one that she had not remembered until this moment.

The same room. The same men within it, though much younger, laughing and taunting a young woman. A young woman who looked much like the one in her locket.

She pushed the vision from her mind. The current mission was all that mattered in this moment. If she failed, everything was done for. They would be done for.

Her longer plan would fail.

“We are well aware of its nature, my lord,” she finally managed to say, grateful her voice had not broken. Any sign of weakness now could spell disaster.

Hideo forced out words full of derision between his barking laughter.

“My father asks, what you hope to achieve by taking it to Constantinople?”

She waited for the right moment before making the revelation.

The lord froze. His face became so ashen that the men about him stopped their noise immediately lest they be punished. He blurted something in angry Japanese to Hideyoshi.

“My father says…” Hideyoshi gave them an uncomfortable look.

“I said, Lord Hideo,” Angelique said, “that it is more the Greek Fire engine within powering it that we thought they would wish to see.”

#

The ruse had worked so well that Hideyoshi’s father — she could only think of the man as such, despite that she called the very same man’s father grandfather — ordered the horses readied despite the hour. They rode immediately to the ship so he could see the machine for himself.

Aboard the vessel, he paced in the hold as they opened the large crate.

It had been tremendous good fortune that they had happened on The Turk as they had. As she saw Süleyman Reis, toiling about the ship with the fez of a lowly crewman on his head, she could not help but think of his description of kismet. How nice it must be, she thought, to so wholly believe in something as wondrous as that.

But she could not.

It was not fate or a god that had made her and Wake take that trip. It was plain and simple human curiosity, and her own keen senses that had spied the wagon train in the first place.

As a panel of the crate came down with a crash, she turned her attention back to the present, and followed the Iga lord around to the opening and The Turk. Even in the dim lighting of the hold, its polished wooden cabinet gleamed as Beechworth pulled open the doors and drawers, the brass clockwork within shining almost like gold. It was all very impressive, and that showed clearly on the face of the lord as he nodded.

Then Beechworth opened the final cabinet and revealed the addition that Yardley had made during the trip, all to her instruction.

Pipes gleamed in the light of a Greek Fires glow, which shone in the now wide eyes of the Iga elders gathered about it.

“Where did you get this?” The lord’s face became redder still. “How did you come aboard an Ottoman vessel from America?”

Though he feigned delighted surprise like the others about him, she could tell the lord was incensed at the turn of events. He had somehow missed vital information, and information was the trade if the Iga clan. That and more nefarious services. Someone would pay dearly for the oversight. But she could not think on that now and would have to rely on her brother to manage the consequences.

Beechworth chuckled and tapped the side of his nose. “I cannae tell a lie, but I cannae reveal my secrets neither, if ye ken, my lord?”

Hideo gave a stare that would freeze lesser man to the spot, a stare he was infamous for. Angelique knew it was one developed in his many years of martial training. She also knew that once he and his men were in private, he would be frothing with anger at them all. This would go all the way to the shogunate, and from there to the Turks, and back again. And hey would not be happy.

“Show me how it works,” he commanded.

“Begging your lordship’s pardon,” Angelique bowed her head in apology, “but we can not.”

He seethed at being denied and barked at Hideyoshi, who translated, though she needed none.

“My father demands that you show him the machine operating.”

“I am sorry, my lords, but it is not at present operational. We had to disassemble parts in order to ship it due to safety. Greek Fire, as you know is —”

The man seemed to calm and snorted in derision, speaking of the pair of outsiders in derogatory terms and calling them charlatans.

“Unfortunately, my father cannot broker passage to Constantinople if he can not verify your claims,” Hideyoshi said, translating as diplomatically as he could, which made the lord puff up and smirk.

He thought he had the upper hand.

Angelique tried her best to keep the spite she felt out of the smile she gave as she spoke. “That’s quite alright, my lord. I’m sure the Ottoman naval officers aboard the vessel we arrived on would have already conveyed… Are you quite alright, Lord Hideo?”

#

“I hope you’re happy,” Beechworth hissed under his breath, hands shackled above his head in the hold.

Angelique smiled where she sat in the same situation as her colleague. In all her years of living with the Iga, spying and plotting both her escape and revenge, she didn’t think she had ever seen Hideo’s face reach that colour in rage.

She gazed at the crate holding their precious cargo affectionately. It had either been the greatest of gambles, with their lives on the line as collateral, or a stroke of insane genius.

“My dear husband,” she said in her perfect English accent, “I am positively ecstatic.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Six