A Single Step (Journey Of A Thousand Miles) [Sekah & CasualVelociraptor]

[Sekah]

There was a cat laying indolently in the lazy yellow eye of the sun, there, on the rocks off the shore of Dejima. Taiga couldn't help but admire it, but he didn't look directly at it. He didn't want it to be known to anyone - anyone - that what he was looking at was the cat.

Instead, he leaned his forearms on the railing of the wall that held the Byzantine Consulate, and looked out over the sea, towards the shore, where Nagasaki lay. Sweet Nagasaki with her hills rolling in endless susurrations over the land - Dejima was made by us, created out of nothing, but the Gods made Nagasaki who she was, and she was beautiful; perfect.

It was a shame so many foreign louses were allowed to suck blood from her fertile soil.

Taiga had been called to the Consulate for a meeting, which was quite a galling thing to happen. As such, he had arrived late to it. This was quite unusual, but he thought disrespect should match disrespect - unfortunately, they'd played mahjong too well. His disrespect was matched with a further disrespect - and they made him and his entourage wait out in the hot sun for them to allow Taiga and his men in.

It was an issue of royalty, as so many aspects of his life were. The Byzantine princess was here, and etiquette demanded a person of equal rank meet her. Taiga was unclear, of course, if that etiquette was Byzantine or Japanese, only that somebody had decided sending the youngest prince was the correct method of scouting this damned woman out. Now, though, she'd made the Mikado's youngest son wait for an hour, ostensibly because he'd arrived late (or that was the only reason the gentry who'd come with Taiga would harp on), and there was likely to be an international incident.

Taiga didn't really want to have an international incident, and the streets of Dejima were interesting to him because they were common, when so much of his life was grandiose and secluded and majestic, so he wasn't unhappy - not even particularly miffed. Nobody'd been able to persuade him to stay in the palanquin (which was an international incident all of itself brewing).

But if Taiga just continued to avoid his father's advisor Hokushin's eyes, focus on the water, and pretend he wasn't staring at that lovely, lazy cat, with her gleaming white coat, he'd get a little sun, fresh air, and be able to watch the busy traffic on consular row.

They walked past in geta and boots, in slippers and Mongol gutuls. They carried long yokes with burdens on each end, or packages wrapped in cloth or rice paper. Palanquins carried by slaves had passed a couple times; samurai walked hither and thither, their wakizashi and katana proudly gleaming, even if many who were here in Dejima instead of back in their father's homes were ruinously poor, ronin, or both.

The Byzantine embassy was quieter than one might expect, which was of itself surprising, since the other embassies the Empire was slowly allowing to enter Dejima - most here on this road - were hives of activity, buzzing like kicked hornets nests as merchants, traders, lesser dignitaries, servants and slaves passed in and out like locusts swarming on crops. How they suckled the sweet rice and sorghum of Japan, Taiga thought.

The cat stretched, and Taiga stretched too, elongating his lean back.

Perhaps they were out, he thought. But out where? Surely not looking for the damned princess? He'd heard she was prone to wandering, but surely not during a prince's meeting -

 

[CasualVelociraptor]

Tuesday, April 8th, 1653
​

An occasion such as this, 25-year-old Anna's father and Emperor Thomas Zaccaria III often reminded her, called for the most formal of dress to command the respect of all nations for Byzantium, heir to the thousand-year legacy of Rome, saved from multiple invasions by Mohammedans due to being the bedrock of Orthodox Christian faith. God's Kingdom on Earth in other words. That meant a red and purple cloak. Gold sash. Hair tied into two long braids, symbolizing the double eagle of the Empire. A jeweled and pearl-encrusted cap. All four of her names proclaimed at once while she was carried on a litter- Anna Constantina Zaccaria II Porphyrogenita.

(That last one literally meaning "Born into the Purple." Into royalty. Into this lifelong prison where she would become a statue while very much still alive if not careful.)

And lastly and most importantly to her father, a white veil trailing behind her to symbolize her chastity. So far, she had kept to that edict despite her years of travels meeting many handsome men around this world- from the gold-lined streets of Timbuktu in Mali, jewel of the African continent in her opinion, to the rope footbridges of the Inca capital of Cuzco deep in the mountains and jungles of Tahuantinsuyu (meaning Realm of the Four Parts and usually shortened to Tahua). Not to mention politely declining (with her father's approval) at least four proposals from Babu, son of Great Khagan Sholoi of the Mongols (the rest had probably been rejected by form letters from her scribes). So, she knew how to approach people in this formal, detached manner wherever she went. And yet, in that garb many people did not treat her as worthy of the truth but attempted to deflect from whatever they knew that she knew was actually going on under many, many scrolls worth of protocol, as well as flatter to gain favor with her father.

Flattery would not work this time. Protocol she tossed to the flock of seabirds she saw competing with fishermen for their catch now, as she envied the freedom of them both. And as for formality...Psh. Emperor Hisoka's youngest son or not, this young man, Taiga she'd heard his name was, was apparently habitually late, so did not deserve the respect of seeing her robes from what she heard of his work ethic- or lack thereof.

Anna had instead eschewed the litter when waking up this morning and ordered the consulate cleared out on purpose of even the representative, for she didn't want any of her Varangians blocking her out due to her attire. Since they all worked for her, they had no choice but to agree, and that was one perk of this job for her, apart from the travel of course. Then she slipped away from her quarters in the emerging light of dawn and wandered the city for an hour while her remaining advisors and consulate personnel fruitlessly scrambled about trying to find her. To disguise herself, she had sliced her hair short at the shoulder with her and then switched clothes with a servant, severely frustrating their efforts.

She only spent a few minutes sightseeing at most, though games of tabula played by old men in the park were tempting. And when she did, she couldn't help but adore the cherry blossoms that were in bloom in the many gardens and parks that weaved in and out of very familiar imported limestone Greek buildings painted white and purple. he windmills in the distance that processed agricultural products for export, as well as the choppy, white-crested seas capped off the scenic view. She quickly refocused, using each of the gold stavraton coins and silver 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, and 1/16 fractions of such- which were legal tender by virtue of the 1587 Treaty of Aleppo that established Dejima- that she had in the pouches lining her robes to buy bags of rice of different sizes from different vendors in the Dejima market.

She also holstered her dagger and a flintlock overcoat pistol on the inside lining of her cloak in case anyone decided to rob, rape, assault, or otherwise harass someone they might assume was just a hapless, stupid peasant girl no one would miss. Luckily, no one tried.

It was with nearly two dozen of the small cloth bags, both ones that she'd already been carrying and others that were supplied by the merchants (including a larger knapsack that actually carried everything- that was actually a decent purchase!), that Anna approached the disheveled looking younger man. Without a word she dumped all of their contents on the table in front of him and the older man (who she could only assume was some advisor), all the while screwing up her face in disdain.

"I'm guessing you've had rice before," she said, clasping her silver diadem around her forehead so the grumpy older man would not throw her out. His face paled as he realized the Greek woman's deception. "Do you see anything wrong with this? Because I certainly do. Black, black, black, black, black, BLACK!" she yelled as she pointed at many grains afflicted similarly. "That means mold and is not how rice, or any food fit for human consumption, should look. And yet, your government, which is responsible for building and managing windmills that process rice that I assume is perfectly good when coming in from the paddies, has allowed this to slip in more than a dozen stalls, and my people are getting sick and dying. Dy-ing!" she emphasized with an emphatic gesture. "There have also been reports of this happening from rice shipped to Constantinople itself, which I can only imagine is worse." Even with the Sinai Canal being built, it would still take weeks for rice to make that journey, rotting even further.

"That is simply unacceptable, when we make sure our grain from Tunisia and Anatolia is impeccably stored before selling them to you! So, tell me, what do you intend to do about it?"

 

[Sekah]

A peasant woman approached, one Taiga assumed was a servant, come at last to let them into the building. Instead, she greeted him more rudely than anybody ever had in his short, but influential life.

For a moment, he was totally taken aback, lips slightly parted, one sculpted black brow cocking. He watched as the rice splayed out on the stone table set up outside the consulate.

He'd never seen rice like that - and rarely saw rice uncooked, either - but he knew good rice was brown, not black.

He also knew, instantly, that he could be easily manipulated into making promises that wouldn't be to the benefit of either his nation or, necessarily, hers, if he spoke with haste, and without all the information. "It seems to me the merchants' rice is unusual," he intoned mildly. Neither an acknowledgement of her point, nor a promise to right the wrong she brought to him. He leaned back, ticking back through who was responsible for rice shipments in Dejima, and abroad. The Minister of Trade, of course, but he wouldn't do the legwork himself, no - for this to have happened, some proll in his charge was to blame, not him.

Taiga reached out, fascinated, and flicked one of the blackened grains, watching it wobble on the stone table.

"If aught of your consulship are ill, may I invite you to use our Imperial doctors. I'm sure they can help with any ailments they might be suffering." Yet never once did he admit that the ailments might have come from the plain fact of these black rice.

He looked out over the waters, and said, "Am I to understand I'm in the presence of one Anna Constantina Zaccaria II Porphyrogenita?" He spoke her name without undo difficulty - strange that the son of an insular nation like Japan would have such good pronunciation of Anna's name.

 

[CasualVelociraptor]

"Congratulations, you memorized your envoy's notes, Taiga Hisoka," Anna snapped as she looked away from him. Clearly very annoyed at his attempt to brush off the situation with decorum, she leaned on one of the pillars of the balcony. "Thankfully, none of my consulate staff have gotten sick"- probably, she surmised, because they loved importing cinnamon-coated, nutty sweetmeats, cakes and breads from Anatolia, though she also mused to herself that those would give them gout sooner rather than later- "but if they do require the use of your medical staff, you will not charge them for it. Am I understood?"

"And you and I will get to the bottom of this, Taiga," Anna then said as she walked closer to him, her stride radiating command yet grace. Perhaps there was utility yet, she thought, in her long years stuck inside the palace while princess training, that she would not often acknowledge while sneaking out onto the streets of Constantinople to socialize with those her father deemed "the rabble." That was despite these people now having a say in electing the Imperial Senate that had wrangled for itself legislative power that had not been held since the days of the ancient Roman Republic herself.

“If only out of self interest for us both,” Anna now proclaimed as she rested her hand on the table authoritativelt. “After all, if word gets around that your food is contaminated, all this trade in one of the busiest ports in your empire evaporates overnight and your father will almost certainly be angry with you about it for failing to stanch this gross mismanagement, from whatever source derived. My father will also be very disappointed in me,” she sighed, clutching her arm with her other hand in a rare moment of vulnerability towards the fellow royal.

“Meanwhile, we can get plenty of rice from our colony in Java…but ice-packed fish from your country, that is then wrapped raw in rice- sushi, I believe it’s called, which I haven’t tried yet- is a popular item in our capital. To the extent that some people save thousands of stavrati JUST to come and try it at the source. Why would you let all those people who are beginning to love and appreciate your land’s beauty and natural bounty down?”

 

[Sekah]

She snapped at him, and he grinned, his eyes curving into a smile.

"You are understood, Princess," he said, indulgently. It was just - refreshing, to have someone talk like that to him. Like he meant nothing, was owed nothing, was nothing. Nobody talked to him like this, and she certainly wasn't supposed to.

But he liked it, and marveled at that. This was a normal conversation, that's all. Something peasants engaged in, not princes.

And not, in general, princesses, either. She was unique, and he liked that, too.

"I think I am supposed," he said, when her tirade finally simmered down, "to tell you to - what's the phrase? - fuck off," he said, that same bemused, indulgent smile on his face.

"You want to get to the bottom of this?" he asked. He straightened up. "So do I, Princess. Come with me." He offered his hand to her, intending to lead her back to his own palanquin.

It was not done, to bring a foreigner - even a princess - into the imperial castle.

But he figured as the Emperor's son, he had sufficiently high rank to undo such ordinances where he pleased. Being a prince always meant he could do everything, and nothing, he desired.