Josh: Tourist Trap

He's here.

For the first time since we began this archive, the actual date is the same as the one on the time stamp at the top of this post. It is Wednesday, February 25th, 2009.

At 6:31 P.M. ("That's 18:31 in military time." Thank you, Yoshida) last night a Carnival cruise ship docked as scheduled in Kyoto harbor for a sightseeing tour. Then at midnight, another enormous cruise ship docked, surprising the harbor master as it was completely unscheduled. Finally, just before dawn this morning, a third cruise liner docked, with other boats having to make a mad scramble to accommodate it. The event was unheard of, unprecedented and upsetting to everyone on the dock but the brothers Yoshida, who were the only ones who knew exactly what was happening.

The call went out. Cars were dispatched for Mary, Yoshida and I, and at Hitoshirezu-jo, they began the final preparations for battle.

Precisely at dawn, the gangplanks on all three ships went down, and the massive cruise lines disgorged their contents as thousands of gray and blue-haired, overweight, Hawaiian shirt-wearing tourists grinning ear-to-ear streamed down into the streets of Kyoto, marching into the rising sun.

The brothers Yoshida had positioned spies down at the port to report the enemy's movements, and they said that whenever a native would approach a tourist and ask them if they needed assistance or wanted to make a purchase, the tourist would merely lift up their camera, flash a few shots of something at random and keep walking. This would satisfy the questioner that the elderly tourist was where they were supposed to be, and on the off-chance that it didn't, one or another of the tourist group-leaders would step over to the native, whisper a few kind words in their ear and invite them to join the processional.

After their little chat, the native seemed quite happy to do just that.

They walked slowly but surely to the castle. It will take them hours, but they don't seem to mind.

Mary and I packed quickly, and soon our car had arrived to take us away to Hitoshirezu-jo. Before we left I pulled her close and kissed her, taking one final, wistful look at our apartment. In the past couple of months it had become home. While the waiting for battle had been stressful at points, it had also been, without question, the most wonderful time of my entire life.

I peered around nostalgically while Mary fretted about whether it was clean enough to leave.

"Mary, in all probability the world's about to end. Is it that important that you didn't scrub the grout in the shower?"

She ignored me, going about her last minute-tidying and finally noticed a small box on the table by the front door. Mary picked it up, stared at it quizzically and ran a finger over the black felt on top. She opened it. She looked at me.

"It's a ring."

I nodded.

She came and put her arms around me, gently, her eyes filling with tears. We stood there holding each other close while the doorbell rang again and again and the smiling armies of the enemy advanced upon us, neither of us wanting to let go.

Finally we wiped our tears, gathered the last of our things, gave an awkward little bow to our apartment and headed down to the car.


We stopped to pick up Yoshida, and when he got to the car his shirt was mis-buttoned down the front, with one side sticking up higher than the other, there was a glob of peanut butter on his chin and his fly was open. In other words, he was only slightly more disheveled than normal.

"You okay, buddy?"

He nodded as he sat down across from us and began chewing his nails. "I know there are other instances of that year that I'm missing. 1831. It is like one of your Easter egg hunts: I feel as though I will be punished for not finding them all."

Mary smiled. "That's not how Easter egg hunts work."

Yoshida ignored her. "More time. It's all ending. I just wanted more time. Is that a new ring?"

She beamed, extending her hand to show him. "I know it doesn't have a diamond and it has an unusual design. And I know it's a bit larger than a normal engagement ring. Don't say anything about it being different." Mary began to scowl. "Don't say anything mean. In fact, don't say anything." Finally she added with a warning glare, "Just say 'congratulations'."

"Congratulations."

Mary smiled again. "Thank you."

I cleared my throat. "Yoshida, I'd like you to be my best man."

Both he and Mary turned to me with the same astonished expressions, saying simultaneously, "You would?"

I shrugged. "Everyone else I know is dead. Besides, I think you would give the most staggeringly awkward best man toast since the invention of human speech. I can't wait to hear it." After a moment he mumbled that he would be deeply honored, and we all settled in for the ride to the castle, with me writing this post on my Blackberry as we went.

With her head resting on my shoulder, Mary gazed down at her ring and asked innocently, "Where did you get the design?"

"Uh... well, it was Galadriel's ring from 'Lord of the Rings'. It was kind've a last minute thing..."

She pulled away, giving me a deadly look. "'Lord of the Rings'? And this writing on the inside, what does it say?"

Now I was squirming. "Yeah... probably something about Sauron. I'm not really sure. It's in Elvish."

Mary stared at me, shaking her head, her mouth open. Her face began to get red and I glanced up to see Yoshida was pointing his phone at us again ("Why?" I asked him later. "She was either going to have sex with you or murder you. Either way, I wanted a copy.") She started to say something, then took a deep breath, looked back down at the ring and finally laughed.

She gave me a sloppy kiss, talking and giggling all at the same time. "It's ridiculous and wildly inappropriate and one-of-a-kind and I have never in my life loved anything more."

Mary: The Whales

February 2nd, 2009:

A month of training; a month of waiting. The Magician is taking his time.

The only news we've had came today from Yoshida, who over lunch told Josh and I that marine biologists across the globe were detecting massive migrations of the world's whale populations. They were heading for Japan.

"How many?" I asked.

"Roughly?" Yoshida paused to bite the entire head off a fish, crunching it with his mouth open in his usual charming style. "All of them."

Josh: No, No, You Really Shouldn't Have

Merry Christmas!!!

Oh, that's right, the damn time stamps are still way off. Well, it's the day after Christmas and we're still alive. Mary has been continuing her training with the naginata and the bow and arrow, and she's doing awesome. Plus, after a training session she has that whole, "I'm sweaty and jazzed up and I could cut you in half with this spear/sword thing", and whoa, nellie, is that a turn-on.

Meanwhile, to try and keep up I started joining her in classes. I know I'll be busy with the Magician's knife and the charms in the fight, but I figured it's never too late to learn something new. However, after two lessons Mary's sensei decided that it actually was too late after I accidentally fired an arrow into a portrait of his late mother, so now I just sit on the sidelines and cheerlead for Mary.

Here's a terrifying story from yesterday: Mary and I were snuggling up just after we opened our presents (video games, comics and DVD's for me, lingerie, perfume and a huge, signed "Road House" movie poster for her. Yeah, she gave me that look, too) when our doorbell rang and we welcomed in Emperor Komei's right-hand man and interpreter, Fukimitsu. He and an elderly servant bowed, the servant holding a large, wrapped box with a golden bow on top.

We offered them some tea, made ourselves comfortable, and Mary asked, "So forgive my asking the question, Fukimitsu-san, but if you and the Emperor despise everything that is not from Japan, how is it that you know how to speak English?"

His perpetual smile widened as he said, "Like Kisho Yoshida, I was not always privy to the true nature of the universe. I grew up under normal circumstances here in Kyoto, and it was only upon my eighteenth birthday that the divine Emperor revealed to me the truth about the outside world and the gaijin."

I poured myself some tea and sat down next to Mary, snuggling in on the couch. "Why you? Did he need you for something special?"

"On that day, his majesty the Emperor informed me that I am his great-great-great-great-grandson." He nodded to me, adding, "As you are King Leopold's. It appears that though we are merely the descendants of some of the most powerful men to rule the Earth, perhaps we will also have the opportunity to contribute to how the world's final chapter is written." Fukimitsu gestured to the servant holding the present, and the old man hobbled over to us and laid it gently on our laps.

Mary grinned and made that "shaking fists in a ball right in front of her face" move that women do when they're excited to open a gift, and I glanced up at Fukimitsu, saying, "It's a head, right? I saw 'Se7en' and I know how you guys roll."

Fukimitsu laughed and even gave a single clap. "Excellent guess, Howland-san! Not quite. Please." He bowed to the box, and Mary and I opened it.

Mary screamed.

I stared down into the box and back up at Fukimitsu, then back down into the box. "There are two, severed, human heads in here."

Fukimitsu nodded. "I said it was an excellent guess."

Mary lost it. "Why the hell would you do this? Who are these poor... what the f*ck is wrong with you people?!"

He kept his composure perfectly, even chuckling a little. "Kisho-chan mentioned your propensity for cursing, and now that I hear it I find it actually quite charming. That is Endo-san and his wife."

"Who?!"

"The Emperor read your missive from your time aboard the Dial Up. Captain Maeda's tale was a particularly touching one. Despite all his hardships, he acted honorably, while his partner in business did not. My lord was also quite displeased to hear of the Captain's wife's actions in marrying Maeda-san's partner simply for his money. Most horrible."

I pointed down at the heads. "So this is..."

"Ota-san paid them a visit. They were given the opportunity to make restitution and redeem themselves. They declined."

Mary shook her head. "Maybe they- alright, they did deserve to be punished for what they did, but this-"

Fukimitsu rose from his chair. "They were my great-great-great-great grandfather's subjects. They acted with dishonor and he punished them, as is his right. It was their karma. It was justice." He bowed and turned to leave, adding, "Merry Christmas."

I finally pulled it together enough to stand, still holding the box. "Uh, would you mind taking this back with you? We're grateful for the gift, but I just haven't got around to finishing that human head display stand down in my workshop. I was going to get to it right after the bird feeder, but you know how it is."

He laughed, and the servant took the box back, carefully folding down the flaps.

"Wish the Emperor a merry one, too, okay?"

Fukimitsu shook his head. "If you insist. I am sure you can imagine his feelings concerning such a 'holiday'. Turn the other cheek, live and let live, always forgiving every transgression-"

"Uh, on second thought, never mind. Thanks, Fukimitsu-san."

He bowed. "An excellent choice, Howland-san. I would hate for the next present I deliver to be you." He laughed good-naturedly as he left, closing the door behind him.

Yoshida: 39

It has been one week since the previous post.

I believe I have surmised just what the whales are singing when they attack. As we recall from this post, there is a break at every thirteenth interval:

"/************/************/************/************/"

The number thirteen has the typical connotations of luck or unluckiness, but there is also this:

1831: 1+8+3+1 = 13

So simple. I can only assume the time spent with Howland and Stroud has dulled my intellect.

Now I cannot help but think: has the number 13 been associated with unluckiness because of the Magician and the year 1831 A.D.?

Mary: Preparing For Battle

November 28th, 2008:

And now we wait. It might be a month or more before the Magician arrives in Japan to attempt to force his way in to Hitoshirezu-jo (literally, "Hidden Castle", Emperor Komei's home here in Kyoto).

In the meantime there is some discussion of precisely how we should proceed. Our main defense is the knife and the bingo charms, and we are hoping that whenever Josh destroys a charm with the knife the Magician's servants (like the Smilers) will be killed in a wide radius as the whales were when they attacked.

Beyond that, we considered alerting the Japanese authorities, but quickly came to our senses, knowing that they'd never believe a word.

The Emperor will not allow any weapon into the castle that is not Japanese of origin, so I'm taking the time to learn how to fire a bow and arrow, as well as receiving some rudimentary training with a "naginata" (below), which is basically a sword mounted on the end of a spear. One of the Emperor's servants is teaching me, and while it has been rigorous and I'm acquiring calluses at an alarming rate, the exercise is just what I need to focus and not go crazy waiting around.

In my spare time, just for fun I'm having Kisho teach me some of the sleight of hand he learned in his stage magic classes. It might come in handy as a Private Investigator if I survive the coming battle and the world doesn't end and my name is cleared back in the States.

Too many "ifs".

Just f.y.i., I'll be posting less frequently as we wait, unless there is something new to report.

Josh: Fathers And Sons

After we gave the Emperor the encryption code for the archive and he dictated his post (consider my mind thoroughly blown by it, by the way), he dismissed us. Mary spoke then, saying respectfully, "Pardon me, your majesty, but perhaps we could stay a few moments longer? There is so much more that we would very much like to know."

Fukimitsu translated and Emperor Komei replied, with Fukimitsu's little smile widening as he pronounced, "The divine Emperor says that he would very much enjoy continuing a dialog concerning our mutual foe via posts on the archive instead of in person. He hopes that the enemy of his enemy is his friend, but at the same time every fiber of his royal being-blessed by sacred Nippon and directly descended from the great goddess Amaterasu- cries out to order your immediate executions with every moment you are in his presence."

I rose and stretched. "Welp, time to be hittin' that ol', dusty trail. Thanks for everything, your majesty." Bowing once more, we beat a hasty retreat back to the limo, with the Yoshida brothers giving our driver orders to return us to our respective apartments.

In the car, with Mary curled up on the seat next to me asleep, I heard Yoshida sniffle. "Are you getting sick, Yoshida? Do not give it to me. I can not afford to get sick right now."

"I am fine."

As we drove by a street-light, I saw that his face was wet. It took almost a minute for me to register what was happening (considering his normal disposition) and I asked, "Are you crying?"

"No."

"What is it?"

He wiped a hand over his face and continued to stare stoically out of the window at the dark shapes of trees as they whizzed by. In a soft voice, he said, "Yesterday, my father was a genocidal monster- an abomination. Today- while he did betray the Emperor's orders- he did it only and always in his service. Today, he is a hero, to me. My father."

I nodded. We drove home in silence, with only the sound of the road in our ears.

Tenno Heika Komei: The Unbalancing Of The Universe And The Invasion Of Most-Sacred Nippon

From the very instant of my birth in the city of Kyoto on the twenty second day of the seventh month of the Western year eighteen thirty-one A.D., I knew that the world was very, very wrong. While I still felt safe, warm and maintained by the aura of Nippon (or Japan), it was as if I was still in the womb, in a fashion- with a small pocket of comfort and, for lack of a better term, rightness- but just outside of this zone, just beyond a thin membrane was a tide of toxicity just waiting to crash down upon us and poison our very souls.

You may doubt that I could sense the wrongness of the universe in my first instant in the world, but I knew. Nippon told me.

From the day the divine sun goddess Amaterasu had blessed Nippon by making her great-grandson Jimmu the first Emperor, the land was good, the samurai did battle and honor reigned supreme. The land of the rising sun was complete and perfect under heaven. Then came the gaijin.

The word "gaijin" is often misinterpreted as meaning, "foreigner" or "barbarian". It is thought in most circles to be an insult, which it is, though some who have embraced the West foolishly believe it to be complementary. Gaijin means: "outside person", and never has there been a more perfect definition.

The invasion came on the twenty-first day of the seventh month of the Western year eighteen thirty-one A.D. Before this day there was only Nippon. Look back through history before this date and see how few real interactions there were with the rest of the world. How many tsunamis and earthquakes and natural disasters occurred that prevented the gaijin from having a significant impact on Nippon.

This is because before the year eighteen thirty-one A.D., there was no outside world.

There was only Nippon and her people and her divine Emperor, Shogun at his side. Then something changed, and the rest of the world suddenly, magically appeared.

The West (the term is used for familiarity's sake. For our purposes it is defined as, "that which is not Nippon") suddenly was vomited forth upon us, and we have been mystified, horrified and repulsed ever since.

A day after the invasion, Nippon gave birth to me to champion her in response. Nippon lavished blessings upon me, granting me long life, vitality and resources, and to my eternal shame it has not been nearly enough.

I attempted to warn my subjects time and again against the menace of the gaijin, but always the weakest of them have been seduced by the promise of an easier life that their clever contraptions could provide.

"But Emperor," My worthless Generals would whine. "Their guns would make our warriors so much better. It would allow them to defeat our enemies at range so much easier than with bows." Easier. Has any warrior ever been made better by walking an easy road? Nippon is Nippon because of its hardships. Our Samurai were supreme because while their choices were often the most simple, their paths they walked were hard.

At every turn we were seduced by the West, given promises and assurances that with every new adoption and integration into our lives that life would be easier. As easy as drowning. As easy as surrender.

In the Western year eighteen sixty-three A.D. I issued the Joi Chokumei, or the "Order To Expel Barbarians", but by that point even my Shogun had been enthralled by the outlanders, and while he paid lip service to the decree, by and large he chose not to enforce it. It was at this point that I meditated upon my failure as Emperor and came to the conclusion that I would be more effective operating from a position of secrecy.

The merchants were replacing the samurai as the dominant force in Japan, therefore I would attempt to improvise and influence the world economically as the power behind the throne. I steadily and covertly began hiding assets and informing my most trusted clans, the Yoshidas and the Tanakas that I would soon fake my own death, which I did in the Western year eighteen sixty-seven A.D., obfuscating the details of my demise with such vigor that to this day historians still argue whether I died of smallpox or poison.

After I assumed the identity of Lord Yamamoto, I remained in hiding, created the Bengosha Company (Defender, in English) and set about preserving Nippon from the invaders at all costs. Despite my abhorrence of the outside world, I realized early on that I required more information about the West. We needed to know our enemy, but in every instance I was rebuffed.

We Japanese have always been terrified of the sea. We take to the water only as a last resort, and even then cling to shore as a child to its mother's leg. I would send out one spy ship after another to all the corners of the newly-deformed world, but always my loyal Samurai would fail to ever reach their intended destinations. It was only years later that I discovered the reason why: the kujira. The whales.

They surrounded my ships and sang their song, and my men would simply be gone. Over and over the kujira turned my spy navy into a ghost fleet. Finally I resorted to employing a gaijin spy so as to attempt to fool the kujira, but they even attacked his vessel in the Western year eighteen seventy-two A.D., banishing him forever from the Earth and leaving his ship the Mary Celeste adrift, a mystery to all in the world but myself.

Attempting to take the battle to them, I turned my resources toward their destruction, building a line of ships and encouraging whaling at every turn to attempt to at the very least thin their numbers, but again the gaijin exerted pressure, condemning us on "moral" grounds until the feeblest of us whined and begged and brought the defense of our shores to a halt.

It was then that I began to suspect that the invasion of Nippon was not some random occurrence or a mere quirk of a perverted and savage universe, but was instead being instigated by an insidious, ruthless intelligence.

Over the next half-century, I attempted to defend Nippon from the gaijin, but at every juncture I failed. Always the promise of an easier life beguiled my people and made them weak; the lure of greed and luxury overcoming the harsh realities of duty and honor. During this time I fought a war of attrition and slowly lost.

Finally I decided that the Samurai were never meant to fight a war of attrition, much less win one. The Samurai excelled in wars of blood and steel and winner-take-all, so from behind the scenes I created and nurtured an imperialist movement, a hearkening back to the days of yore where honor ruled Nippon. I guided the hand of my adopted great-grandson, Admiral Yamamoto as he planned his attack on the West and I cheered as their boats sank to the bottom of the Hawaiian reefs.

It was war, and amid the blood and the carnage and the sacrifice and the glory, my people had rediscovered who they were. While the odds were steep and victory over the gaijin was far from assured, we had reclaimed our souls.

Then came the fire.

If it had been but one of our cities, we would have surrendered- if they had given us the time- but they had constructed two bombs, so that is what they used. With one of our beloved cities murdered, we would have, to our shame, given up, but we would still have eyed our enemy with the sullen glare of one who would rise once more from the ashes. But two? Two broke us. Nagasaki did more than end the war, it ended who we were. It shattered our national soul, and from then we have been a terminal patient steadily bleeding out.

The West did what it almost always does after it destroys a people: it helped. MacArthur came and rebuilt our cities; they provided us with new facilities and new technology and new ideas and they replaced our bow with a healthy handshake. They made our lives so very much easier.

They killed us with kindness.

It was only after the war, after the lines of communication opened with the gaijin that I received enough information to put a name to my enemy, to the one who had somehow caused the invasion of my world and sought to conquer us absolutely: the Magician.

We fought our unwinnable war as best we could in the intervening years, and then in the Western year nineteen hundred and ninety A.D., my vassal Shigekazu Yoshida informed me of his new plan to create a deadly virus that would, at best, defeat our enemy, and at worst allow us to end the conquest, destroy our enemy and allow Nippon an honorable death. His plan was to work to formulate this virus and release it simultaneously on every continent, annihilating all human life outside of Japan. The island nature of our Empire would make it a simple matter to shut down our borders and forbid any travel even before we had released the virus, keeping the populace safe from harm, though should Yoshida's new "Calicivirus" somehow find its way onto our shores, at least we would die on our terms, not the Magician's.

It was then that I made a decision that haunts me to this day: I said no. Despite all that had been done to us, despite all that was at stake, I saw the human cost and deemed it too brutal and horrible a plan to carry out. Was I wrong? Should I have had the fortitude and will to annihilate all human life in the world? That is for history to decide, for whatever history is worth.

I do know that before the year of my birth, history means nothing. The Magician can shift the dates of events at will, changing important "facts" on a whim. And why? Because they never happened. For all intents and purposes, before the Western year eighteen thirty-one, there was only Nippon, the rest of what we now call "the world" simply did not exist.

Shigekazu Yoshida and his friend and assistant Tanaka disobeyed me. Yoshida, seeking first to understand the dispersal and infection pattern of the virus, turned to the Australian government to fund the Wardang Island project, a scientific endeavor they imagined would control their exploding rabbit population. Then, once he had collected his data Yoshida moved on to America, where he exploited the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta for their archives of viruses, attempting to tailor his "Human Calicivirus" until it was perfected.

It was at this point where Yoshida simply ran out of money, as I had long-since refused to aid him, and it was here were one of the Magician's own servants, King Leopold I of Belgium discovered his work and betrayed his own master to assist him. Hoping that if he were to funnel the funds to Yoshida through his own descendant his treason would remain undiscovered by his master, Leopold provided millions and the virus was completed.

Of course, at the very instant of victory, the Magician bore down on Yoshida and murdered him, the virus later destroyed by my now-fellow archivists.

Now, at last, the Magician is coming. I can feel it in my very soul. He rides the waves accompanied by his vile minions, escorted by his fleet of kujira. He is coming here: to my childhood home, to my castle where no gaijin has ever set foot, and here will take place the final battle to preserve Nippon. He will attempt to gain entry to our most sacred shrine deep in the heart of the castle and perform his magic, his trick, ending our world.

We will stop him. We will destroy him once and for all.

So swears Tenno Heika Komei, one hundred and twenty-first Emperor of Nippon.

Josh: Komei

Mary, Kisho Yoshida and I rode in a stretch limousine, following the Yoshida brothers' car to the outskirts of the city. Outside our car windows the sleek skyscrapers of Kyoto were replaced by rural housing and then by the beautiful rolling trees and hills of the Japanese countryside.

As we drove, Mary and I sat in the rear seat with Kisho facing us, Yoshida never taking his eyes from his PDA as we rolled along. As the sun went down over the hills, Mary placed her head on my shoulder and whispered, smiling, "Back in the office? What you did? That was very sexy."

I smiled back at her and was about to reply when Yoshida pulled out his phone, opened it up and pointed it at us. Mary scowled. "What are you doing? Are you videotaping us?" Yoshida made no reply. Her scowl deepened. "You think we're going to have sex right here?" He shrugged, closed the phone and put it back in his pocket, picking the PDA back up again and ignoring us once more.

As Mary glared at him with a combination of disbelief and loathing, I gazed back out the window and murmured, "We should probably get some new friends."

"Ya think?"

The rest of the trip was a touch frosty, and we rode in silence until the cars arrived at a large, wooden gate, with twin rows of lanterns hung on posts on either side of a gravel driveway leading across a bridge and up a small hill.

In no time we'd reached the top, and when the car door was opened for us we found ourselves standing before an actual, medieval-style Japanese castle, with torches mounted alongside enormous, dark, brass-bound, wooden doors. In the darkness it was difficult to make out just how large the castle was, but looking up I could see a significant portion of the sky blotted out by the structure.

I began to walk toward the doors, but the Yoshida brothers' assistant sidled up to me from the other limo and informed me in no uncertain terms that I was forbidden to enter the castle. He and the brothers then ushered us down a path running alongside the gigantic stone and wood structure to a pavilion in a clearing in the back. As we approached I could hear the sound of music- one of those Japanese guitar-things I never knew the name of was being plucked one string at a time in its distinctive, quavering style.

Walking into the pavilion was like strolling into the past. It was brightly lit with lanterns and decorated with red and gold banners (actual design, below), and everyone there was dressed in kimonos, with not a hint of anything modern or technological on display. There was a lovely young Japanese woman on our right playing the shamisen (the weird guitar-thing. Kisho filled me in later), along with a half-dozen men and women sitting on mats and talking quietly amongst themselves. At the end of the room in a clear position of "boss" was an elderly Japanese gentleman, his silk kimono covered with a long, opulent, golden robe that spread out behind him like a fan. To his left stood a young man in his early twenties with just the hint of a smile on his face, reading to him from a small black book. Kisho whispered that the servant's name was Fukimitsu. To the elderly man's right was the most muscular Japanese man I had ever seen, with the mass of a sumo wrestler but without the fat. His name was Ota, according to Kisho. Both of the men standing were holding curved, long canes which were obviously swords in very thin disguise.

As we stepped into the area, led by the Yoshidas, the two brothers actually went to their knees and then bowed so far their foreheads touched the floor. I glanced over at Kisho to see that he was doing the same thing, so Mary and I followed suit.

While we were bowing, Kisho whispered, "It is Yamamoto-Sama. Lord Yamamoto is President and C.E.O. of the Bengosha Corporation." His expression was deferential verging on terrified. He hissed, "Please, please, please be respectful. Do not act like, uh... like you do."

Finally we rose, and the Yoshida brothers spoke in Japanese to Yamamoto for a minute before he nodded and waved us forward to stand in front of him. For an elderly man, Yamamoto's eyes were white and clear, and he gave no impression of frailty whatsoever. As we approached, the sumo guy Ota's knuckles went white on the handle of his sword cane, and it was then that I decided to adopt an immediate and binding "no sudden moves" policy.

Yamamoto cleared his throat and spoke a few words of Japanese to Fukimitsu- the smiling man with the book on his left- and he bowed, lifted up the book and began to read aloud in perfect English:


"Frustrated once again by all our efforts, I retreated to the bar just off the base, hoping that some time away from the project would clear my head. The bar was mostly empty as usual- no surprise given its combination of isolated locale and lack of hygiene.

A middle-aged man in a white suit sitting two stools down ordered another whiskey and drank it in a single gulp, sighing with a smile at the empty glass as he put it down on the bar. He turned to me and commented in a southern drawl, 'Whiskey didn't used to be the drink of the world, my friend. Oh, no. Back in 1831, Aeneas Coffey invented the Coffey still, which produced a far more drinkable whiskey. Later that century, by a remarkable confluence of events, the phylloxera beetle annihilated France's vineyards, and in just a few years there was an enormous shortage of wine and brandy. Then the Scots discovered marketing, and the rest is history. Out with the old, in with the new, so they say.' He grinned at me with yellow teeth as he lit a cigarette and rose from his chair, picking up a thin briefcase as he got up.

I thought he was turning to go, but instead he stepped closer, gestured at the stool next to mine and asked 'May I?', sitting down without waiting for my reply. He ordered another whiskey and took a gulp as he stared straight ahead, gazing at himself in the mirror behind the bar. He looked wistful as he spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, 'The fire... the plumes of flame that will jet up into the sky... it was mankind's first discovery and you want to talk about beginner's luck! There is nothing so pure, hypnotic and lovely as a fire, and you will make the greatest of them all.

'Every sweet family home turned to charred ash in an instant, their carefully tended gardens scorched down to the bare earth... and the people! Mothers incinerated as they instinctively but futilely attempt to turn and shield their tiny babies... little boys and girls, their hair catching fire as they play in the street, running like a parade of mad matchsticks and screaming for help that will never come. Sweet fire. How I do admire you, sir.'

The man raised his glass in a toast and drank the rest as I gaped at him, horrified, and demanded to know what in God's name he was going on about. Then as I told him to get away and leave me alone, he turned to look at me, the intensity of his gaze stopping me in mid-sentence. 'Hit a bit of a snag, have we? This might be of some small service.' The man reached down within his briefcase and pulled out a file folder, laying it carefully down on the bar in front of me. I opened it, my curiosity getting the better of me, and I sat stunned as I saw laid out in very clear detail precisely how to solve every problem we'd come up against.

I looked up at the man then just as he was rising to go, asking if he knew what he had there, telling him (stupidly, against protocol, but I was just so damned amazed) that with that file we would be able to construct one by next year at the latest.

The man nodded and tossed a few bills on the bar in payment for his drinks. Suddenly I felt something run across my right ankle, and I looked down in time to see an enormous, black centipede run under the bar and out of sight. With a shiver I looked back at the man to see he was already at the door. He turned back to me before he left and said, 'One? The Japanese Emperor is an extraordinarily stubborn individual, with all due respect.' He gave me a wide, yellow smile that gave me a shiver worse than the centipede just had, then he winked and said, 'Better make two.'

After he'd gone I drove back to the base and read the file from cover to cover. Next year's date was stamped on every page.

And every word was in my own handwriting.

May God have mercy on my soul. 'I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.'"


Yamamoto cleared his throat once more and gestured to one of the women, who instantly rose and brought him a tray with a small cup of tea. He took a sip, and Fukimitsu said, "The diary of Robert Oppenheimer, architect of the atomic bomb. Secret diary, or at least he believed it was." Yamamoto motioned for us to come and sit before him, and two of the servants shuffled mats over to the center of the room. We sat cross-legged and waited, saying nothing. He took another sip of tea, then another. We waited some more. This better be good, I thought to myself, biting my tongue.

It was.

He stared at us with those clear, calm eyes and spoke, Fukimitsu translating. "My lord says: when I was born I was given the name Hiro-no-Miya. I was the fourth son of Emperor Ninko of Japan. When my father died I was proclaimed the one hundred twenty-first, divine, sovereign Emperor, and following what was believed to be my death, was posthumously named Emperor Komei. I am one hundred and seventy-seven years old.

"Tell me everything that you know of the Magician."

Mary: The Brothers Yoshida

November 25th, 2008:

In the waiting room of the posh, dockside offices of the Bengosha Corporation, we whispered amongst ourselves as we waited for an hour past the time of our appointment with Yoshida's uncles:


JOSH: Mary, did you bring a cake? Because I just had another birthday waiting for Yoshida's goddamn uncles.

YOSHIDA: You were told it would be some time. Do not complain to my uncles about this when we are admitted to their office. And do not bow.

JOSH: I thought it was the thing to do?

YOSHIDA: It is for Japanese to do, not you. You don't know what you're doing. It is the equivalent of a limp, wet handshake in the Western world, but worse.

JOSH: It's a bow, Yoshida. It's not that complicated.

YOSHIDA: And yet you manage to fail at it spectacularly. Yours is more of a spasm than a bow. It is wrong. It is like watching a monkey attempt to try and ride a unicycle. Stop giggling.

JOSH: Monkey on a unicycle.

YOSHIDA: My uncles despise Westerners more than you can imagine. My father created a virus to annihilate virtually all human life on this planet, and of his brothers he was regarded as the nice one. You must be on your best- stop giggling, you idiot!

JOSH: Monkey on a unicycle.

Finally the door to the offices opened, and the same assistant we'd ridden with earlier in the limousine led us inside. There were two desks side-by-side in the large office, and behind them was a wall of glass overlooking the ocean. The office was decorated with Japanese antiques, with twin suits of armor on either side of the door and paintings of castles on rice paper on the walls. The only modern things in the room were the desks and the white, plastic computers that sat on top of them.

The brothers Yoshida glared at Josh and I as we walked in, their expressions equally filled with revulsion at the very sight of us. They did not get up.

There were three black, antique Japanese chairs lined up in front of the twin desks, and Josh threw himself into the middle one, the wood creaking ominously. The Yoshidas' eyes narrowed. Josh turned and nodded to Kisho (We're going to have to start calling him by his first name, now) as he sat on his left, then smiled at me when I took the seat on his right. Then he smiled at the brothers Yoshida, cleared his throat and said, "I had always heard that the Japanese people were two things: punctual and polite, which is amazing because you two absolutely suck at both."

The assistant's eyes opened wide in shock as he gaped at Josh, then looked over to the Yoshidas and back to Josh, clearly reluctant to translate. Josh waved him on, urging him to relay what he'd said. After he'd done so in a hushed, stuttering monotone, the Yoshida brothers expressions changed from merely disapproving to outright rage. The two exploded, rising from their chairs as a stream of what had to be curses spewed from them in unison.

I can only imagine my own expression at this point, and when I glanced over at Kisho he was literally covering his mouth with both hands, his eyes like saucers behind his thick glasses. Meanwhile, Josh kept smiling through the onslaught, then slowly rose from his chair, calmly brushed himself off and yelled, his expression suddenly ferocious, "Oh, shut the f*ck up, the both of you!"

The Yoshida brothers actually did, their faces utterly stunned. Without waiting, Josh continued while standing, "Your brother and his assistant were brutally murdered. We have been hunting his killer. My father was murdered by the same man. My mother is dead. I have been bitten by hissing, poisonous centipedes, gnawed on by eels, beaten up and blown up. Virtually everyone who ever tried to help me is dead. I'm wanted for murders I didn't commit. We have sacrificed our entire lives to get the murderous, rampaging monster who slaughtered your brother, and by God you will show us some f*cking respect!" He finished his speech by bringing his fist down on one of the desks so hard the computer actually jumped a half-inch off the desktop.

Josh nodded to the assistant. "Translate that, poindexter. We've wasted enough time already."


Five minutes later everyone was seated once more, and we had been served a delicious tea along with some kind of gooey rice cake which was the consistency of a pink pencil eraser. I nibbled mine politely while Yoshida crammed the entire thing in and chewed loudly with his mouth open. Josh took one bite before replacing it on its tray and remarking to the uncomprehending secretary, "No more for me, thanks. I already had doorstop for lunch."

In all, once the initial shock of Josh's outburst had worn off, the Yoshida brothers had adopted a stern yet courteous posture toward us, ordering refreshments and seeing to it that we were made comfortable.

Once all the pleasantries had been seen to, one of the brothers adopted a very serious tone and said something in Japanese to Josh. The assistant translated, "Now that we have made you welcome, we have but one question: are you or are you not a member of Greenpeace?"

Josh looked up from his tea and said without hesitation, "Screw Greenpeace. Whales are evil and should be slaughtered as fast as we can forge the harpoons."

For the first time, the brothers smiled, clearly extremely pleased. The other brother asked, "And why do you say they are 'evil'? We hunt them for research, nothing more."

Josh and I exchanged looks, having known that this moment would come. We had gone over it back in the sky-rise apartment, wondering just how much we should tell them. If we revealed too much about what was really going on they would think we were insane. Too little, and they wouldn't be able to help us effectively. Eventually we decided to tell most of it, but just a piece at a time to see how they would react. If they were entirely resistant, at least we had Kisho to back us up.

Sighing, Josh started, "The whales are being controlled in some way... perhaps scientifically, by the same man who murdered your brother and his assistant. This man, whom I'll refer to as 'The Magician', has-" he stopped then, noticing an unmistakable widening of both of the brothers eyes. "Wait... you know that name. You've heard of him, haven't you? Even in English you know the name of the Magician."

The assistant translated, the brothers turned and stared at each other for a long moment, then they both rose from their desks. They spoke, and the translation came: "You will ride with us. There is someone you must meet."

Josh: Setting The Stakes

In addition to the cell phone issue, I want to talk to your uncles personally, Yoshida. We're going to need their help, and it's time to see what forces we can rally.

Here's our State of the Union, so to speak (painting from ralphbakshi.com):

The Magician is coming to Japan. When he gets here, he'll perform some kind of "trick" that will- as far as we can gather- end the world as we know it. With what we've seen of his power so far, it seems reasonable to assume that he can actually do it. Why it has to be in Japan, I don't know, but he will come, and I imagine he'll bring friends.

We are not without weapons. The Magician's knife can actually hurt his people as opposed to other, more conventional arms. The bingo charms have the power to kill as well, at least against the animals he controls.

We need to know where in Japan he's going. Can he perform his trick anywhere in Japan? If so, we've got a hell of a lot of ground to cover. From Leopold's post we know this:

"...he will perform a trick. He will use the charms, his knife, a rabbit and his own blood, though his body contains no blood any longer, if it ever did. It is quite probably too late to stop the charms, but the knife and his blood may yet be within your grasp. Keep them separate and failing that, use Yoshida's formula."

Well, we've already decided not to separate the knife and the charms because we don't want to let them out of our sight, and if we use the knife in combination with the charms it's a very effective weapon. And we've destroyed the Calicivirus formula already so that's not an option (killing virtually everyone in the world? Yeah, didn't seem like that great of an idea). He can get a rabbit anywhere, but the blood part is still a mystery. I suppose there's a good chance he has a vial of it saved or something, but there's not much we can do about that at this point.

So we need help. The Magician has already shown that he prefers to travel by sea (and with the whales doing his bidding I don't blame him) so we need to watch the ports. For that we need Yoshida's uncles. Beyond that, we need to somehow find out where in particular he's going in Japan, but one thing at a time.

Japan is our last stand. Everything rests on this final battle. He's coming, and I intend to be ready.

Mary: Covering Our Tracks

November 24th, 2008:

Yoshida, I'm a bit concerned about the phone call Josh made to Milwaukee. It was a 911 call, so they recorded Josh's voice, and it could be traced back to the phone your uncles gave him. You might want to warn them and replace the phone they gave Josh, just f.y.i.

Yoshida: 38

And another. How have we missed these all the way along?

On January first, 1831, William Lloyd Garrison began publishing an anti-slavery newspaper. It's name? The Liberator.


All things point back to that year. How many other references to it have gone unnoticed? It is now all I can think about.

Yoshida: 37

Another 1831 reference (it is remarkable how, once you focus on a number you begin to see it everywhere):

Leopold I was crowned the first king of the Belgians on July 21st, 1831.

Josh: Recriminations

I have never felt this before. I have been angry, but not like this. This is rage. This is fury. This is a towering desire to destroy, and while I intend to turn this emotion on my enemy eventually, for now I cannot help but feel it for myself.

How could I have been so utterly clueless? He was right in front of me the entire time, laughing at me, playing out his trick.

Every time I look back, I see more signs and clues. Mostly, I remember our friendly arguments about Georg Hegel and Arthur Schopenhauer; how we would sit by the window and banter good-naturedly about Hegel's falling into drastic disfavor in modern thought. I am a student of philosophy, but never once did I remember this famous quote made by Sir Karl Popper concerning Hegel:

"It was child's play for Hegel's powerful dialectical methods to draw real physical rabbits out of purely metaphysical silk hats."

Oh, and of course, Hegel died when? 1831.

I come again to Taras' post, which at this point has been scrutinized more closely than the Zapruder film. With his final words he makes a comment which I took to mean that the Magician is everywhere and all-powerful, but in fact I think he was trying to give us a clue:

"The young man had helpfully left the code key active, and while it was impossible to read what had been previously written, anything could be typed in and transmitted. It didn't matter, the magician read everything and he didn't need codes or magic to do it."

He meant it literally. He was telling us that the Magician was just looking over my mother's shoulder and reading everything, no magic necessary.

Mary begs me not to judge us too harshly, but I can't stop thinking about it. We see what we want to see, I suppose.

I'll give myself one more hour of looking back and beating the hell out of myself. From then on, it's the Magician's turn.

Mary: Code Change

We're going to change the encryption code, Yoshida. Post nothing until you hear from me.

Yoshida: 36

With further research, I have discovered that "The Great Gagasti"'s real name was Geoffrey Gagworth.

Jeff Werth.


My condolences, Howland.

Josh: 911

Mom, I've called the Milwaukee police department anonymously. If you can read this, the cops are on their way. Write if you can.

I love you.

Cynthia: Magus

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He is coming. We heard a noise and Detective Ward went downstairs to see, though I begged him not to. There are footsteps now, coming back up the stairs. Detective Ward? Detective? Gar###


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It is his body. Detective Ward's pistol has been forced down his throat with only the very tip of the hand grip showing. Oh, God. Another good man. How many? Oh, God. I see you in the hallway, Garrett. The lights are out but I recognize your silhouette. Come in, Garrett. Come in. I know that you are not the Magician. Yes, that's right. My, you have changed. What a great, big smile you have. Do stand aside, Garrett, and let your master in. Now, you. Magician. The Great Gagasti. Come and stand before me, monster. Did you believe I would beg? Did you imagine I would ever surrender to you? I am made of sterner stuff, as is my son. I do thank you for one thing: before this I never knew for certain if Joshua had the same cold iron running through his veins. Now I know, and I die knowing that he will destroy you utterly. Do not lurk out in the hall, Magician. Come to me. Come sit by me as you have so many times before, Jeffrey. Leopold really did do his best. The paintings were a spirited attempt. Eighteen thirty-one. So many clues, and how you must have laughed. Was it merely to taunt us, or does the date have more meaning? How you grinned when you recommended a new tea set for the dining room. Gorham silver, how you insisted upon it. Gorham silver, founded in eighteen thirty-one. How you must have enjoyed offering me the use of your apartment after I was attacked by your minion, knowing that I would refuse but mentioning that I might find your pet beagle irritating should I actually accept. In eighteen thirty-one, Charles Darwin embarked on his historic voyage to the Galapagos Islands aboard the HMS Beagle. Eighteen thirty-one. So many clues. You were such a magnificent actor. Your one slip was your expression when you shot your minion. You should have looked horrified, but instead you appeared only annoyed. But it was the only blemish on an otherwise virtuoso performance. Did you insure that Independence First would send a parade of dunces to me before you swept in, guaranteeing that I would select you to be my caregiver? You were wonderful, Jeffrey. I believed in you. I###


ERROR. PLEASE PRONOUNCE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY. PLEASE REPEAT WORD. ERROR.


I am not grieving for myself. These tears are for you, Jeffrey. Not for the Great Gagasti or whatever you call yourself. These tears are for Jeffrey. I grieve for the good, kind, intelligent, educated man I knew. I pity you, Magician. You are far less than your own artifice. You have nothing to say? Very well. Sit a minute. I do appreciate you allowing me this, despite it all. Joshua, Mary... I know you will defeat him. I have not the slightest doubt. In truth, I never planned on continuing to live once I had my revenge for Scott. Oh, Scott, at least now I can be with you once again. No one made me laugh like you, my love. Mary, look after my son, now. He is rising from his chair. Very well, Jeffrey. No time to edit what I have written? Now that is cruel, you know how I prefer to have every "T" crossed and every "I" he is staring at me. His eyes are so dark. They are dark as... they are black. Even in this darkened room they are like twin ebon fires burning. The darkness... such Stygian hate, such malevolence... how could a thing such as you ever even pretend to know love? It moved. From the corner of my eye I saw it. It did it again. My finger. My index finger moved. I could not feel it but I saw it. Again. My hand twitched. My God, I can move my###


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The fingers of my hand are moving. They are... they are pulling. My hand is... dragging itself. My own right hand is pulling itself up to my face. Stop it. Make it stop. My hand is clawing, pulling at my robe up my chest. Burn in Hell. Burn in Hell, monster. My fingers are pawing at my chin, trying to climb up on my face and into my###


ERROR. PLEASE PRONOUNCE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY. PLEASE REPEAT WORD. ERROR.


He smiles that smile. Damn you forever. Kill him. Kill him. My own hand crawling###


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Fingers in my mouth. I###


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I###


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Mary: The Magician's Knife

November 24th, 2008:

After Josh and I destroyed the Rabbit/Human Calicivirus down in Texas, I had put rabbits out of my mind completely, thinking that there was nothing more of interest involving them.

However, once Yoshida brought them up again, I took another look at the Magician's knife. We'd mentioned before that it was oddly curved, and I did a quick search to see if I could find a knife that had the same shape, finding one in a matter of moments (sample photo below).

It's a rabbit-skinning knife.

Cynthia: Praenuntius

Doctor, the date of the first performance of the "rabbit out of a hat" trick is of import. The reproductions that Leopold gave as an anniversary present last year were all originally painted in the year eighteen thirty-one A.D.

If I had to speculate, I would say that it was Leopold's way of attempting to subtly divulge a clue as to the Magician's identity without giving himself away.

Since Leopold's passing, I have devoted hours to considering what meaning there might be behind the paintings' subject matter, but all this time it was in fact the date of their creation that was significant.

Yoshida: 35

I know the Magician's identity.

After I left Howland and Stroud I made my way across town to visit my sensei in the art of stage magic. While I have little desire to go into specific detail, recording the exact dialog of the encounter as everyone else here insists on doing, I do feel some obligation to "show my work" in how I arrived in the answer. At least with my chronicle of events the accuracy of what was actually said will be an improvement over the dismally deficient and preposterously subjective recitations of those who lack a nearly photographic memory, as I do.

For the first ten minutes of the instruction, my master merely quizzed me as to what had been previously learned, satisfying himself that I had indeed been practicing and could now perform the various tricks he'd taught me. Inoue-San then decided to begin training me in a new trick.


INOUE: Now I will teach you the rabbit out of the hat trick.

YOSHIDA: No. Something else.

INOUE: I am the teacher. If you wish to know how to become a magician, you need to know this trick.

YOSHIDA: No. I loathe rabbits. When I was young my father worked with them in Australia. Their smell makes me gag to this day.

INOUE: The "pull the rabbit out of a hat" trick is iconic [I believe this is the English word closest to what Inoue was attempting to describe]. When anyone thinks of a magician, the rabbit out of a hat is the trick that pops into their minds first.

YOSHIDA: The rabbit out of a hat. The Magician. The rabbit out of a hat. He pulls the rabbit out of a hat. The Magician. When someone thinks of that trick, they think of him.

INOUE: Are you all right? You seem odder than normal, with all respect to your family.

YOSHIDA: Mrs. Justina Walentowicz. Her head was pulled down through her torso.

INOUE: Excuse me?

YOSHIDA: Then he pulled it up through the incision in her belly. He pulled it up. He pulled it out of... he was performing the rabbit out of a hat trick with her head, announcing himself.

INOUE: You're making me sick. Settle down now, and I'll teach you.

YOSHIDA: He was showing us right from the beginning. He even put the rabbit's foot in her brain. Rabbit out of a hat trick. The Magician. Of course.

INOUE: Whose brain? What are you saying? You are worrying me.

YOSHIDA: What do you know about the rabbit out of a hat trick? You must tell me everything you know immediately.

INOUE: Well, uh... you require a hat-

YOSHIDA: No, idiot! Not how to perform it. Tell me about it! I want to know everything.


This is the story he told (with corrections and additional information supplied by myself):

In England, in the year 1831, an itinerant magician was wandering between towns, performing magic tricks for food. On one of his stops, a member of the local aristocracy happened to notice that he had a rabbit caged along with his belongings. The lady was a grand supporter of the newly-formed Animal Protection Legislation Act (much like your similarly misguided American SPCA), and she fetched the local constable to report the magician for animal cruelty.

The magician was quick on his feet, informing the constable and the lady that the rabbit was in fact part of his act and not dinner, and the lady demanded to see what trick the rabbit could possibly assist with that very night. As you can surmise, at the finale to his show, the magician thanked his "friend" for all his help that night, pulling the rabbit from his hat to the wild applause of the crowd and the great annoyance of the thwarted lady.

This is the first record of any magician ever performing the "rabbit out of a hat" trick.

The magician was known as The Great Gagasti.

Cynthia: Sodalitas

Detective Ward and I shared a quiet dinner tonight while Garrett lurked about somewhere downstairs, and despite the fact that there is a reasonable chance that one of the two men is, in actuality, the Magician, I have grown so accustomed to the possibility or even probability of my own demise by his hand, that I was able to block the thought out completely and enjoy myself. Since Jeffrey's incarceration I must confess that I have been dreadfully starved for pleasant company, much less an actual, well-considered conversation.

I continue to employ a security guard to watch over my home despite the fact that I have no illusions as to his ability to actually protect me from our foes, and I suppose I do so merely to keep Garrett in check in the event that he proves himself to be nothing more than a brute, and not the Magician. Women in my condition have been known to be abused and worse under the supposed "care" of their own assistants, and the thought of being victimized by a perfectly ordinary and commonplace thug whilst all around us our supremely powerful enemies plot against us is particularly mortifying.

Regardless, as Sun-Tsu once remarked, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer".


It was very, very good to read that you both reached Japan safely. As an aside, I have wondered lately if perhaps the "G.G." on the knife's hilt could in fact refer to two people? Perhaps two individuals serve to carry out the duties of the Magician? Inquire as to the first names of Yoshida's uncles next time it is convenient just to be certain.

Mary: Meeting Yoshida

November 24th, 2008:

Once we'd settled in to our apartment in Kyoto, we had a surprise visitor: Doctor Kisho Yoshida, our longtime correspondent. When the only contact you have with someone is through print, you get a certain picture of them in your mind, and the image I had absolutely did not match up with the man in the flesh. Yoshida was eighteen going on sixteen, with unkempt, black hair, glasses, some acne and a significant overbite. He wore a work shirt with Japanese lettering and a logo of a cartoon, smiling whale embroidered on the breast pocket, the garment clearly not coming fresh from the laundry. His pants were chinos, and his black shoes were scuffed and had Velcro instead of laces.

Once we opened the door for him he gave a little nod to Josh before walking to a chair by the rain-streaked window, sitting down, pulling out a handheld electronic device and staring at it. Josh and I went from glancing curiously at each other, to him and back to each other, Yoshida not saying a word. Kimi, our translator introduced him and bowed, but he never looked at her or acknowledged her in any way.

Finally, the silence having deepened to an unbearable length, Josh said, "So, can I get one of those shirts? It's kitchy in a sick way, which is kind've my thing."

Without looking up from his PDA, Yoshida said, "I've cross referenced every permutation of the number '13' with whales, practical magic, stage magic, bingo, centipedes and a dozen other topics and subjects, but besides the predictable 'lucky' or 'unlucky' cultural biases there is nothing of interest." Without pausing or making eye contact, he continued, "What type of whales were they?"

"Uh, humpback. You want a Coke or something? Or maybe a shower? With soap?" I elbowed Josh, and he looked properly abashed, but Yoshida didn't seem to notice.

"Humpback. You should have made a note of that in your post. Typical. Their population numbers approximately eighty-thousand. Do you stand firm in the statement that you killed one thousand of them?"

Josh grimaced. "I really hadn't thought of it like- yeah, I guess so. About that many."

Yoshida nodded and tapped on his electronic device. Then he rose, walked to the door, opened it and went out.

I said, "Whoa, wait! That's it? You're just leaving?"

He stopped and turned around, looking me in the eye for the first time. "Yes."

I just stared at him, speechless. Meanwhile, Josh stepped in, carrying on the conversation in the hall. "Did you tell your uncles that we were your 'comrades'? Mary and I have a bet going." I considered elbowing him again, but was too curious to know the answer myself.

"No."

Josh nodded. "Okay, thanks. It did seem a little-"

"I told them that you were my friends. My uncles' assistant confuses the two words."

I'm ashamed to say that at this point I gaped openly. "You said we were your friends?"

Yoshida cocked his head slightly, puzzled. "Of course. What else would we be?" This time even Josh was speechless. "I will call you if there is a breakthrough with the number." He turned to go once more.

I called after him, "Your uncles left phones for us. You can call at-"

He spoke as he stepped into the elevator at the end of the hall, once more looking down at his PDA. "I handle my uncles' communications. I know the numbers. I have all the company cell numbers memorized."

As the elevator doors began to close, Josh asked, "How many cell numbers are there?"

"There are seven hundred and fif-" his voice cut off as the doors closed in front of him. For all I know, he kept talking all the way down, never noticing we were gone.

Josh: Welcome To Japan, Mr. Bond

This is the first time I've ever written a post first with pen and paper (I know, those are still around? Who knew?), then typed it up later, but as all our electronic equipment was blown out I didn't have a whole lot of choice.

I'll recap a bit then continue where Mary left off, filling you in on the happenings of the last two days:

As we continued north to Japan, we all began noticing a low hum, combined with a high-pitched whine. We thought it was probably the engine out of joint somehow, so Riku and Mochizuki opened the hatch and began poking around the motor, commenting to each other in Japanese and doing a lot of shrugging. As we continued the hum got louder and louder until finally Captain Maeda decided to shut things down so they could better attempt to diagnose the problem.

Problem was, the motor stopped but the sound didn't.

It was then that Riku rose from the engine and went to the side of the boat, pointing and shouting. Mary's post was right, there were hundreds of whales surrounding us in constant motion, the water churning with their passing. The Captain scrambled up to the top of the boat with his binoculars, and shouted down that they were moving around us in a circle, with another circle being formed right next to it.

"Like a figure eight?" Mary called up to him. He nodded. She turned to me. "Infinity."

The Captain, Mochizuki, Riku and Mary all put their hands to their heads suddenly as the hum and vibration increased a notch, with Mary complaining that her teeth hurt so bad she felt like they might explode.

Riku staggered back from the rail, and Mochizuki translated for him, informing us that the sensation was worse the further you got from the center of the boat. Meanwhile, though the sound and sensation was annoying, I really can't say I was in much, if any pain.

The hum upped its intensity again, and I could hear the rivets in the boat rattling in their holes. Another moment, and the anchor came free from its mooring and plunged into the ocean, the chain clacking its way over the side behind it. Immediately Riku lunged aft to secure it, the Captain right behind him.

As the two men reached the rear of the boat, their hands covering their ears, they reached down for the black anchor chain and then suddenly were gone. There was no puff of smoke or flash of light, it was just: one second they were there and the next they weren't. In less than the blink of an eye, Captain Maeda and Riku disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Stunned and blinking, I stood there dumbfounded for a moment and even called the men's names, but to no avail. Then the hum increased in magnitude once more, and I could now hear the silverware in the tiny galley jangling in its drawer.

The sound gave me an idea. If the knife could hurt Crayton, maybe it could be used against the whales as well as both seemed to be doing the Magician's bidding. Perhaps all of his creations and lackeys were vulnerable to it.

Mary and Mochizuki were huddled at my feet in the center of the deck, their hands wrapped around their heads, and I shouted to them that I was going to use the knife. "How?" she yelled through clenched teeth.

It was a good question. The intensity of the hum was increasing by the second, and I imagined we only had moments before we too would disappear like the Captain and poor Riku. I obviously couldn't reach down from the boat's deck and start stabbing whales. For one thing I couldn't reach and for another there were just too many of them.

Without waiting for a plan to come to me I darted below, threw open the door to our cabin and hastily lugged the steamer trunk out onto the deck. Tearing open the trunk lid, I scrambled through the artifacts: the knife, the top hat, the cape and the box of bingo charms. First I picked up the knife, then the top hat, the key chain held within its secret compartment rattling inside. Shaking my head I replaced the hat, then grasped the cape, lifting it up, and for a split second I almost thought I could hear a child's desperate, plaintive cry, but then it was gone.

Finally I opened the box of bingo charms, their garish colors and designs looking surreal and ridiculous in the situation. I spared a glance at Mary and Mochizuki, the two of them curled up in the fetal position and looking like they wouldn't last more than another moment. I stared at the knife in my hand and then at the bingo charms, shrugged and muttered, "When in doubt, stab something. It's worked this far." Holding the knife in both hands, I lifted it up and stabbed down into the box, the knife's blade striking one of the metal charms and creating a single, blindingly-bright, white spark.

There was what sounded almost like an enormous sigh, like air was suddenly let out of something huge, and when my vision cleared I looked down and saw that the charm I hit had actually melted, the liquid flowing over the other charms and down to the bottom of the box.

It was suddenly, amazingly, blissfully quiet, and I helped Mary and Mochizuki to their feet and stepped over to the side of the boat, peering out over the ocean.

Every single one of the thousand or so whales that surrounded our boat was dead.


After we'd fired up the engines and slowly wended our way out of what had suddenly become an enormous whale graveyard, we gunned it for Japan, unable to call for help as our radio and all our electronic equipment had somehow been fried out. I have a feeling that First Mate Mochizuki will rapidly become Captain Mochizuki, because all of his hard studying had paid off. He expertly guided us north (through a storm, no less) straight to Kyoto without delay, not even bothering to sleep for the next two days as he wanted to report the incident to the authorities as quickly as possible.

We hit port on a gray and drizzling early morning, and I was able to finagle a cellphone from one of the local fishermen to call Yoshida and let him know we were all right, and also to tell his uncles to make certain to hustle us into the country without anyone from customs involved.

Not more than ten minutes later, a sleek, black limousine materialized on the docks and disgorged three men in traditional Japanese garb. They were the only ones on the dock not dressed in Western-style clothes, but no one gave them a second look, other than to bow deeply and humbly. The brothers Yoshida were middle-aged and impeccably groomed, and they glared at both Mary with a look that transcended the language barrier by saying, immediately and without question: "We hate you."

Regardless of their personal feelings, their assistant ushered us into the limousine behind them, and after a brief, deeply-grateful farewell to Mochizuki we drove into Kyoto.

We were in the limo not more than fifteen minutes before it pulled to a stop in front of a sleek, silver skyscraper, the Yoshida brothers' assistant gesturing for us to exit the car, handing us each plastic swipe cards. "My masters wish you to know that you are under their protection while you are in Kyoto. Kisho-san requested of his venerable uncles that every courtesy and protection be extended to you, his comrades."

Mary and I looked at each other. "Yoshida called us his comrades?" I asked in disbelief.

"Every courtesy?" asked Mary, entirely dubious.

The assistant nodded. Mary and I looked back at each other, our expressions incredulous. The assistant continued, "A translator waits in your apartment. Is there anything else you require?" There was a long pause as the rain ran down our necks, soaking our clothes.

Finally I asked, "He said 'comrades'?"

Followed by Mary's, "Every courtesy?"

Bowing and nodding once more, the assistant got back in the car without another word, and the limousine glided off.

I shook my head. "If that's what Yoshida actually said, that's weirder than the whole whale thing."


Once we had reached our room, introduced ourselves to the interpreter (an adorable, young, Japanese girl named "Kimi", who giggled charmingly at every one of our questions [actual photograph below]) and showered, we settled in, me to write this post and Mary to start making phone calls, checking up on some things back in the States.

Reading our posts back, I now see all the crazy 'static' breaking up Mary's writing. "Hey, Mary, did you count these? The slashes break up the asterisks at every thirteenth interval. Is that what the whales were 'saying', you think? The number thirteen over and over again?" She shrugged. Breathing a sigh and running my hands through my hair, I said, "All I know is, I'm happy it's the 24th of November and not Friday the 13th, that's for sure."

Yoshida: 34

Two days since their last post, and still no word.

The situation looks grim, but Howland has been declared dead before. I'll believe it only when I see the corpse.

Yoshida: 33

I spoke with my uncles, and they inform me that there has been no S.O.S. reported. I then asked them to inform the Coast Guard of the missing vessel, which they did. No further word thus far.

Cynthia: Cesso, Pergo

It has now been over twenty four hours since their last post. Doctor Yoshida, contact your uncles and determine if any mayday was transmitted from the Dial Up's general location, if you please.

If it was not, then I believe it is time to risk alerting the authorities that the Dial Up is lost at sea. Make no mention of Joshua's or Mary's names. Thank you.

Cynthia: Cesso

It has been more than three hours since your last post. If you can read this and are able to respond, please post an update with your condition as soon as possible.

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