The Governor's List

The governor's mansion was a place of quiet, orderly dread. Governor Tanaka Kenji sat in his office, the same office where he had once governed with the pride of a loyal servant of the Meiji Emperor. Now, he was a different kind of servant. A puppet. A tool. And the tool was about to be put to its most terrible use.

He had just received the package. It was a small, elegant box of lacquered wood, delivered by a hooded man who had vanished into the city's labyrinthine alleys before the guards could even challenge him. Tanaka had known what it was before he opened it. The sight of his father-in-law's severed little finger, resting on a bed of white silk, had sent him retching into a nearby vase. His wife's screams still echoed in the private corridors of the mansion.

Now, he sat in a secret, late-night meeting with the two men who truly controlled his life. The Emperor's spymaster, Shen Ke, sat opposite him, observing him with the patient, unblinking gaze of a physician studying a disease. In the corner of the room, General Meng Tian stood like a statue carved from shadow and steel, his presence a constant, unspoken threat.

"They… they did this," Tanaka whispered, his voice trembling, his hand shaking as he stared at the small, horrific box on his desk. "To a helpless old man. They call themselves patriots. They are monsters." He was not just expressing his horror; he was trying to convince himself. He was building a wall of justification around the great betrayal he was about to commit.

Shen Ke nodded, his face a perfect mask of sympathy. "Indeed, Governor," he said, his voice soft and soothing. "They use the honor of Japan as a cloak for their barbarism. They harm the innocent to achieve their aims. But you, Governor Tanaka, you have the power to stop them. You can save your father-in-law. You can save your people from the madness of these so-called patriots."

Tanaka looked up, his eyes pleading. "How? What can I do?"

"You can help us find them," Shen Ke said gently. "You can help us cut the head from this serpent of resistance." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "A snake cannot move without a body. These men in the mountains, they are not self-sufficient. They need supplies. They need food. They need money. Tell us, Governor. Who among the good people of this city is not so good? Who secretly funnels them aid?"

This was it. The final step into the abyss. Tanaka felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. He thought of his wife's face, pale with grief. He thought of his children, sleeping under the protection of foreign guards. And he thought of his father-in-law, captive and mutilated in some cold mountain cave. His choice had been made for him long ago.

"Kajiwara," he finally choked out, the name feeling like ash in his mouth. "The rice merchant, Kajiwara Tatsuya."

Shen Ke's eyes showed a flicker of interest, but his expression remained unchanged. "Kajiwara?" he repeated. "The same merchant who led the delegation pleading for the roads to be cleared? The same man who complained so loudly about his losses?"

"Yes," Tanaka confirmed, a bitter, self-loathing laugh escaping his lips. "It was all a performance. A magnificent performance to divert suspicion. Kajiwara is one of the wealthiest men in the city, but his family has old ties to the Shimazu clan. He pretends to be a simple merchant, but his heart is with the hardline samurai. He has been the financial backbone of the resistance since the day you landed."

"Fascinating," Shen Ke murmured, taking out a small notebook. "And how does he supply them?"

"Through his rice shipments," Tanaka explained, the words now tumbling out of him in a rush, as if purging a poison. "He sends caravans of rice north, supposedly to other towns. But deep in the mountains, his wagons meet with the rebels. They offload a portion of the rice, and hidden beneath it… weapons, ammunition, medicine. All smuggled from his warehouses in the city." He proceeded to give Shen Ke the names of the caravan masters, the secret routes they used, the hidden symbols they marked on the wagons.

Shen Ke listened intently, his charcoal pencil flying across the page. When Tanaka was finished, the spymaster looked at Meng Tian and a silent understanding passed between them.

"We will not arrest Kajiwara yet," Shen Ke said, already formulating the plan. "That would be too crude. It would alert the others that we have an informant. Instead, we will play his own game against him." He turned back to Tanaka. "When is his next shipment scheduled to leave?"

"Tomorrow, at dawn," Tanaka replied, his voice a dead monotone.

"Perfect," Shen Ke said. "Meng Tian, your men will intercept the shipment tonight, at the warehouse. Be silent. Do not harm the drivers. We will remove the weapons and the medicine. We will replace them with… something else. Something more appropriate." A thin, cruel smile touched his lips. "Then we will allow the shipment to proceed as planned."

"And my men will be waiting at the other end," Meng Tian growled, understanding immediately. "We will not just capture the shipment this time. We will follow the men who receive it directly to one of their main storehouses. We will have their rats lead us to their nest."

The plan was set. It was elegant, precise, and utterly ruthless. Shen Ke then pressed his advantage, his voice softening again.

"You have been most helpful, Governor. You have saved many Qing lives tonight. But this Kuroda, the spymaster… he is the true head of the serpent. All of this stems from him. Where can he be found?"

Tanaka shook his head, a genuine look of fear in his eyes. "I… I truly do not know for certain. No one does. He is a ghost. A whisper. He does not use the strongholds of the samurai clans. He trusts no one." He paused, his mind searching, desperate to offer more, to prove his value. "But… there are rumors. Old stories I heard as a boy."

"Tell me," Shen Ke urged gently.

"He has an affinity for old, forgotten places. Places with… a dark history. Deep in the mountains, many miles from here, there is an abandoned Christian church. It was built by the Portuguese centuries ago, before their religion was outlawed. It is considered a haunted, cursed place. No good Buddhist or Shintoist would ever go near it. They say the ghosts of the martyred priests still cry out at night." He looked at Shen Ke, his eyes wide. "It is the perfect place for a man who lives in the shadows, is it not?"

Shen Ke stopped writing. He looked at the terrified governor, then at the map on the wall. A haunted church. A place shunned by the locals. It was perfect. He sketched a rough circle on the map in the mountainous region Tanaka had described. The first thread in the web that would lead to Kuroda Makoto was now firmly in his grasp, a thread given to him by the very man the resistance sought to protect.