Volume 2: The Masacado Scrolls

By Charles T. Whipple

~ Japanese Adventure stories ~

Behold, I am Hikarinomiko, daughter of Amenomiko who was the daughter of Soranomiko who was the daughter of Asanomiko who anointed the Chosen One of Amaterasu Omikoto, even Taira no Masacado, who drove the wicked Toh from the eight kingdoms of Kanto, even unto the forfeiting of his own life.

Now behold, I, Hikarinomiko, am called of Amaterasu to record the deeds of those anointed during the dark days of Toh rule. To write somewhat concerning the curse the wicked Toh placed upon the land; the loss of the sacred talismans of Amaterasu through which the Chosen One is proclaimed unto the people; the search to discover the talismans in their place of hiding; and the fearful battle against the Toh, their dark Yami bonzes, the creatures and demons the priests commanded. Yea, even every dark being of the underworld of Yami.

Therefore, I have searched among the scrolls left me by she who preceded me, even the sacred Washinomiko, who has gone before and must surely rest in the bright fields of Amaterasu. Yea, I have searched, and Amaterasu has guided my hand. Yea, even as mine hand and mine mind were guided to record the beginning, even the birth and the anointing of he who will stand as King under Amaterasu, even he who will do battle with the vicious Toh and shall prevail over them.

As with the account of the Seeker and the Shielder, I will now lay aside my brush so those who read of the trials on the Road to Kio, might search the accounts and come to believe in the might and sacred power of Amaterasu Omikoto, creator of all and ruler of Heaven and Earth.

Now behold, in separate scrolls, I have inscribed and will inscribe accounts of the labors and sufferings of the anointed of Amaterasu as they search for the sacred talismans. Until such time, I lay aside my brush again and bid each and all sayo nara, for the moment, sayo nara.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles T. Whipple
• Release date: Apr 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463222386

Charles T. Whipple

"The only thing I do well is write." Charles T. Whipple is an international award-winning copywriter, journalist, author and novelist. His awards include Editor & Publisher Magazine DM Award, World Annual Report Competition Award, 2010 Oaxaca International Literature Award, and 2011 Global eBook Award.Whipple was born in Show Low, Arizona. He spent two and a half years in Japan as a volunteer youth missionary, and majored in Japanese History as a graduate student and grantee at the East West Center, University of Hawaii. He is fluent in spoken and written Japanese, and has long been interested in the fantastic aspect of traditional Japanese tales. Whipple lives in the city of Chiba, the capital of Chiba Prefecture, which encompasses the ancient Kanto Kingdoms of Awa, Kazusa, and Shimosa. Today, Chiba hosts the Magic Kingdom of Disneyland and is gateway to Japan via the international airport in Narita.He has one wife, four daughters, two sons, and 19 grandchildren. Whipple writes western novels under the pen name of Chuck Tyrell and fantasy based on ancient Japanese history and mythology as Charles T. Whipple. Visit Charlie at his Blog: http://chucktyrell-outlawjournal.blogspot.com/.

Book preview

Chapter One

The war junk Seiryu Maru stood off the harbor of Kisarazu. A sharp-eyed crewman manned the bow lookout, and the junk's huge fan-shaped sails were reefed down to two panels each. Two smaller junks held formation with the Seiryu Maru, one to the northeast and one to the southwest. Together the flotilla blockaded the harbor. The Chinaman could not escape.

Wako Overlord Umihiko ruled the sealanes from Sendai in the north to the Bonins in the south, from Choshi in the east to Shimonoseki in the west. None used those sealanes without paying tribute to the overlord. But, urged by greed or profits or their own lords, some tried. Like the Chinaman now loading silver ingots and bales of raw silk at Kisarazu. No doubt he felt lucky. Or perhaps someone neglected to tell him of Umihiko's suzerainty. At any rate, now he'd pay double, or forfeit his craft and cargo. No one passed without paying the toll.

Masahiko, a one-eyed veteran of more than two decades at sea with Lord Umihiko's fleet, captained the Seiryu Maru as its Sencho. His second in command, the Fuku, now stood forward with the lookout, her hair bound with a headband of indigoed canvas and her torso bound from armpits to hips with a white cotton haramaki. A happi of the same indigoed canvas as her headband was caught at the hips with a black silk sash. Her canvas trousers ended just below the knees, and her bare feet gripped the deck, adjusting to its rise and fall with an ease born of years at sea. The Fuku's name was Nami, and she was Lord Umihiko's only daughter.

Darkness came, and still the Chinaman had not left the harbor.

Set the stern light, Masahiko commanded.

Crewmen leaped to obey. In moments, a lantern hung from its hook in the stern, outboard, just below the sheer. The light was invisible from ahead, but the junks astern could see the lantern and maintain their relative stations.

Nami strode to the stern. Sencho, she said. I don't think the Chinaman will come out until moonset. Give me two boats and I'll take the fat tub right in the harbor.

You may take a boat, Fuku, said Masahiko. But do not go into the harbor. Stay outside where you can see the Chinaman clear the rocks. When he is free of them, you will uncover your lantern and move after the Chinaman so I can judge the direction.

Why not board him in the harbor?

Lord Umihiko protects the harbor. The village headman brings tribute to Hachijo twice each year. Perhaps you know him – Umezo. We do not want to trouble his town. Let the Chinaman come out. We will deal with him on the sea, which belongs to Lord Umihiko.

Nami didn't answer. She felt the Chinaman could be most easily taken tied to a pier, but she also understood the Sencho's reasoning. Tai, she called.

Hai, Fuku. A burly seaman answered her summons.

Prepare the sabani boat, Tai. And get Wat. Light a lantern and keep it shrouded. We go to watch the Chinaman.

* * *

The slim sabani slid over the side, guided fore and aft with hemp ropes in the hands of muscled crewmen. Wat sat with his back to the bulwark, wrapping strips of cloth around the barrel of his roh, the long sculling oar the Chinese call yuloh. He dipped a finger in the tallow tub and applied a thick gob of the grease to the roh's bellybutton, an indentation in the barrel that fit over a nipple on the sabani boat's transom. Wat leveled the tallow so it filled the bellybutton. The extra grease would lubricate the nipple, and the cloth wrapping on the barrel would muffle the sound of the roh against the stern as Wat sculled.

Tai scrambled into the pitching sabani and held the boat to the side of the war junk so Nami and Wat could board. A crewman passed Tai his longbow and ten arrows with pitch-soaked strips of cloth bound just behind the iron tips. A wooden tub with smoldering punk, and the shrouded lantern came next. Nami carried her boarding sword on her back, though Captain Masahiko had told her to stay away from the Chinaman. She still wanted to be ready if a chance came. By Lord Umihiko's rule, the first to board a prize claimed a double share of booty. Nami stared at the harbor entrance and counted the Chinaman's cargo in her mind.

Tai released his hold on the Seiryu Maru and the sabani bobbed away. Wat took a wide stance in the stern and placed his roh on the nipple. Silently, he drove the long oar back and forth, sculling the boat toward the dark headland that guarded the south side of the harbor entrance.

The sharp prow of the sabani cut through the waves, and its flaring sides kept the sea from coming aboard. Nami stood in the bow, balanced lightly with her feet against the sides of the hull. Her sharp eyes picked up the shape of moored craft within the harbor, some anchored out, some pulled up to the edge of the beach, and a large buxom junk with three thick masts, moored to a peer. The Chinaman showed no light, but that meant nothing.

Ship your roh, Wat, Nami said. We'll drift for a while.

A slight current from the turning tide took Nami's sabani back behind the headland, as she planned. A lookout on the Chinaman might see the sabani where it had been, outlined in moonlight as the moon sank westward.

Hold us here, she said, when the sabani was hidden. Wat took up his roh and fitted it on the nipple again. Keeping the headland at two o'clock off the sabani's bow, Wat plied his oar and kept the boat almost motionless at its station.

The moon dropped and turned pale red, hiding itself little by little behind Takao-san, a peak that stood high among those that bordered Kanto on the west. Only starlight remained.

Sst. Nami hissed for silence, though there was no sound but the lap of water against the hull. All three Wako pirates concentrated on Kisarazu harbor. The sound Nami thought she heard came again, the bump of wooden yard on mast as sails were hauled aloft.

The Chinaman's sneaking out, Nami whispered.

Tai checked the shrouded lantern, lifting a seaward shutter. For an instant, a yellow sliver of light splashed on the inside of the sabani's hull.

Wat, take us to the mouth of the harbor. We'll wait to the south.

Hai, Fuku. Wat was by far the most skilled oarsman aboard the Seiryu Maru, and the sabani obeyed his roh like a gentle colt. The boat crept closer, with Nami keeping watch from the bow.

The tide ebbed faster. Wat held the sabani against the current, no more than a long stone's throw from the headland.

Nami softly spoke a single word. There.

In the dim starlight, a bulky form drifted out of the harbor on the tide. Nami wet her finger and held it aloft. A breath of a breeze from just east of south.

The Chinaman's three sails were fanned out to catch the breeze. As it moved past the wind shadow of the headland, clearing the northern rocks, the big junk picked up speed.

'Ware, Wat, Nami warned.

The oarsman said nothing, but the sabani picked up speed, keeping its distance from the Chinaman.

Open the seaward shutter on that lantern, Tai.

Hai, Fuku.

The Chinaman steered a northeasterly course, perhaps hoping to hide itself among the reeds and islands of Asakusa come morning.

Faster, Wat. Don't let that piece of flotsam sail away from us.

Hai, Fuku. Wat labored at the roh and the slim craft slipped through the waves. But it seemed that the Chinaman might be pulling away.

Nami peered into the darkness, trying to keep the dim bulk of the Chinaman in sight. Then flames bloomed atop the Chinaman's poop deck. The sabani was close enough that Nami could see black-garbed priests sitting four square to the leaping flames. Her ears picked up the sound of their guttural incantations.

Priests of Yami, Nami muttered. She had no way to warn Masahiko aboard the Seiryu Maru. The lookout would see the flames, surely, but would have no way of knowing the evil they brewed. Something had to be done.

Tai. The longbow. You've got ten arrows. You should be able to get four foul priests, no? Nami squinted at the Chinaman. I'd say we're about five boatlengths off.

Hai, Fuku. The seaman already had the longbow strung. He stood astraddle in the waist of the sabani, easily shifting his weight with the boat's movement.

The Chinaman changed course, turning due north and placing the four priests at the cardinal compass points.

The leader of those carrion priests is the one on the far side, Nami said. The one with seniority always sits to the north of the fire.

I see him, Fuku. Tai drew a raven-fletched black arrow to his ear. The bowstring twanged faintly and the arrow sped through the night. But the flames seemed to snatch it from flight, leaving the priests unharmed. Their chants grew more frenzied, and they threw something into the fire, causing it to leap upward in flashes of blue and green, scarlet and orange.

Again, Nami ordered.

Tai complied.

The second arrow met the same fate as the first.

Witchcraft, Tai said. My man-made arrows cannot fight the powers of Yami.

A wind sprang up. Clouds blotted the stars, moving in from the east. If not for the fire aboard the Chinaman, Nami would have lost the junk in the darkness.

Wat sculled the sabani through the rising chop. His movements looked leisurely, but the little boat answered his roh like something alive.

Where lies the Seiryu Maru? Nami asked.

Not in sight, Fuku, Wat answered. Nor can I hear anything.

Can you get us to the Chinaman, Wat? asked Nami. If you can, we'll board her.

Let me put some fire in her sails, Fuku. Tai gestured toward the now bellied sails of the Chinaman. Otherwise, we can't catch her.

Do it.

Tai took the lid from the tub of smoldering punk. He blew it into a round red coal and laid the pitch-soaked ball of rags on the end of an arrow over the coal. In moments, the pitch caught and the cloth blazed. In one smooth motion, Tai stood, drew the longbow, and released the fire arrow.

Nami watched the arrow's blazing arc toward the Chinaman's mainsail. But just when it seemed the arrow would strike the sail, a pillar of flame shot skyward from the priest's fire, devouring the arrow.

Light three arrows, Tai, and send one toward each sail. Fast, Nami ordered.

Tai complied. When three black arrows lay across the tub, their pitched rags aflame, the archer picked them up and fired them toward the Chinaman as fast as he could draw and release the powerful longbow. The priest's fire ate the arrow approaching the mizzen, then the one about the strike the main, but before the demon fire could rise a third time to protect the foresail, Tai's blazing arrow struck, piercing the flaxen fabric and burying its point in the foremast. Fire spread across the battens, eating the sailcloth like locusts devour grain.

Fuku. Seiryu Maru comes, Wat said from his oarsman's post.

Tai. More arrows.

Hai, Fuku. The archer placed all four remaining arrows on the tub of punk. When they blazed, he sent them arcing toward the Chinaman. Demon fire downed two of Tai's arrows, but two reached their targets. Now the Chinaman had fires on fore and mizzen sails. Only the mainsail billowed in the stiff wind.

Lanterns showed aboard the Wako junk that sailed westward of the Seiryu Maru. Its course would bisect that of the Chinaman. The Seiryu Maru herself came up on the lee of the sabani. Well done, Fuku, roared Masahiko. Get aboard. We have a Chinaman to take.

A seaman threw a line to Nami, who hand-over-handed the sabani alongside the war junk. Tai held the sabani to the junk as Nami and Wat belayed lines fore and aft. They handed up the equipment then scrambled aboard the Seiryu Maru. Crewmen hoisted the sabani aboard and secured it to its cradle.

To the bomb tubes, Fuku. Give the Chinaman a taste of Lord Umihiko's wrath, shouted Masahiko.

Hai, Sencho, Nami replied, and raced forward to the bamboo pipes that lobbed bombs at enemy ships.

Lord Umihiko bought his firepowder from the Ryukyu Kingdom, which traded for the explosive with the Chinese. The Ryukyuans said the Chinese used firepowder in ceremonies and celebrations. They even sold Lord Umihiko some of the celebratory fireworks. Seeing how the fireworks soared skyward and exploded in colors and stars, Umihiko immediately set his men to devising ways to use firepowder to enhance the power of his war fleet.

The weapons Nami used on the Seiryu Maru fired terracotta globes filled with a mixture of pitch, whale oil, and quicklime, placed around a core of firepowder. More firepowder, wrapped in packets of rice paper, exploded in reinforced tubes of bamboo to propel the globes toward the enemy ship. The range of the weapons varied from two to three ship lengths.

The fuses attached to the terracotta bombs lit when the propelling charge of firepowder went off in the bamboo tubes. Seconds later, the cores of the globes exploded, bursting the terracotta shell and showering blazing pitch in all directions.

Lord Umihiko's armorers made the weapons on the island of Nii. And to keep the methods of making the weapons secret, once an armorer went to Nii, he never left. Umihiko made sure the armorers never lacked anything in the way of food, drink, or diversion, but the island was their only home.

The Seiryu Maru had six launch tubes, which could be moved about the deck to gain the best field of fire.

Arm four tubes, Nami commanded.

Hai, Fuku, the bomb crew chorused. They picked up packets of firepowder propellant, tore holes in the paper with their teeth, and plopped the packets into the tubes, torn side down. They rammed short fuses into holes in the sides of the launch tubes. Then four terracotta globes slid down the tubes so their fuses lay against the firepowder packets.

Nami watched the flames aboard the Chinaman. The fore and mizzen sails were almost gone. Their battens burned. But even with two sails out of commission, the bulky junk sped through the star-flecked water. From the shape of the mainsail, Nami judged that the Chinaman sailed in stronger winds than the Seijyu Maru and her two escorts. At the pace of a sea slug, the Wako craft closed on the Chinaman, but the beamy craft was still too far away for an effective shot, and the Seiryu Maru had no bombs to throw away.

Nami shot a glance toward the poop deck. Masahiko stood elbows akimbo near the lee rail, his legs set wide apart to counter the ship's roll. He ran his eye along the set of the sails. Hocho, he called to the sail master. Tend to your sheets. We need more speed.

Hai, Sencho, the weathered sail master answered, and set to tweaking the sheets, coaxing tiny increments of increased power from the great sails.

The distance between the Chinaman and the Seiryu Maru narrowed. The Seiryu Maru's escort crossed the Chinaman's bow and tacked to cross it again. The Chinaman wore its bow around to the north. As it came broadside to the escort, the chanting priests wrote runes in the air and raised their chanting voices. A ball of deep orange fire rose from the flames as if buoyed by the priests' chanting voices. Those chants grew more feverish and the flaming orb moved out over the open water, where it expanded until it was wide as a ship. The gigantic fireball floated farther and farther from the Chinaman, until it hovered over the Seiryu Maru's escort. The ball of flames stayed over the black escort despite the Wako junk's tacks and jibes. Light from the fireball showed Wako seamen, their faces upturned toward the threat, sweating to maneuver out from under the menacing fire . . . but they could not. Moments later, the fireball dropped. The escort's sails turned into torches. Its sailors leaped into the sea, their clothing in flames.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Chapter Two

Nami whipped around and shot a glance at Masahiko the Sencho.

Fuku, he shouted. The bomb tubes. Take. That. Ship. Down!!

Hai, Sencho! Nami turned to her bomb crews. Give me four bombs at once, but have all ready to fire. Light your punks. Stand by!

Hai, Fuku, they chorused and scurried to finish their preparations.

Slowly, the Seiryu Maru gained on the Chinaman. Three ship lengths. Less. Approaching two. The Chinaman's crew worked feverishly to bend on new sails.

Nami held up her war fan. Hit her in the belly, she cried and brought the war fan down – the signal to fire. Reload! Five and six. Ready!

The bombs arched toward the Chinaman in high arcs, leaving tiny trails of sparks from their burning fuses. Not many ships knew of Lord Umihiko's armament. Perhaps the Chinaman knew not either. No darting flames of demon fire gobbled up the bombs. Nami held her breath, her war fan raised once more. When she dropped it, the remaining two tubes would fire. The bombs neared the apogee of their arc. She swept the war fan down and two more tubes coughed, sending their terracotta bombs after the first four.

The four bombs dropped toward the Chinaman, then exploded as one. A rain of liquid fire fell on the ship. The mainsail burned like a torch. Droplets of fire hit the deck, the sailors, the black priests. Suddenly, the Chinaman became a ship of fire, as the escort vessel was before.

Two more bombs exploded, one at the bow, one at the stern. The Chinaman turned into a sea of flame. Sailors jumped into the ocean, their clothes afire. The demons of Yami failed to save the four bonzes, but they held to their places until the flames devoured them. Perhaps they felt they were entering demonic paradise.

Two men to forward lookouts, the Sencho roared. To the Seicho Maru. We'll save her if we can. Then we'll scour the waters for floating Chinamen. The Seiryu Maru set her course for the burning escort ship.

Ready the pumps, Fuku, Masahiko ordered.

Hai, Sencho, Nami replied. Bak. Tron. Haul out the hose. We'll be dowsing the Seicho Maru with water.

Hai, Fuku. The sailors rushed to haul the thick cotton canvas hose from its stowage compartment forward. They unrolled it as they ran aft. The two-handled pump served a dual purpose. On the high seas, they used the hose to wet down the decks and scrub them clean. Or, if for any reason water entered the bilges, the big pump could suck it out and spray it overboard. A 20-shaku length of hose went from the aft nozzle of the pump over the side and into the ocean. A 50-shaku length ran from the pump forward where two muscular seamen would direct a stream of seawater onto the burning Seicho Maru.

Nami made a megaphone of her hands. Tai. Wat. Come!

The sailors raced to Nami's side. Hai, Fuku, they chorused.

Without asking Masahiko, she acted. Put the sabani back overboard. Find our sailors, the ones who jumped into the sea. We must not lose them.

Hai, Fuku. Tai and Wat rushed to the waist of the Seiryu Maru and two sailors soon had the sabani in slings and going over the side.

Nami went forward to direct the fire fighting.

The Chinaman burned. The four Yami bonzes sat as before, but were pyramids of charred flesh. The mainmast toppled in a cloud of sparks and angry flames. The fat junk swung around as the fallen mast was still attached with shrouds and acted as a huge sea anchor. No one moved on the ship. A few heads bobbed among the oily wavelets that surrounded the doomed vessel.

The Seiryu Maru moved slowly toward the Seicho Maru, which now burned less violently.

Hard a lee, the Sencho shouted just before the war junk bumped into its escort. The stern swung with the movement of the rudder and the Seiryu Maru came alongside the escort, with sails aback, slowing the ship to a crawl.

Pump, now! Nami shouted.

Two burly sailors started pumping. In moments, seawater burst from the end of the hose, streaming across the space between the two ships and splashing on the escort's deck.

Soon there was no open flame, only steaming, scorched wood. The Seicho Maru floated. She smoked, but she floated.

Fuku!

Hai, Sencho!

Pick six sailors and two carpenters. Bring the Seicho Maru to Kisarazu. We'll have her refit there, Masahiko said.

Hai, Sencho.

Nami wanted Tai and Wat, but they were out in the sabani, pulling sailors from the ocean. Already, scorched men and women from the Seicho Maru huddled abaft near the Seiryu Maru's poop deck. They were injured, some sorely, but they also needed a way to redeem their pride as Wako. Nami strode aft. As she neared the Seicho Maru crew, she shouted, I am Nami, Fuku Sencho of the Seiryu Maru. I will save your ship. But I need good sailors. Four good sailors from the Seicho Maru to go to her aid. Any here?

Here, Fuku, here. A dozen sailors, some burned almost beyond recognition, others slightly scorched, scrambled to their feet at Nami's call. Others tried, but could not stand. Some were still unconscious.

Step forward, Nami said.

The dozen did as commanded, as best they could.

Nami walked around the sodden group. She tapped a man on the shoulder. Name.

Shun, Fuku.

Stand at the rail, she said.

She tapped a second, and a third, sending to join the first.

The remaining people's injuries kept Nami from choosing them. She turned to go.

Fuku-sama.

Nami stopped.

I would go save my ship, Fuku.

Nami faced the speaker, a tall woman whose hair was burnt from the left side of her head, and her cheek, neck, and bared shoulder showed blisters from the heat. Name?

Shuri.

Ryukyu?

Hai, Fuku.

Ryukyuans I know are all short. Very strong, but short.

My blood is mixed, Fuku. Shuri's hazel eyes showed her determination. Fuku. Seicho Maru is my ship. My home. My life. She needs me. I would go. Shuri sank to her knees in supplication, hands on the deck and head bowed.

Yosh. I will believe you, Shuri. Go with the others.

Shuri jumped up, her full lips turned up slightly. Hai, Fuku. She strode to join her crewmates, her step strong, her shoulders straight, and her chest trust forward. She ignored her burns, and clapped the three Seicho Maru men on their backs. All four stood straight, their backs to the rail, waiting for instructions from Nami.

The sabani came alongside. Ten more sailors from the Seicho Maru were lifted carefully aboard. Some showed no signs of life. All were seriously injured. Wat clambered up from the sabani. Fuku, he said. We see no more Seicho Maru people in the water.

Good. Gokuro. Stand by to take a crew to the Seicho Maru.

Hai, Fuku.

Shuri!

Hai! The Ryukyuan woman answered with alacrity.

Gather the Seicho Maru sailors I chose and get them into the sabani. Tai and Wat will row you to your ship. I will be there with more sailors soon. Start getting the Seicho Maru ready to sail.

Hai! Shuri spoke to the three Seicho men. They trotted to the rail and clambered down into the sabani.

We go to the Seicho Maru, Wat shouted. Nami waved her reply.

While the sabani took the four Seicho sailors to their vessel, Nami chose four sailors and two carpenters to go with her to the Seicho Maru. In moments, the sabani was back alongside.

Fuku, Wat called. The Seicho sailors are aboard.

Well done. There are four more to go, and two carpenters with their tools. But first, I will go. Stand by. She turned to the men who were to repair and man the Seicho Maru. I go to your ship. Sencho has assigned her to me. We are to take her to Kisarazu where proper repairs can be done. Wait for the sabani to return.

Hai, Fuku, they chorused. She clambered down the net the sailors had run over the rail to facilitate boarding the sabani. Once down, she signaled Wat to take them across the eighty-some shaku distance between the Seicho and the Seiryu. In moments, the little boat was alongside the Seicho.

Bring the others, and prepare to stay aboard the Seicho yourselves when you return. We will tow the sabani behind. She clambered up the scorched ship's sides, over the rail, and onto the deck, ignoring the black left on her hands and clothing.

Standing on the Seicho's deck, Nami stared across the water at the Chinaman. Small flames still flickered, but most of the fire was out. The charcoal pyramids that had been bonzes still sat on the poop deck. The ship lay low in the water, but seemed in no danger of immediately sinking. Nami considered the cargo, the riches the Chinese merchants had surely stuffed into her hold. Then and there, she decided the Chinaman would be hers. She turned her mind to the task at hand.

She walked the deck from stem to stern. The mizzenmast had burned away, but it was small and easily replaced. Lord Umihiko had his ships built for war, where fire is part of the equation. Their hulls and decks were of ironwood, brought from the islands of the southern ocean. Therefore, Wako ships of Lord Umihiko's fleet could not be easily burned, say, by pouring whale oil on the decks and setting it alight. The ironwood refused to burn. Even under demon fire, it refused to burn. The tall fir masts burned. The fir sail battens burned. The flax sails burned. Clothing burned, flesh and skin burned, but the hulls and decks of the Wako fleet