“The Chairman would never flee from battle,” Toru agreed. “Never. In his own writings, he taught retreat is only acceptable when it is from a superior foe in order to save your forces for future conflict. For the Chairman to retreat would suggest that he had a superior foe. That is impossible.”
“I reckon Faye would disagree with that,” Lance said. Their Beastie was really looking for trouble today, but it was probably because he was distracted with keeping a bird in the air on the look out for incoming trouble.
“Regardless, he’s not really the Chairman,” Heinrich said. “So what the Chairman would do is irrelevant.”
“Quite the contrary.” Wells smiled like the broken predator he was. “He is not the Chairman, which means that he will feel insecure and thus go out of his way to act in the manner which he perceives would be correct. You saw how quickly Toru decided that the Chairman would never flee. This is an immediate assumption shared by all of the Iron Guard. The Chairman, being himself, would have far more agency in his decision making. Dosan Saito does not. His deceptions have become his own trap. No, he’s not going anywhere.”
Ian Wright wasn’t convinced. “Assuming he isn’t the real Chairman, because then he could just Travel right out of there whenever he felt like.”
“Travel?” Lance cut the Summoner off. “Hell, that’s the least of our worries. If he’s still the real deal, you’d better hope he leaves. Otherwise we’re all dead as soon as we piss him off.”
“Fair point… But whoever he is, he knows we’re in Shanghai, or at least he knows our Iron Guard is—”
“I am not your Iron Guard,” Toru corrected.
“Whatever you are, he knows you’re here because you’ve been murdering secret policemen in public all week! They’re going to be on high alert because of your personal blood feud, or whatever the hell it is you’ve got going on here.”
“It is true,” Zhao said. “The Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu have stepped up their campaign against us. They are offering a huge amount of gold for information. This meeting was very difficult to arrange. They are watching everything now.”
Ian pointed an accusatory finger at Toru. “You didn’t even attempt to hide your identity.”
Wells seemed rather pleased with himself. “That was my idea.”
“What?”
Sullivan stepped in before too many of the knights got worked up. “Toru’s famous in the Imperium now. We’re using that to our advantage.”
“My continued existence is a personal insult to the Imperium,” Toru stated without inflection. “Backing down from such an insult would be dishonorable. My presence ensures the Imposter’s visit will continue as planned. To do otherwise would be to lose face.”
“Absolutely,” said Wells. “If it was only you Grimnoir, then Saito could easily make some excuse and avoid the city entirely. He’d simply leave us to be dealt with by his minions. Toru, however, is a slap in the face. He cannot be overlooked. His presence here practically demands a response from Saito. In reality, it is unlikely that anyone would question the Chairman changing his mind, yet Saito’s insecurities will not allow him to make the reasonable choice. He will take this risk and come to Shanghai. He will continue on his scheduled business, because Toru is present.”
The Grimnoir were thinking about it. Sullivan could see the wheels turning. They were a crafty bunch. “It increases our exposure and makes us all more vulnerable. You know he’ll try to root us out before then, but this is the only way we can guarantee this son of a bitch shows his mug. He can’t back down.”
There were some murmurs, but most of the Grimnoir seemed to like the idea. Maybe a frontal assault against a numerically superior foe made up of the most elite military in the world wasn’t totally bad. Which was good, because now came the part where Sullivan told them about the crazy part of his plan.
After the meeting had broken up, most of the Grimnoir had skulked off back to their own hiding places to brief their men, while the others had found places to sleep amidst the wreckage of the hovel. Toru had gone back to his sacred work. He knelt among the armored bits in a room filled with peeling wallpaper and spreading water stains and concentrated on doing the impossible.
There were only a few days left until his appointment with destiny. Toru knew he would more than likely die fulfilling the final commandments of his father, but he accepted, even embraced that fate. The discovery of the Nishimura armor was a great blessing, a sure sign that his father was still watching over his mission and providing the tools necessary for success.
Working with his hands was a welcome distraction. He had been feeling ill at ease ever since his conversation with the newspaper man, Xiang. He had spoken of things which he had thought forgotten. Toru did not relish picking at scabs.
The suit was in better shape than expected. It had obviously seen combat, most likely at the front. Judging from the dents left by large, low-velocity bullets and the claw marks of a bear, it had been used in Siberia. Cossacks were worthy adversaries, but nothing like it would be facing shortly. Would the great Cog Nishimura ever have imagined one of his magnificent works would be turned against the Imperium? Toru did not know the answer, so he merely went back to testing each individual kanji.
The fit was tight. Ideally he would have time to adjust the armored chest piece. Normally the Iron Guard using such armor would have a few assistants to help him get into it, but he would not ask the Grimnoir for their help. To them, this was simply a device, a mix of machinery and magic. They would not understand the spiritual nature that came with preparation for war. They were simply incapable of understanding the connection between a true warrior and his tools.
He’d already tested the lower pieces. It took nearly an hour to get his legs and pelvis fully encased in steel and laminate, and then tied into the torso pieces. It was especially difficult to attach the hoses on his back. The floor creaked as he lifted one armored boot, but it seemed like it would hold.
He placed his hand against the design on the suit’s shoulder and let his Power free. He could feel the energy collecting in his muscles, and he concentrated and guided it down into the spell. It flared briefly with magical light as the connection was formed. Another kanji was ready. Toru estimated the armor was functioning at about eighty percent effectiveness. He was certainly no Fixer, but he hoped that over the next few days he might be able to get that up to ninety.
Though Toru had heard the stomping of huge boots against the damp wood a floor away, his visitor was polite enough to knock. “Come in, Sullivan.”
The Heavy entered, looked over the armor which was spread out across the floor, and then took a seat on an overstuffed and slightly moldy chair. “You getting the hang of this thing?”
“I was trained in its use many years ago, though I never had to privilege of using one in combat…” He realized that did not actually answer Sullivan’s question, and he had too much on his mind to be obtuse out of spite. “I am ‘getting the hang’ of it.”
“Will it be ready in time?”
“It is ready now.” Toru slid his arm inside the steel sleeve, carefully guiding each finger into the gauntlet. He willed the gauntlet to curl into a fist. “It still requires some adjustment and fine tuning. I would like to test it more, but I believe it to be combat effective.”
“You need a hand putting it together?” Sullivan reached down for the mempo.
“No! Do not touch that.”
Sullivan removed his hand. “Easy there.”