The ungovernable girlfriend boards the Time Machine

What – no luggage? The scientists shake their heads in disbelief as they crank up the time machine. The gargantuan truffle funnel rattles ominously as a blue light fills the room. There is the sound of infinite things being torn apart, and a small, white crack in the fabric of reality appears before you. Armed only with a Groucho Marx quote, you step through the shimmering vortex…

The narrow alleyway opens to a dirty waterfront street. You peek around the corner and see the quiet hustle and bustle of a small port. A group of men are loading a tall sail ship, it seems. The language can’t be made out at this distance, but it sounds European. As you sneek back into the alleyway you consider your options. With your conspicuous look, you can’t afford to be seen.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Quickly, you hide behind a barrel. From your hiding place you now see the legs of two men. One is wearing trousers and leather kneeboots with buckles, the other a divided skirt and wooden sandals. Even though they speak in hushed voices, you can clearly make out the words. The language is strange to you at first, but at the same time incredibly familiar. You realize that the men are speaking a pidgin mixture of Dutch and Japanese, two languages that, by a strange coincidence, you happen to understand.

The man in the sandals is on the verge of panic. The rebellion has been crushed, he stutters, I saw it with my own eyes. It was a slaughter – a slaughter!

Where, the man in the boots asks, quiet but calm.

At Shimawara, the first replies. They’ll be coming after all Christians now, foreign or Japanese. You and your men are in grave danger. You must set sails immediately, and take me with you, I beg of you, in the name of our Lord Jesus…

That’s nonsense, says the other. I have nothing to do with this insurrection, nor any other intrigue. I hold the necessary written guarantees and letters of transit from all the lords of the southern provinces. Surely my rights as a free trader will be respected.

But you don’t understand, the first pleads; the Shogun is closing the ports to all foreign intercourse. Even as we speak, the lord Ogasawara Tadazane is rounding up European merchants and missionaries by the dozen. You must flee!

The two men continue the argument as they leave the alley, one pleading to the other in the name of every saint and prophet. You suppress an overwhelming feeling of terror as you realize the gravity of your situation. You don’t have time to panic. 1638 is a bad year for a westerner in Japan, and any year is a bad year for a woman. You might be able to stow away aboard the Dutch trader under the cloak of night, you think. Just then, far off in the distance, you hear the sound of hooves and metal against metal.

The Samurai are approaching. You have to keep on your feet.

Good luck!