Sherlock Holmes

by Keisuke Matsuoka

  Inoue grunted. “Ito, why are you here?”

  “Russia is pressuring us for Tsuda’s execution again. Since you worked on the construction of the Rokumeikan, I believe you’ve enjoyed a strong relationship with the legation. You even boasted of having close friends there.”

  “And you were hoping for inside information? I have a secret for you, then. Nicholas is aboard one of the warships moored in Daiba.”

  “We already knew that.”

  “You did?” Inoue seemed disappointed. “I haven’t heard anything else particularly interesting.”

  Sherlock watched him carefully. “Do you have any idea why Nicholas has now returned in secret?”

  “A pretext. They needed a port in Asia at which to dock. Nicholas’ attendants are currently secretly negotiating with King Rama V, of Siam. But Siam is an independent nation, not a colony of one of the Great Powers, meaning Russia cannot approach their ports on unofficial business. Though independent, Japan is more flexible and our harbors are conveniently located.”

  “What are they negotiating?”

  “Nothing very important. During Nicholas’ visit to Siam the Russians failed to take proper records, so they wish to see what the Siamese have recorded.”

  “I see. I heard recently that the photographer hired by the Russian military forgot the arrangements.”

  Inoue nodded. “Not only the photographer. The Russian delegation made a number of embarrassing mistakes.”

  “After the older brother caught cold, and their most competent attendants were sent back to Russia?” Sherlock asked.

  “Precisely. Their translator was inexperienced and there were a number of concerns as to whether or not Nicholas’ statements had been adequately conveyed to King Rama. Since this could affect diplomatic relations in the future, the Russians are hoping to compare Nicholas’ records with the Siamese and correct any inaccuracies.”

  “Is that all? Then why should Tsarevich Nicholas be forced to wait aboard a warship in Japan?”

  Inoue sighed. “While comparing records, there was apparently disagreement over what Nicholas may or may not have said. According to the Siamese records, when King Rama expressed his dissatisfaction at France’s establishment of the Kingdom of Luang Prabang as a protectorate, Nicholas agreed with him. The Russians, however, insisted that Nicholas had said nothing. There was also a disagreement over whether Nicholas had or had not said that tom yum kung was better than borscht.”

  Sherlock laughed through his nose. “I doubt Nicholas himself is very concerned with correcting the record on such matters.”

  “It does seem unlikely. Perhaps the Russian court is being overly cautious.”

  A look of consternation had appeared on Ito’s face. “This is the reason that Tsarevich Nicholas has docked in our country?”

  “Ostensibly. The trouble with Siam was likely just an excuse to mobilize their warships. Comparing records is hardly so important. By seizing on the blunders their delegation made in Siam, they have found an excuse to station their ships here. And they can claim, outwardly at least, they only took port here because Japan is a trustworthy country.”

  “Are you saying that Russia hopes to cause trouble for Japan while evading international notice and interference from other countries?”

  “In all likelihood. In particular, they’d probably want to avoid any meddling from the British legation. They are rivals in the Far East, after all.”

  It was a persuasive theory. It would explain why Ambassador Shevich and Lt. Colonel Kanevsky had been so guarded before, and had accused Sherlock of being a spy.

  This meant that after the attack on Nicholas at Otsu, Russia had already resolved to take a hard stance against Japan. But they pretended to withdraw at first in order to avoid British opposition. They accepted Sanzo Tsuda’s original sentence only in order to deceive the other Western powers as they tightened the screw in secret. Was that the situation here?

  But there were several witnesses on the Russian side who attested that Nicholas’ initial gratitude toward Japan had not been false. At the very least, Nicholas felt an affection for Japan that had not been significantly altered immediately after the incident. To the bewilderment of even his attendants, however, he now referred to the Japanese as yellow monkeys. How much was genuine feeling on Nicholas’ part, and how much a Russian conspiracy?

  Ito crossed his arms. “Is there no one in our cabinet who has influence with the Russians? Someone from our side who could speak openly with someone from their side?”

  Inoue leaned back against the sofa. “No one with the military. They are hostile. The only possibility I can think of is Munemitsu Mutsu, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce.”

  “Mutsu has connections to the Russians?”

  “There is a book that the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce has been desperate to acquire for some time. The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences. It covers the latest research in fields from meteorology and geological science to natural philosophy, biology, earth sciences, astronomy and so on.”

  “Yes,” Ito nodded. “I have heard of the book before. When I was Prime Minister, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce mentioned it frequently.”

  “Is natural science that important?” Sherlock inquired.

  “We immersed ourselves rapidly in Western technology,” replied Ito. “And after technology we moved onto economic systems, and then to medicine. But we have put off developing the natural sciences.”

  “Why not simply invite advisors from Britain? Or from some other Western country?”

  “You misunderstand. What we want are Russia’s research results. Europe and America are far away from us, and their geographic conditions differ greatly. Russia possesses research facilities in China and has collected steady data from them. That data is included in The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences. Right now, Japan suffers flood damage each time a typhoon hits, and earthquakes are a serious threat. Heavy rains or droughts could endanger our food stores. It is vital that we deepen our knowledge of the natural environment.”

  “France for our military, Germany for our constitutional assembly,” Inoue proclaimed. “Japan looks to the West for its models. If we had to begin from scratch, progress would take us many decades. For the natural sciences, Russia is our only choice. The experts all agree on this.”

  “Then you only need to obtain a single copy of The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences?”

  Inoue shook his head. “It is not the sort of work that can be obtained through a bookseller. Genpaku Sugita’s New Text on Anatomy—created from a translation of Anatomische Tabellen—was a simple enough matter. This would prove much more challenging.”

  Ito sucked his teeth. “There are very few copies of the Complete Work in existence. Each is imprinted with a serial number, and access to all copies is carefully restricted. Only research facilities approved by the Ministry of State Property are allowed to view copies of the book. Reproduction is also forbidden. In truth, requesting a copy is similar to requesting state secrets.”

  Sherlock shrugged lightly. “With conflict with Russia worsening, I imagine obtaining a copy should prove impossible for the immediate future.”

  Inoue straightened up. “Regardless, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce has the strongest connections to Russia. His department is more concerned with matters of peace, and he has many acquaintances in the Ministry of State Property.”

  “This Minister Mutsu? What manner of Russians is he acquainted with, specifically?”

  “One moment. Let me see my notes.” Inoue rose from the sofa and retrieved a pocketbook from the bookshelf. He began flipping through the pages. “There are only a few on the Russian side who are open to reason to begin with. Ah, here it is. The Ministry of State Property. Soslan Chekhov and….yes, Anna Luzhkova.”

  Ito slumped his shoulders. “Tho
se two again. Come to think of it, they did say that they were with the Ministry of State Property.”

  Apparently discovering new contacts would prove more difficult than they had thought. “An earnest pair, and both naturally retiring. If we were to request a meeting with the Ministry, they would probably push it onto those two,” Sherlock said to Ito.

  “I see why they were chosen as attendants.” Ito returned his attention to Inoue. “Isn’t there anyone else? Any Japanese person you know with a strong connection to Russia?”

  “None.” Inoue returned his pocketbook to the bookshelf. “You know as well as I do that attempting to revise the unequal treaties is a very thorny path. Approaching a Great Power from our side gets us nowhere. Even on a personal level, it is nearly impossible to build friendships on equal terms.”

  Sherlock and Ito gave each other perplexed looks.

  A thought suddenly seemed to occur to Inoue. “Of course. How about those two?”

  “Those two?” asked Ito.

  “The rickshaw drivers,” said Inoue. “Jizaburo Mukohata and Ichitaro Kitagaichi. Seeing as they are receiving lifelong pensions from Russia, they must have contact information for whomever handles the payments.”

  “Ah, them.” A look of disappointment crossed Ito’s face. “Whatever contacts they have, I’m sure our people are already aware of them.”

  “But wait,” Sherlock said excitedly. “That may indeed be a capital idea. The rickshaw drivers have received medals from Nicholas, as well as a great sum of money. It follows that the Russians may have been less guarded in their presence, or even have taken a liking to them.”

  Inoue smiled and nodded. “You may be on to something. When they were invited aboard the warship they were asked to come in their rickshaw uniforms rather than in formalwear. They were brought aboard just past noon but the medal ceremony didn’t occur until later that evening. There was some worry that they had been invited aboard only to be made fools of, but they apparently received a warm welcome from the ship’s crew.”

  Sherlock’s confidence grew. “Russia may be willing to lower its guard if it’s the two rickshaw drivers who contact them. Perhaps we will even learn some information that would have been unattainable through government channels. More to the point, Nicholas is still aboard the Laskar. We may manage to meet with him directly.”

  Ito was more dubious. “You think we should go ask the rickshaw drivers to spy for us?”

  “Of course not. I will not be going. The rickshaw drivers will likely be found in some public house or establishment of ill repute. Even should the Russians be less guarded about two drivers, they may still be under watch. I would only draw unwelcome attention. And of course, I would be unable to communicate with them.”

  “How then do you propose we…” Ito trailed off mid-sentence. He stared at Sherlock in disbelief. “No, you don’t mean…”

  Inoue’s face lit up. “There are two of them. So there should be two of us.”

  Ito cradled his head in both hands. “Tell me this is a nightmare,” he muttered.

  19

  The octagonal, red-brick tower of Ryounkaku floated above the landscape in the distance, indistinct against the clouded sky. Sprawling along the Sumida River, Asakusa, the entertainment district, already hummed with early afternoon activity, too impatient for sunset. The sukiyaki restaurants, even the public houses, overflowed with patrons. The scene here had changed little since the fall of the Bakufu, thought Ito. Groups of rough-looking men drank in front of open-faced storefronts with boiled octopus and wild poultry hanging from the eaves.

  Unfortunately, Ito was currently in no position to look down his nose at the drunkards already boozed into stupor at this early hour. At the moment he would easily have passed for one of these men, himself.

  He glanced at Inoue, who was walking next to him. Inoue wore a happi—a livery coat—as well as a workman’s apron, trousers and tabi. He looked the very image of a rickshaw driver, though one well past his physical prime. He also carried a cane. The overall effect was convincing: an old rickshaw man gone drinking for the day, in disgust, after his strength had given out.

  Ito was less confident about his own appearance. “Is this really going to work?” he couldn’t stop himself from whispering.

  Inoue glanced his way. “Relax, relax. This rickshaw disguise is perfect for you. A pathetic old man with no other profession to fall back on—you’ve got it down to a tee.”

  “I doubt you’d find the leaders of any of the Great Powers pulling hijinks of this sort. If His Grace saw me now, I’d be lucky to escape with just a dressing down.”

  “Japan is a peculiar case. Our statesmen are from the Satsuma and Choshu domains. We are men of battle, our spirits forged in blood. Adventure is not so strange for the likes of us.”

  “Mr. Holmes likely realized as much when he asked us to carry out this mission.”

  “Possibly. He did meet us first while we were young men, after all.”

  Their destination was a public house. They passed through the straw curtain hung across the entrance. “Irasshai!” the proprietor shouted in welcome. The establishment was cramped, loud, and raucous, every table full. The air reeked of tobacco. The customers shouted rather than spoke.

  Their information had been correct. Jizaburo Mukohata and Ichitaro Kitagaichi sat inside at a table in the corner. Rather than rickshaw uniforms, they were dressed in expensive-looking blazers. Mukohata was 37, of medium stature and build. Kitagaichi was 31, and larger in frame. With their professional clothing and ages, they might have passed off as respectably employed, but in all other aspects it was only too clear that they were a pair of slovenly drunks.

  Their table was blanketed by a stunning number of saké and beer bottles. The faces of both rickshaw drivers were beet-red. Mukohata leaned forward and muttered something incoherent. Kitagaichi frowned, dropping his chin into his hands.

  “Come on,” Mukohata said to Kitagaichi. “It’s me you’re talking to. Just 30 yen. I’ll pay you back in a month.”

  “Leave off,” said Kitagaichi, not even bothering to make eye contact. “I’ve lent you 300 yen already as it is.”

  “Come on, 287 yen!” Mukohata slapped Kitagaichi on the shoulder. “You can’t count what we spent together on the blink!”

  “Careful! You’ll spill the drink!”

  “Stop being stingy. You’ve got plenty of cash left.”

  “Not after I bought that land in Ishikawa. I can’t get my hands on most of it, now.”

  Inoue leaned over and whispered to Ito. “Shall we?”

  Ito nodded slightly. “Yes, let’s get this over with.”

  He hadn’t drunk a single drop, but Inoue suddenly began stumbling about in an imitation of drunkenness. He ingratiated himself in between the two rickshaw drivers. “Ahh! The good sirs Mukohata and Kitagaichi! Just the men I hoped to see. You’ll spare a fellow a drink, I’m sure!”

  Kitagaichi squinted at them. “What crew are you two geezers with? I don’t know you.”

  Inoue forced himself down into an open seat at their table. “Who’s a geezer? I’m only 55. And my friend here is a strapping 50!”

  It was too late to turn back now. Ito joined them, sitting down next to Inoue and fixing a smile on his face. “The great, decorated rickshaw drivers, in the flesh. It is an honor.”

  Inoue followed Ito’s lead. “In the flesh! I bet before long they’ll be replacing Sugawara no Michizane’s face with yours on the five-yen note.”

  Mukohata snorted, and took a sip from his saké cup. He stared at Ito over the rim and spoke condescendingly from beneath hooded eyes. “That right, old man? They wouldn’t put a face as old and ugly as yours on it, now would they?”

  Ito’s temper flared. Inoue kicked him in the leg before he had a chance to respond and continued speaking, his expression innocent. “So you got that pension for
life? Do you have to meet with the Russians? How does that work?”

  Kitagaichi looked annoyed. “What’s it to you?”

  The corner of Mukohata’s lip curled. “They’re probably jealous. If you geezers want a pension, find a big-shot yourselves and risk your own lives.”

  The proprietor made his way toward them, glancing over for their order. “A beer,” said Inoue. “And another for my friend!”

  “Hoy.” Mukohata glared. “We’re not paying for that.”

  Inoue turned back to him with a smile. “Don’t be a curmudgeon. Tell me about when you got the medal. Was Nicholas there? Was it all big shots?”

  Kitagaichi brought his cup to his lips. “What’s to tell? It was on the deck of the ship. Tsarevich Nicholas and a bunch of other fancy folk were there. The rest were all sailors.”

  Mukohata didn’t seem to mind bragging. Once his tongue had loosened he grew quite loquacious. “You chaff probably can’t even picture it! There was a gorgeous sunset as they presented us the medals. Nicholas pinned the Order of the White Eagle to our chests with his own two hands. Then they filled our bamboo hats with money, 2,500 yen each, and promised us a lifelong pension to boot. We were drunk on vodka, and the sailors carried us on their shoulders. We were blessed—even Mt. Fuji appeared all clear and sharp that day, a deep, rich red. After the ceremony, we were all partying and drinking on ship late into the night.”

  Something wasn’t right. “Mt. Fuji, you said?” Ito asked.

  “Eh?” Mukohata thrust his jaw forward scornfully. “What are you, deaf, old man? Don’t question me. If I say Mt. Fuji, I mean Mt. Fuji.”

  “Mt. Fuji was clearly visible, and it looked red?”

  “What are you prattling on about!”

  Ito stared. “The Russian ship had its anchor down and never left the pier. There were two other armored cruisers behind the Pamiat Azova. You shouldn’t have been able to see Mt. Fuji from its deck.”

  “Eh…?” The rickshaw driver’s eyes flashed with anger. “What is this nonsense?”