Old Scores--A Barker & Llewelyn Novel

by Will Thomas

  “When did you become aware of Toda’s death?”

  “We heard the shot. We could not tell where it came from. Then a minute later his bodyguard called out from the top of the stairs. We followed all the guards up the stairs to the room. Toda was sprawled out on the rug. There was blood and I could smell cordite in the air. It was a tragic loss to our country. I’m not sure how we shall ever recover.”

  “Where was the bodyguard when the ambassador was shot?” Barker asked.

  “I do not notice bodyguards, Mr. Barker. He was not down in the meeting room. I understand he has left the embassy. He ran away. The other bodyguards are looking for him.”

  I doubted they were tracking him to buy him a pint. The thought came to me that Ohara was resourceful. No one would think of looking for him in Lion Street. They were probably combing Limehouse for him.

  “We are hunting him as well, sir. If your men find him, I hope someone will inform me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Forgive me. You have no men. I understand your bodyguard has died.”

  “Yes. He confessed to killing the ambassador, then he killed himself in the proper manner. I don’t see why the investigation has not ended.”

  Barker nodded, as if he understood it was a trial to Edami to answer questions, but bureaucracy required it.

  “What was your guard’s name, sir?”

  “Mitsuo. He was the youngest of the guards. I would have preferred a sailor, but Mononobe chose the best of the Imperial Guards.”

  “Very unfortunate, sir, to have two deaths and one missing guard at the opening of your embassy.”

  “Mitsuo has confessed.”

  “Fortunate, indeed. Do you have any idea why he should kill the ambassador?”

  “None.”

  “Did you happen to notice him in the meeting hall?”

  “I saw him once when he brought me tea. I do not recall the time. Of course, it is difficult to keep them apart in one’s mind. I could not tell you, for example, which guard belongs to Akita-san.”

  “Excellent, Admiral! We are making progress. You are an excellent witness.”

  The admiral smiled and bowed his head. The Guv was acting bumptious, a typical bureaucrat sent to cover over a scandal. Edami was susceptible to flattery and visibly relaxed.

  “The general has informed me that your government has ordered a destroyer,” my employer said. “That is wonderful news. Now you need not rely upon the Americans to patrol your coasts.”

  That was a kind of test, I thought. The fact should not have been known to Barker. Would Admiral Edami confirm it?

  “Yes, sir. No longer will we have to submit to the barbaric and overbearing Americans that plunder our country. Your people are much more civilized. I hope we shall agree to trade in the future. I am very impressed with your navy. They are truly a marvel.”

  “That is so. We very much look forward to a treaty with your country. Two countries so very much alike! But, sir, we have taken up too much of your time. You have been very patient. Come, Mr. Llewelyn. Let us leave the admiral to his important work.”

  We stood and bowed. I still hadn’t worked out the bowing yet. It was more complicated than it looked. We were certain to bow lower than the admiral out of respect.

  We stepped in to see General Mononobe, but he was out. Likewise, Minister Akita. We did not look for Tatsuya. He would keep us from our duties as we kept Edami from his.

  In the street again, Barker turned and began to walk without searching for a cab. The sun was shining through the trees, breaking up its rays, creating dappled shadows at our feet.

  “‘An honest witness doth not deceive, but a false witness pours out lies.’ Proverbs 14:5.”

  “In his defense, sir, he’s probably not a Christian. What lies did he tell, precisely?”

  “He said he heard the shot, but it was muffled by Toda’s robes.”

  “That’s right, and Toda had powder marks. The general said he heard nothing in the same room.”

  “Then there was the cordite. The murder weapon was a revolver. There would be very little odor, especially with an open window nearby. Cordite was invented a few years ago. The pistol is probably older than that.”

  I was thinking to myself how fortunate I was to have a situation that allowed me to walk freely under an avenue of trees in an afternoon when everyone else was working in a hot, stuffy office. It was very warm. Every window one saw was open. Other than that, I was thinking random thoughts. In the back of my mind, I was trying to remember an impression I had received and immediately buried.

  “Sir.”

  “Aye, lad?”

  “When I got a close look at Admiral Edami, I had the feeling that I’d seen him before, which of course is impossible, since he only arrived last week. But I still recognized his features, and not because I’d seen him in the garden.”

  “Continue,” Barker said, his hands behind his back, flipping the tails of his coat.

  “I had seen his face before in the face of Mitsuo, the bodyguard. There is a family resemblance. They may have been father and son.”

  “I must take your word for it, Thomas. I never saw the bodyguard’s face. Are you sure?”

  “The resemblance is such that I’m sure I’m not mistaken. Are you sure he didn’t kill the ambassador?”

  “Of course not, lad.”

  “But he confessed and then he killed himself! How and why would he do that?”

  “Traditionally among the samurai, a young man, often the youngest and least proven among his comrades, will volunteer to accept the blame for a crime or even a decision, then kill himself immediately afterward. The police are satisfied, tranquility is restored to society, and a father is proud of his son for his sacrifice.”

  “What would the mother say? A young man just ended his life, years before a normal death, and why?”

  “He earns the respect of his peers, the gratefulness of those he reveres, and he will be remembered for years for his sacrifice.”

  I couldn’t help but think I’d rather die in my eighties and be well remembered by my own family instead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The party was that evening. The embassy, Campbell-Ffinch, and Mr. K’ing had been invited. We had debated asking Fu Ying, but Barker reasoned she would distract everyone. The tearoom had been closed to its usual customers, although one or two had worked their way into the far corners of the room and would not be moved. There were crates of bottles with Chinese lettering, containing what I assumed was plum wine. All the staff was in the steaming kitchen, preparing course by course: noodles with prawns, sea snail dumplings, beef with peppers, stuffed fish courtesy of Billingsgate Fish Market, and even more exotic dishes such as shark’s fin soup, and an actual bear’s paw. However, by far the one that drew everyone’s attention was the fugu, the poisonous puffer fish.

  Ho was in the kitchen with a small slab of translucent fillet and an assortment of knives, all on a metal-covered counter, since the regular wooden cutting boards might be poisoned by the slightest touch of the flesh. Between the heat in the kitchen and the duty he was performing, Ho’s forehead was covered in sweat and a member of the kitchen staff was wiping it constantly with a cloth. The puffer fish was sliced paper thin. He set aside the knife, picked up a second one, and excised the flesh around it. He set that knife aside, picked up a third, and sliced the meat on either side. A fourth knife was brought out and the rest of the fillet sliced into thin strips. The knives were thrown into a bucket full of brine. Ho would not risk contaminating another fillet. Finally, he ran water over the entire fish.

  “I trust you know what you are doing,” I said.

  “As do I. Everyone, clear the kitchen, except for the chefs!”

  We were herded out. As we were, I noticed a case of bottles smaller than the plum wine.

  “What are these?” I asked.

  “Sake,” Barker replied. “Japanese rice wine. It’s rather potent. Lord Diosy was able to provide it
for us. Take no more than a cupful. I want your head clear tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The tables had actually been polished and the floor mopped. I doubted such a thing had ever happened since the tearoom opened. Serviettes were set out, as well as chopsticks. There were little ceramic dishes at each place setting, since it was considered ill manners to allow the tips of the chopsticks to touch the table.

  Paper lanterns covered in gold kanji were hung from the ceiling, and a few posters placed on the wall. This was an attempt by Ho to liven the dark room. Closer to the time of the arrival of the embassy, a small oil lamp was lit on each table.

  Barker leaned in and spoke. “The menu will be a mixture of Chinese and Japanese. There is a dish which contains pork and chicken called sukiyaki, and rice and raw fish wrapped in seaweed. Ho has done his best. The embassy may criticize the menu, but I’m sure they will be too well-mannered to voice it in front of us.”

  A quarter hour later, the embassy delegation arrived. There was a great deal of bowing and niceties given in three languages. Cyrus Barker stood and welcomed the guests in their own tongue. Then Ho spoke, translated by Barker.

  Afterward, the Guv came over to where I stood, and murmured to me, just loudly enough for me to hear, “K’ing has not arrived.”

  “He was the worse for wear when we saw him last,” I said. “Perhaps he is still somewhere in a stupor.”

  “It’s not like him to miss a business opportunity.”

  The general rose and bowed, and the crowd grew quiet, waiting for his speech, which he gave in English.

  “The embassy appreciates your generosity,” he began. “We understand to what trouble you have gone in order to make us comfortable. I fear some of us have found the food in London to be unpalatable. We shall adapt to the cookery here eventually, I am sure, but this meal is a fine treat to us. The embassy thanks you.”

  The door from the tunnel squeaked open and Trelawney Campbell-Ffinch sauntered in, the last to arrive. He made a face at the odor of the food in the room. No doubt he would have preferred boiled mutton and roasted potatoes.

  The rest of the speech concerned the need for countries to come together for the support of both civilizations. Rather tactlessly, China was not mentioned. It was a rousing speech, but did not elicit a good level of enthusiasm from the audience. However, the general was satisfied, and as he returned to his seat, he was encouraged by his countrymen.

  Campbell-Ffinch rose without permission from the host, and gave a short speech himself. The British government was honored to have the embassy here, and they looked forward to a long and profitable relationship. The Foreign Office was pleased. It was as if Campbell-Ffinch had set up the event himself, as a representative of the English government, and Her Majesty. For all the embassy knew, Campbell-Ffinch had gone into the kitchen and prepared the meal himself, after setting up the tables. He sat down with a smug expression, and I waited to see what would happen next.

  The dishes were brought in from the kitchen. Two tables had been put together for the embassy guests, the ministers seated on one side and the bodyguards on the other. All of them looked restless. The ministers had been dragged to a social event for several hours, which they had rather spent meeting with contractors, arms dealers, and ship makers. The bodyguards, now reduced to three, were looking nervously about at the Chinese waiters, as though expecting an attack. There were half a dozen poisoned knives in the kitchen. All a waiter had to do was to stab someone and all political and diplomatic hell would break loose.

  Barker sat, as usual, self-contained. He glanced about the room, taking everything in: the expression on Mononobe’s face, the unease of the guards, Campbell-Ffinch’s self-satisfied expression, and Ho glowering in the kitchen entrance.

  The waiters moved about, replacing empty bottles of sake. They wore white gloves and immaculate matching jackets. To a man they presented an expressionless mask, as if they had no feelings or concerns about anything. One would not know that they were working in concert, and straining to hear every word said on one side of the room.

  Things were going well, and then suddenly, they weren’t. One of the waiters served new plates to the Japanese delegation and returned. His face was pale. Barker put a hand out to stop him, but he passed by, as if he hadn’t seen it.

  A minute later, Ho came to the doorway. His face was red, almost volcanic. Barker stood quickly and put an arm across the doorway, barring him from coming in.

  “What has happened?” he asked.

  “They have insulted my cooking. They said the beef and peppers were too dry.”

  I rose and stood beside Barker, hoping to defuse the situation before it could escalate.

  “Who said it?” the Guv asked.

  “One of the bodyguards!”

  Barker smote him on the chest, more in bonhomie than anything else.

  “Why should you care what a bodyguard thinks? They are uneducated oafs. They have no knowledge of cuisine and very little else except fighting. None of the ministers have said anything. I’m sure they found nothing to complain about.”

  “I shall give them something to complain of. I shall remove the poisoned fugu from the dustbin and wipe the fish with it!”

  Barker still had his arm across the doorway. Ho was doing his best to move beyond it, muttering a string of Chinese oaths under his breath.

  “You know, if you put the poison in the fugu, you’ll cause an international incident.”

  “I don’t care,” Ho said. “My skills have been impugned. I believe I shall stop him and demand a duel.”

  “Come now,” I said. “You don’t need to fight over something as unimportant as the remark of a hireling. Why don’t you bring out the fugu tray?”

  Ho turned his anger my way. “As you said, why should I pay attention to something as unimportant as the remark of a hireling?” he asked.

  I wasn’t going to fall for that one. “Because I know your beef and peppers is sublime, the closest thing to perfection on the planet.”

  Ho’s brow was set, but he wheeled about and went back into the kitchen.

  Barker nodded. “Very good, Thomas.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Everything was fine again. A few minutes later Ho brought out the fugu, on a large silver salver. The flesh had been layered to look like an imperial dragon, the slivers forming scales. Salmon and a few other fish were added to give the beast color. What a beautiful engine of death it was.

  “You must try some when it comes to our table, lad.”

  “What? You’ve got to be joking. I don’t know their culture. I don’t want to know. I’m not important to anything happening here. Why should I risk poisoning myself?”

  I wasn’t going to add that I was affianced, having already played that card several times.

  Barker sighed, much as a headmaster over a slow student. “The embassy would be quite suspicious if you refused the dish, and Ho would be insulted again.”

  “Fine, sir,” I said. “I apologize.”

  It seemed like only seconds until the tray was presented to us. Barker helped himself to a large helping. I took two slices. Then Barker put half of his on my plate. No one ever said he wasn’t cunning.

  I put the first piece in my mouth. The fact that I had already made a will was a small comfort. Twenty-six was not a bad age at which to die. I would look better in the coffin than most, like I had just fallen into a quiet sleep, once the look of horror had been expunged from my face.

  The fugu was moist and completely tasteless. No one would eat it for its flavor. Its only allure was that one might die from it. Apparently, several did every year. Even famous people in that far-off land died, officials and Kabuki actors. In fact, the meal was only for the wealthy. The poor never saw it. It was a game of edible roulette for the pampered rich.

  My death would have served the Guv right. I had been shot at, stabbed, beaten, and nearly hung. It would be ironic if I died from a sliver of fish.

&nbs
p; Needless to say, I lived. All of us did. Nobody fell to the floor, writhing in agony. I suspected that some of us were disappointed. Nothing makes one feel as totally alive as one’s neighbor keeling over dead.

  That was enough excitement for one night, I told myself. Unfortunately, the evening had only begun. The waiters had been milling about in the back of the room, growing increasingly angry about the slight to Ho, his restaurant, and by association, to themselves.

  Finally, one of them came to the table with another salver containing a pot of tea and some cups. He bowed several times and attempted to place the teapot on the table. Of course, the Japanese were drinking sake. They had no need for tea. In fact, bringing the tea to the table inferred that they were being drunken bores. They did not appreciate the offer.

  Then the waiter attempted to insist, placing a cup by one of the bodyguards’ elbows. He tried to pour the tea, but it went down the guest’s arm. Of course, it was steaming hot. The fellow jumped up and tried to swing his fist at the waiter, which only brought the compatriots from the back of the silent room. For a moment, I thought the entire restaurant was about to break out in a brawl.

  “Silence!” Barker growled in a booming voice.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him. He made his way to the delegates’ table, then put his hand on the waiter’s shoulder.

  “Sir,” he said gravely. “You are sacked.”

  The young man slunk off into the kitchen with his head down.

  Barker bowed to the people at the table.

  “Good sirs, I hope you won’t hold this man’s clumsiness against us or this restaurant. You are our honored guests and there are still courses to come. You have not had the bear paw yet, which was brought here at great expense.”

  Mononobe rose and bowed as well. “You must forgive our behavior, sir. These men are young and hotheaded. It was merely an unfortunate accident.”

  He sat. Beside him, Campbell-Ffinch looked ready to have an apoplexy. He might have a patch of gray in his hair by the morning.

  Barker went into the kitchen, as composed as if he had been taking a walk in Hyde Park. I followed behind. We met a seething Ho.