by Boris Akunin
Erast Petrovich was not entirely convinced by this line of reasoning, but he did not object.
‘And by the way, I do not hear any words of gratitude for saving your life,’ said the consul, pretending his feelings were hurt.
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it. Let’s move on. After the unsuccessful bit of theatre with the “creeping thing”, No-Face somehow finds out that the investigation has another strange, incredible piece of evidence – the prints of his thumb. Unlike Bukhartsev and – yes, I admit it – your humble servant, No-Face took this circumstance very seriously. And I can guess why. You drew up a verbal portrait of the man whom Masa saw at the Rakuen, did you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does it match the description of your uninvited guest?’
‘Marginally. Only as far as the height is concerned – little over four foot six inches – and the slender build. However, in Japan that kind of physique is not unusual. As for all the rest … At the gambling den, Masa saw a doddery old man with a stoop, a trembling head and pigmentation spots on his face. But my old m-man was quite fresh and sprightly. I wouldn’t put his age at more than sixty.’
‘There now,’ said the consul, raising one finger. ‘The ninja were known to be masters at changing their appearance. But if Mr Folds’s theory is correct, it is impossible to change the prints of your fingers. The similarity of the prints on the collar and the mirror confirms that. But in any case, No-Face decided on a desperately audacious move – to destroy the evidence right there in the office of the chief of police. He tried to get away, but failed. It is curious that before he died he said: “Kongojyo”.’
‘Did I remember it correctly?’
‘Yes, “Kongojyo” means “Diamond Chariot”.’
‘What?’ the titular counsellor asked in amazement. ‘In what sense?’
‘This is not the time to launch into a detailed lecture on Buddhism, so I’ll give you a brief, simplified explanation. Buddhism has two main branches, the so-called Vehicles, or Chariots. Everyone who desires liberation and light can choose which of them to board. The Lesser Chariot speeds along the road leading to the salvation of only your own soul. The Greater Chariot is for those who wish to save all of mankind. The devotee of the Lesser Road strives to attain the status of an arhat, an absolutely free being. The devotee of the Greater Road can become a bodhisattva – an ideal being, who is filled with compassion for the whole of creation, but does not wish to achieve Liberation while all others are in bondage.’
‘I like the b-bodhisattvas best,’ Erast Petrovich remarked.
‘That is because they are closer to the Christian idea of self-sacrifice. I am a misanthropist and should prefer to become an arhat. I’m only afraid that I’m rather lacking in righteousness.’
‘And what is the Diamond Chariot?’
‘It is an entirely distinct branch of Buddhism, extremely complex and abounding in mysteries. The uninitiated know very little about it. According to this teaching, a man can attain Enlightenment and become a Buddha while still alive, but this requires a special firmness of faith. That is why the chariot is called diamond – there is nothing in nature harder than diamond.’
‘I don’t understand anything at all,’ Fandorin said after a moment’s thought. ‘How is it possible to become a Buddha and attain enlightenment, if you commit murders and other abominations?’
‘Well, let’s assume that’s no great problem. How many vile tricks do our holy sermonisers play on us, all in the name of Christ and the salvation of our souls? It’s not a matter of the teaching. I know monks of the Singon sect who profess the path of the Diamond Chariot. They work away, enlightening themselves without interfering with anyone. They don’t let anyone else into their business, but they don’t take any interest in anyone else’s. And they are not fanatical in the least. It is hard to imagine any of them cutting off his face with a howl of “Kongojyo!”. And, above all, I have never heard of this formula having any magical significance … You see, in Japanese Buddhism, it is believed that certain sutras or verbal formulas possess magical power. There is the sacred invocation “Namu Amida Butsu”, there is the Lotus Sutra, “Namu-myoho-rengekyo”. The monks repeat them thousands of times, believing that this advances them along the Path of the Buddha. Probably there is some fanatical sect that uses “Kongojyo” as an exclamation …’ Vsevolod Vitalievich spread his hands and shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, there is no way for a European to get to the bottom of these matters. We’d better get back to No-Face before we lose our way in the thickets of Buddhism. Let us check the sequence of events. Question: Why was Blagolepov killed? Answer: Because he was blabbing to all and sundry about his passengers from the night before. There doesn’t seem to have been any other reason to set a master of such subtle killing techniques on such a worthless little man. Correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘No-Face is a ninja, and history tells us that they are hired for money. It’s an entirely different question where a ninja could appear from in 1878 – perhaps now we shall never find out. But since a man has appeared who has decided to live and die according to the laws of this sect, then his mode of life must also have been the same. In other words, he was a mercenary. Question: Who hired him? Answer: We don’t know. Question: Why was he hired?’
‘To shield and guard three samurai from Satsuma?’ Fandorin suggested.
‘Most probably. Hiring a master like that must cost a great deal of money. Where would former samurai get that from? So there are serious players in the wings of this game, able to place stakes large enough to break the bank. We know who the bank is – it’s Minister Okubo. I shall write all this down in my report to the ambassador. I shall add that the owner of a gambling den is the leader, messenger or intermediary of the Satsuman killers. The Japanese police have him under observation and at the present time that is our only lead. What do you say, Fandorin. Have I missed anything in my analysis of the situation?’
‘Your analysis is perfectly good,’ the titular counsellor declared.
‘Merci.’ The consul raised his dark glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘However, my superiors appreciate me less for my analytical competence than for my ability to propose solutions. What shall I write in the summary of my report?’
‘Conclusions,’ said Fandorin, also walking over to the window to look at the leaves of the acacias swaying in the rain. ‘Four in number. The conspirators have an agent in police circles. That is one.’
Doronin shuddered.
‘How do you deduce that?’
‘From the facts. First the killer discovered that I had a witness to Blagolepov’s murder. Then someone warned the samurai about the ambush at the g-godaun. And finally the ninja knew about the thumbprints and where they were being kept. There can only be one conclusion: someone from my group, or someone who receives information about the course of the investigation, is connected with the conspirators.’
‘Such as me, for instance?’
‘Such as you, for instance.’
The consul knitted his brows together and paused for a moment.
‘Very well, the first conclusion is clear. Go on.’
‘The hunchback undoubtedly knows that he is being followed and under no circumstances will he contact the Satsumans. That is two. Therefore, we shall have to force the hunchback to act. That is three. However, in order to make sure there are no more leaks, the operation will have to be conducted without the knowledge of the municipal and Japanese police. That is four. And that is all.’
Having thought over what had been said, Doronin shook his head sceptically.
‘Well, so that’s the way of it. But what does “force him to act” mean? How do you envisage that?’
‘Semushi has to escape from surveillance. Then he will definitely go dashing to find his accomplices. And he will lead me to them. But to carry out this operation, I need approval to take independent action.’
‘What action, precisely?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ the titular counsellor replied dispassionately. ‘Whatever action is n-necessary.’
‘You don’t want to tell me,’ Doronin guessed. ‘Well, that’s right. Otherwise, if your operation fails, you’ll note me down as a spy.’ He drummed his fingers on the windowpane. ‘You know what, Erast Petrovich? In order not to compromise the experiment, I shall not write to the ambassador about your conclusions. And as for the authority to act, consider that you have been granted it by your immediate superior. Act as you think necessary. But just one thing …’ The consul hesitated momentarily. ‘Perhaps you would agree to take me, not as your confidant, but as your agent? It will be hard for you, on your own, with no help. Of course, I am no ninja, but I could carry out some simple assignment.’
Fandorin looked Vsevolod Vitalievich up and down and politely refused.
‘Thank you. The embassy secretary, Shirota, will be enough for me. Although … no. I think perhaps I need to speak with him first …’
The titular counsellor hesitated – he remembered that the Japanese had been behaving strangely recently, blenching and blushing for no reason, giving Fandorin sideways glances; the secretary’s attitude to the vice-consul, initially exceedingly friendly, had clearly undergone a change.
Erast Petrovich decided to find out what the matter was without delay.
He went to the administrative office, where the spinster Blagolepova was hammering away deafeningly on the keys of the Remington. When she saw Fandorin, she blushed, adjusted her collar with a swift gesture and started hammering even more briskly.
‘I need to have a word with you,’ the titular counsellor said in a quiet voice, leaning across Shirota’s desk.
Shirota jerked in his seat and turned pale.
‘Yes, and I with you. It is high time.’
Erast Petrovich was surprised. He enquired cautiously:
‘You wished to speak to me? About what?’
‘No, you first.’ The secretary got to his feet and buttoned up his frock coat determinedly. ‘Where would you like it to be?’
To the accompaniment of the Remington’s hysterical clattering, they walked out into the garden. The rain had stopped, glassy drops were falling from the branches and birds were singing overhead.
‘Tell me, Shirota, you have linked your life with Russia. May I ask why?’
The secretary listened to the question and narrowed his eyes tensely. He answered crisply, in military style, as if he had prepared his answer in advance.
‘Mr Vice-Consul, I chose to link my life with your country, because Japan needs Russia very much. The East and the West are too different, they cannot join with each other without an intermediary. Once, in ancient times, Korea served as a bridge between Japan and great China. Now, in order to join harmoniously with great Europe, we need Russia. With the assistance of your country, which combines within itself both the East and the West, my homeland will flourish and join the ranks of the great powers of the world. Not now, of course, but in twenty or thirty years’ time. That is why I work in the Russian consulate …’
Erast Petrovich cleared his throat with an embarrassed air – he had not been expecting such a clear-cut response, and the idea that a backward oriental country could transform itself into a great power in thirty years was simply laughable. However, there was no point in offending the Japanese.
‘I see,’ Fandorin said slowly, feeling that he had not really achieved his goal.
‘You also have a very beautiful literature,’ the secretary added, and bowed, as if to indicate that he had nothing more to add.
There was a pause. The titular counsellor wondered whether he ought to ask straight out: ‘Why do you keep looking daggers at me?’ But from the viewpoint of Japanese etiquette, that would probably be appallingly impolite.
Shirota broke the silence first.
‘Is that what the vice-consul wished to speak to me about?’
There was a note of surprise in his voice.
‘Well, actually, y-yes … But what did you wish to speak to me about?’
The secretary’s face turned from white to crimson. He gulped and then cleared his throat.
‘About the captain’s daughter.’ Seeing the amazement in the other man’s eyes, he explained: ‘About Sophia Diogenovna.’
‘What has happened?’
‘Mr Vice-Consul, do you … do you ruv her?’
Because the Japanese had mispronounced the ‘l’ in the crucial word, and even more because the very supposition was so unthinkable, Erast Petrovich did not immediately understand the meaning of the question.
The evening before, on returning home from the police station, the young man had discovered a powerfully scented envelope with nothing written on it on the small table in his bedroom. When he opened it, he found a pink sheet of paper. Traced out on it, in a painstaking hand with flourishes and squiggles, were four lines of verse:
My poor heart can bear this no more
Oh, come quickly to help me now!
And if you do not come, you know
I shall lose my life for you.
Bemused, Fandorin had gone to consult Masa. He showed him the envelope, and his servant ran through a brief pantomime: a long plait, large round eyes, two spheres in front of his chest. ‘The spinster Blagolepova,’ Erast Petrovich guessed. And then he immediately remembered that she had promised to write out her favourite stanza of love poetry from her album, a piece composed by the conductor from the St Pafnutii. He stuck the sheet of paper into the first book that came to hand and forgot all about it.
But now it seemed there was a serious emotional drama being played out.
‘If you love Miss Blagolepova, if your in-ten-tions are hon-our-ab-le, I will stand aside … I understand, you are her com-pat-ri-ot, you are handsome and rich, and what can I offer her?’ Shirota was terribly nervous, he pronounced the more difficult words with especial care and avoided looking in Fandorin’s eyes, lowering his head right down on to his chest. ‘But if …’ His voice started to tremble. ‘But if you intend to exploit the de-fence-less-ness of a solitary young woman … Do you wish to?’
‘Do I wish to what?’ asked the titular counsellor, unable to follow the thread of the conversation – he found deductive reasoning far easier than talk on intimate matters.
‘Exploit the de-fence-less-ness of a solitary young woman.’
‘No, I do not.’
‘Not at all, at all? Only honestly!’
Erast Petrovich pondered, to make sure the reply would be quite honest. He recalled the spinster Blagolepova’s thick plait, her cow’s eyes, the verse from her album.
‘Not at all.’
‘So, your in-ten-tions are hon-our-ab-le,’ said the poor secretary, and he became even gloomier. ‘You will make Sophia Diogenovna a pro-po-sal?’
‘Why on earth should I?’ said Fandorin, starting to get angry. ‘I have no interest in her at all!’
Shirota raised a brighter face for a moment, but immediately narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
‘And you did not go to the Rakuen and risk your life there, and you do not now pay her salary out of your own pocket because you love her?’
Erast Petrovich suddenly felt sorry for him.
‘The idea never even entered my head,’ the vice-consul said in a gentle voice. ‘I assure you. I do not find anything at all about Miss Blagolepova attractive …’ He stopped short, not wishing to hurt the lovelorn secretary’s feelings. ‘No, that is … she is, of course, very p-pretty and, so to speak …’
‘She is the finest girl in the world!’ Shirota exclaimed sternly, interrupting the vice-consul. ‘She … she is a captain’s daughter! Like Masha Mironova from Pushkin’s Captain’s Daughter! But if you do not love Sophia Diogenovna, why have you done so much for her?’
‘Well, how could I not do it? You said it yourself: solitary, defenceless, in a foreign country …’
Shirota sighed and declared solemnly:
‘I love Miss Blago
lepova.’
‘I had g-guessed as much.’
The Japanese suddenly bowed solemnly – not in the European manner, with just the chin, but from the waist. And he didn’t straighten up immediately, only after five seconds had passed.
Now he looked straight into Fandorin’s face, and there were tears glistening in his eyes. In his agitation, all his ‘l’s’ became ‘r’s’ again.
‘You are a nobur man, Mr Vice-Consur. I am your eternar debtor.’
Soon half of Japan will be my eternal debtors, Erast Petrovich thought ironically, not wishing to admit to himself that he was touched.
‘There is onry one bitter thing.’ Shirota sighed. ‘I sharr never be abur to repay your nobirity.’
‘Oh, yes you will,’ said the titular counsellor, taking him by the elbow. ‘Let’s go to my rooms. That damned p-plum rain has started falling again.’
Raise no umbrella
When the sky is scattering
Its springtime plum rain
SIRIUS
The night smelled of tar and green slime – that was from the dirty River Yosidagawa splashing near by, squeezed in between the godauns and the cargo wharves. Erast Petrovich’s valet was sitting at the agreed spot, under the wooden bridge, pondering the vicissitudes of fate and waiting. When Semushi appeared, the master would howl like a dog – Masa had taught him how. In fact they had spent a whole hour on a renshu duet, until the neighbours came to the consulate and said they would complain about the Russians to the police if they didn’t stop torturing that poor dog. They had been forced to abandon the renshu rehearsal, but the master could already do it quite well.
There were lots of dogs in Yokohama, and they often howled at night, so neither Semushi nor the police agents would be suspicious. The main concern was something else – not to confuse the sound with a genuine dog. But Masa hoped he wouldn’t get confused. It would be shameful for a vassal not to be able to tell his master’s noble voice from the howl of some mongrel.
Masa had to sit under the bridge very quietly, without moving at all, but he could do that. In his former life, when he was still an apprentice in the honourable Chobei-gumi gang, he had sat and waited on watch duty or in an ambush many, many times. It wasn’t boring at all, because an intelligent man could always find something to think about.