by Boris Akunin
The entire population of the consulate had assembled at the bedside of the bloodied victim: Vsevolod Vitalievich, turned completely yellow in his grief, with Obayasi-san; and Shirota, chewing on his lips; and Sophia Diogenovna, sobbing; and even the servant Natsuko, who actually spent most of the time ogling Masa. It was a touching picture, almost harrowing in fact – an impression facilitated in no small part by the spinster Blagolepova, who appealed to everyone to send for the priest from the frigate Governor, ‘before it’s too late’, but O-Yumi performed her magical manipulations and the man pretending to be at death’s door returned miraculously to life. He sat up on the bed, then got up and walked round the room. And finally he declared that he felt hungry, dammit.
At this point it emerged that no one in the embassy had taken breakfast yet – everyone had known about the duel and been so worried about Erast Petrovich that they couldn’t eat a single bite. A table was hastily laid, right there in Doronin’s office – for a confidential strategic discussion.
They spoke about the duel for a while, and then turned their attention to Don Tsurumaki. The titular counsellor’s reawakened reason was eager for rehabilitation. The plan came together instantly, over roast beef and fried eggs.
‘He is certain that I am lying flat on my back and will not get up any time soon, so he is not expecting a visit from me. That is one,’ said Fandorin, brandishing a fork. ‘He doesn’t have any guards at the villa, he told me many times that he is not afraid of anyone. That is two. I still have a key to the gates, that is three. The conclusion? Tonight I shall pay him a visit àl’anglais,1 that is to say, uninvited.’
‘The purpose?’ asked Doronin, narrowing his eyes.
‘We’ll have a little friendly chat. I think the Don and I can find a thing or two to talk about.’
The consul shook his head.
‘Are you thinking of trying to frighten him? You’ve had plenty of opportunity to realise that the Japanese akunin is not afraid of death. And you’re not going to kill him anyway.’
Erast Petrovich wiped his lips with a napkin, sipped his red wine and took a slice of Philippine pineapple. It was a long time, a very long time, since he had eaten with such a good appetite.
‘Why should I want to frighten him? He’s not some nervous young damsel, and I’m not a g-ghost. No, gentlemen, it will not be like that at all. Shirota, may I count on your assistance?’
The secretary nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the vice-consul.
‘Excellent. Don’t be alarmed, you won’t have to do anything against the law. Masa and I will enter the house. Your job, starting in the evening, is to sit on the hill that overlooks the estate. It is an excellent observation point, and it can also be seen from here. As soon as the lights go out in the house, you will signal. Can you find a coloured lantern?’
‘Yes, there are some left over from the New Year. A green one, a red one and a blue one.’
‘Let it be the blue one. Flash three times, several times in succession. Masa will be watching for the signal on the porch.’
‘Is that all?’ Shirota asked disappointedly. ‘Just give the signal when the lights go out in the house?’
‘That’s all. They put the lights out there when the servants leave. I take responsibility for everything after that.’
Vsevolod Vitalievich was indignant.
‘How you love an air of mystery! Well, all right, you get into the house, and then what?’
Erast Petrovich smiled.
‘The Don has a secret safe. That is one. I know where it is, in the library, behind the bookshelves. That is two. I also know where to find the key to the safe – hanging round the Don’s neck. That is three. I do not intend to frighten Tsurumaki, I shall only borrow his key and take a look at what is in the safe, and in the meantime Masa will keep our hospitable host in his sights.’
‘Do you know what he has in the safe?’ asked Doronin.
‘No, but I can guess. Tsurumaki told me once that he keeps gold bars in it. I’m sure he was lying. No, there is something more valuable than gold in there. For instance, a certain diagram with serpentine symbols. Or there may possibly be even more interesting documents to be found …’
At this point the consul did something very strange: he grabbed his blue spectacles off his nose and started blinking at the bright light. His mouth started twitching and twisting, living a life of its own. He sank his teeth into his thin lip.
‘Even if you do find something important, you won’t be able to read it,’ Vsevolod Vitalievich said in a flat voice. ‘You don’t know Japanese. And your servant won’t be much use to you. I tell you what …’ He faltered, but only for a second, and then went on in a perfectly firm voice. ‘I tell you what, I’ll go with you. In the interests of the cause. I’m tired of being a spectator. It’s a shameful and depressing pastime.’
Erast Petrovich knew that even the slightest show of astonishment would seriously wound the consul’s feelings, so he took his time before answering, as if he was thinking over the advisability of the suggestion.
‘In the interests of the cause, it would be better if you stayed here. If my little excursion ends badly, than what more can they do to me – a young pup, a duellist and adventurer? The lieutenant captain has already written me off. Things stand differently with you – a pillar of Yokohama society and Consul of the Russian Empire.’
Vsevolod Vitalievich’s eyebrows arched up like angry leeches, but at this point Shirota intervened in the conversation.
‘I’ll go,’ he said quickly. ‘Or why should I bother at all? Am I just going to give the signal and then sit on the hill? That’s rather stupid.’
‘If my assistant and my secretary get involved in a scandalous incident, I’m done for anyway!’ Doronin fumed. ‘So I’d better go myself.’
But Shirota disrespectfully interrupted his superior.
‘I do not count. Firstly, I am a hired employee, a native.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘And secondly, I shall write a resignation note this very minute and put yesterday’s date on it. The letter will say that I no longer wish to serve Russia, because I have become disillusioned with its policy towards Japan, or something of the kind. In that way, if Mr Fandorin and I are involved in a scandalous incident, as you put it, it will be a criminal conspiracy between a young pup and adventurer (I beg your pardon, Erast Petrovich, but that is what you called yourself) and a crazy native who has already been dismissed from his job serving Russia. No more than that.’
This was all said in solemn tones, with restrained dignity, and that was how the discussion ended. They started discussing the details.
When he got back to his apartment, Erast Petrovich found O-Yumi lying in the bed barely alive. Her face was pale and bloodless, her feet were bound in rags.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he cried in horror. ‘Are you ill?’
She smiled weakly.
‘No, I’m just very, very tired. But it’s all right, it will pass.’
‘But what’s wrong with your feet?’
‘I grazed them.’
He went down on his knees, took hold of her hand and said imploringly:
‘Tell me the truth. Where were you last night? Where did you go today? What is happening to you? The truth, for God’s sake, the truth!’
O-Yumi looked at him affectionately.
‘Very well. I will tell you the truth – as far as I can. And you promise me two things: that you won’t ask any more questions and that you will tell me the truth too.’
‘I promise. But you first. Where were you?’
‘In the mountains. The maso herb only grows in one place, on the southern slope of Mount Tanzawa, and that is fifteen ri from here. I had to make two trips, because the infusion has to be brewed twice, and it must be absolutely fresh. That is all I have to tell. Now you tell me. I can see that you are planning something and I feel alarmed. I have a bad premonition.’
Fifteen ri – that’s almost sixty versts in each direction, Fandorin cal
culated. No wonder she’s barely alive!
‘To ride thirty ri in one night!’ he exclaimed. ‘You must have driven the horses half to death!’
For some reason O-Yumi found his words amusing, and she broke into quiet laughter.
‘That’s all. No more questions, you promised. Now you tell me.’
And he told her: about the duel, about how Bullcox’s fury burst a blood vessel in his brain, about Don Tsurumaki, and about the forthcoming operation. O-Yumi’s face became more and more uneasy, sadder and sadder.
‘How terrible …’ she whispered when he finished.
‘You mean about your Algie?’ Fandorin asked, immediately jealous. ‘Then go to him and feed him your infusion!’
‘No, I don’t mean him. I feel sorry for Algie, but one or the other of you had to come to grief. What you have planned is terrible. Don’t go anywhere tonight! It will end badly! I can see that from the shadow on your temple!’ she said, reaching out her hand to his head, and when Erast Petrovich smiled, she exclaimed despairingly, ‘You don’t believe in ninso!’
They argued for a long time after that, but Fandorin was adamant, and in the end O-Yumi fell asleep, exhausted. He walked out carefully, afraid of disturbing her sleep with an accidental movement or the creak of a chair.
The remainder of the day passed in preparations. There wasn’t a sound from the bedroom – O-Yumi was sleeping soundly.
But late in the evening, when Masa was already sitting on the porch, gazing in the direction of the dark hills above the Bluff, there was a surprise in store for Erast Petrovich.
As he walked past the bedroom yet again, he put his ear to the door. This time he thought he heard a gentle rustling and he cautiously opened the door slightly.
No, O-Yumi was still sleeping – he could her quiet, regular breathing from the bed.
He tiptoed over to the window in order to close it – there was a cold draught coming in. He glanced at the grey silhouette of the house opposite and suddenly froze.
Something had moved over there, up by the chimney. A cat? Then it was a very big one.
His heart started pounding like a wild thing, but Fandorin gave no sign of being alarmed in any way. On the contrary, he stretched lazily, closed the window, locked it with all the latches and slowly walked away.
Out in the corridor, he broke into a run.
It was the roof of the Club Hotel, Erast Petrovich realised, and he could climb up there from the back, using the fire escape ladder.
Hunched over, he ran along the railings to the next building. A minute later he was already up there. Resting one knee on the tiles, which were wet with rain, he pulled his Herstal out of it holster.
He heard rustling steps close by, on the other pitch of the roof.
No longer trying to hide, Fandorin dashed forward, with just one thought in his head – how to avoid slipping.
He reached the ridge of the roof and glanced over it – just in time to glimpse a black figure in a close-fitting black costume over by the edge of the roof. The invisible man again!
The titular counsellor threw up his hand, but it was too late to fire: the ninja jumped down.
Spreading his feet wide, Erast Petrovich slithered head first down the tiles, grabbed hold of the gutter and leaned out.
Where was the ninja?
Had he been killed by the fall, was he still moving?
But no matter how hard he stared, he couldn’t make out anyone down below. The invisible man had disappeared.
‘Omaeh ikanai. Hitori iku,’2 Fandorin told his servant when he got back to the consulate. ‘O-Yumi-san mamoru. Wakaru?’3
And Masa understood. He nodded, without taking his eyes off the hill on which sooner or later the little blue light would flash. Erast Petrovich had been lucky with his servant after all.
An hour later, or maybe an hour and a half, the titular counsellor was sitting at the window in a peaked uniform cap, smoking cigars and, as has already been mentioned, his body, heart and mind were flooded with bliss.
So they were following him? Let them. The motto of tonight’s lightning raid was speed and more speed.
During the fourth cigar Masa looked into the room. It was time!
Fandorin left his servant with some simple instructions and walked out on to the porch.
Yes, the signal. Over there above the Bluff (but it looked as if it was at the very edge of the sky) a little blue star flashed on and off several times.
In the bright blue sky
Just you try to make it out –
A small bright blue star
1 In the English style (French)
2 ‘You’re not going. I’m going alone’ (distorted Japanese)
3 ‘To protect O-Yumi. Understand?’ (distorted Japanese)
A BRIAR PIPE
He grabbed hold of the tricycle that had been positioned in advance, lowered it off the porch and pushed it along the pathway at a run. Outside the gates he jumped into the saddle and started pressing hard on the pedals. Come on, then, just you try to follow me!
In order to throw any possible spies off the scent, instead of turning to the right, towards the Bluff, he turned left. He hurtled along at top speed, glancing in the mirror every now and then, but he didn’t glimpse a single black figure behind him on the brightly lit promenade. Perhaps his simple attempt at cunning had succeeded. Everyone knew that the simplest tricks were the most reliable.
The trick really was childish in its simplicity. Instead of the vice-consul, Masa was now sitting in the vice-consul’s window – in a peaked cap, with a cigar in his teeth. If they were lucky, the substitution would not be noticed soon.
Just to make certain of things, without reducing his speed, Erast Petrovich circled round the Settlement and rode into the Bluff from the other side, across the Okagawa river.
The rubber tyres swished through the puddles with a miraculous rustling sound and water splashed out from under the wheels, glinting joyously in the light of the street lamps. Fandorin felt like a hawk soaring above the dark streets of the night. He could see his goal, it was close, and nothing could halt or impede his impetuous attack. Watch out, you akunin!
Shirota was waiting at the agreed spot, on the corner of a side street.
‘I was watching through binoculars,’ the secretary reported. ‘The light went out thirty-five minutes ago, everywhere except for one window on the first floor. The servants withdrew to the house that stands at the back of the garden. Fifteen minutes ago the last window also went dark. Then I came down the hill.’
‘Did you look at the terrace? I told you that he l-likes to watch the stars.’
‘What stars are there today? It’s raining.’
Fandorin liked the secretary’s attitude. Calm, businesslike, with no sign of nerves. It could well be that Kanji Shirota’s true calling was not polishing an office desk with his elbows but a trade that required sangfroid and a love of risk.
Just as long as his courage didn’t fail him when it came to the real work.
‘Well, will you join me for dinner? The table’s all set,’ the titular counsellor said jocularly, gesturing towards the gates.
‘After you,’ Shirota replied in the same tone of voice. He really was holding up very well.
The lock and the hinges were well lubricated, they made their way inside without a single creak or squeak. And they had been exceptionally lucky with the weather: cloudy and dark, with the rain muffling any sound.
‘Do you remember the plan?’ Fandorin whispered as he walked up the steps. ‘We go into the house now. You wait downstairs. I’ll go up to …’
‘I remember everything,’ the secretary replied just as quietly. ‘Don’t waste time on that.’
The door into the house was not locked – a special point of pride for the owner that was also very handy for them. Fandorin ran up the carpeted steps to the first floor without making a sound. The bedroom was at the end of the corridor, beside the way out on to the terrace.
Woul
dn’t it be fine if he woke up, Erast Petrovich suddenly thought when his left hand touched the door handle (the revolver was grasped in his right hand). Then, regardless of any unworthy desire for revenge, I would be perfectly justified in smacking the villain on the forehead with the butt of my gun.
When Fandorin stole up to the bed he even sighed deliberately, but Don Tsurumaki didn’t wake up. He was sleeping sweetly on a soft feather bed. He had a white nightcap with a vulgar pompom on his head instead of a fez. The silk blanket rose and fell peacefully on the millionaire’s broad chest. His lush lips were parted slightly.
The gold chain glinted in the opening of his nightshirt.
Now he’s sure to wake up, Erast Petrovich thought as he lined up the pliers, and he raised the hand holding the revolver. His heart was beating out a deafening drum-roll of triumph.
There was a metallic click, and the chain slid down the sleeping man’s neck. He lowed blissfully and turned over on to his side. The prickly golden rose was lying on Fandorin’s palm.
The soundest sleepers are not those who have a clear conscience, but those who never had one to begin with, the vice-consul told himself philosophically.
He walked downstairs, gestured for Shirota to go in the direction of the study-library, where he had once taken Prince Onokoji – may the Japanese God rest his sinful soul – by surprise at the scene of his crime.