The Lost Sword

by Pitt, Darrell

  One of the creatures, as big as an Alsatian, gave a meow as it passed.

  An image of a Japanese warrior holding a curved sword covered the roof with a mural of rice fields and apple blossoms decorating the walls.

  After collecting their bags from a luggage carousel, they inched through the crowds to the exit.

  ‘You mentioned to the prime minister that you’ve been to Japan before?’ Jack said to Mr Doyle.

  ‘I have. A small incident involving a jewel necklace, a Japanese artist and an orange panda.’ He popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. ‘I really must pick up some of the local cheeses,’ he added. ‘They have a wonderful variety called sakura, a creamy cheese infused with cherry leaves.’

  Jack looked about in wonder as he stepped out into night air choked by steam and smoke. It was raining softly; many people carried umbrellas. The crowded metropolis was jammed with either tall buildings or shanty houses. Skyscrapers were hundreds of storeys high, great iron monoliths with wide eaves, similar to the Tokyo Metrotower. Neon billboards were everywhere.

  ‘That lighting...’ Jack’s voice trailed off.

  ‘They’re lit by a glow-worm developed here in Japan,’ Mr Doyle explained. ‘They burn brighter, longer and better than any gaslight.’

  Across the road was a huge fish market that carried every conceivable seafood: fish, whale meat, octopus, prawns, mussels, crabs and others Jack couldn’t identify. Some people were buying raw products from counters in the middle while others ate cooked food at benches along the side.

  At the front of a nearby building was a huge plate-glass window. Two large men, dressed only in loin clothes, were wrestling, pushing against each other as the audience yelled and clapped. Finally one shoved the other out of the ring and the patrons leapt to their feet in excited applause.

  The smells were intoxicating, a mixture of spices, incense and machinery.

  Tiny airships, emitting high-pitched whines, cut between the buildings. Jack had never seen them move so fast. Triple-decker steambuses chugged alongside people on steam-powered bicycles. Rickshaws, pulled by more giant ants, jostled with pedestrians along the footpaths. Mr Doyle raised his hand to hail one over.

  They piled their gear into the back. Jack was surprised the ant was able to drag so much weight.

  ‘Rickshaws are finely balanced,’ Mr Doyle explained. ‘Minimum effort provides maximum movement.’

  The streets closed in around them. It continued to rain. They didn’t have an umbrella, but Jack didn’t mind in the least. The music from restaurants as they passed was discordant, a jangling of uneven notes, yet Jack found it strangely soothing. It reminded him of jazz.

  They finally stopped outside of the Hanako, a large hotel in the Chuo district. It was ten storeys high with square, black-framed windows. Ceramic birds decorated the corners like gargoyles on a church. It was more modern than the surrounding buildings and security guards were posted at the front entrance. Mr Doyle showed them identification before bellhops hurried their bags inside.

  Reception turned out to be a courtyard with a circular garden in the middle containing a cherry blossom tree, a large rock and raked sand. A restaurant was positioned to one side, with elevators opposite and the main desk straight ahead.

  ‘You’d think they’d plant a few shrubs,’ Jack said, peering at the garden.

  ‘The Japanese use their gardens to represent ideas,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘The raking of the sand represents the harmony of the universe.’

  Their rooms on the sixth floor turned out to be small and clean, sparsely furnished with windows overlooking the main street. There were no chairs around the low-slung coffee table, only thin cushions on which to sit.

  Scarlet glanced into her bedroom and frowned. ‘My bed appears to have been stolen,’ she said, ‘leaving me with only the mattress.’

  ‘It’s called a futon,’ Mr Doyle explained. ‘Everyone sleeps on them here.’

  Sighing, she retired to her room, and Jack soon did the same.

  Glancing out his window, he saw a thin ledge that ran around the building. A crow, sheltering from the rain, gave a mournful cry before flying back into the downpour and landing on the street below. Picking up a scrap of food, it flew off again, soaring over the crowded mesh of people, animals and machines.

  Does this city ever sleep?

  Jack read Ninety-Nine Ninjas for a few minutes before turning out his light and listening to the sounds of the foreign city. Thousands of miles from London, he may as well have been on another planet.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Ah,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘This place will do nicely.’

  It was morning and they were standing outside a small eatery opposite the hotel. The street was busy with people hurrying to work, giant ants transporting carts of fresh produce, and steambuses trundling by.

  It had stopped raining, though the sky was still overcast. Jack felt out of place in his green coat, but no-one seemed to give him a second glance.

  ‘Japan is quite used to westerners,’ Mr Doyle said, when Jack mentioned their appearance. ‘It has rapidly become one of the most cosmopolitan countries in the world.’

  He led them to a table on the footpath and handed them menus, written in both Japanese and English.

  Jack screwed up his face. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ he asked, pointing.

  ‘Raw fish?’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Can they cook it a little?’ Jack asked.

  ‘You’ll love it,’ Scarlet said. ‘It’s a Japanese delicacy.’

  After ordering food, they sat and watched delegates arriving at the hotel. Most of them were scientists, but there were several diplomats too. It looked like people had travelled from all over the world.

  ‘That man’s wearing a dress,’ Jack said, pointing to a dark-skinned man in a cream-coloured robe.

  ‘It’s called a kanzu,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Traditionally worn in East Africa.’

  Scarlet indicated two women wearing dresses decorated in red-and-orange flowers. ‘And them?’ she asked.

  ‘Fiji, I imagine.’ Mr Doyle pointed to a man who wore blue breeches and a yellow shirt. ‘And Sweden. Their national colours were adopted around the turn of the century.’

  Jack remembered what Dr Einstein had said about the Hot Earth Accord. If it wasn’t signed now, the entire planet would suffer from environmental devastation. Every country would be affected.

  We could end up living on a flooded planet, he thought. He tried to imagine what London would look like underwater. It was frightening.

  Their food arrived. Mr Doyle and Scarlet looked excited, but Jack stared gloomily at the table. He had a small bowl of plain rice, but the lump of fish was pink and unappealing.

  ‘Uh,’ Jack said. ‘They haven’t given us knives and forks.’

  ‘They don’t have them in Japan,’ Scarlet said. ‘They use chopsticks.’

  Chopsticks looked like knitting needles. Mr Doyle was proficient and showed Jack and Scarlet how they worked. Scarlet took to them immediately, but Jack’s first action was to poke himself in the eye.

  �
��They take some getting used to,’ Mr Doyle said.

  Jack sighed. I can’t eat this, he thought. I need something to smother the taste.

  His eyes searched the condiments on the table, fixing on a small serve of avocado paste.

  That will do, he thought. I’ll drown it in avocado.

  He smeared the paste all over the raw fish before spearing it on a chopstick.

  I’ll do it in one go, he thought. Straight down the hatch!

  Jamming the chopstick into his mouth, Jack caught sight of the shocked expression on Scarlet’s face.

  ‘Jack!’ she shrieked. ‘What are you doing?’

  He tried to answer, but the inside of his mouth had suddenly caught fire. His nasal cavities cleared as if sprayed with ammonia and he choked, the lump of fish jammed in his throat. It was like a volcano had erupted in his mouth. As his face turned bright red, he tried to spit out the fish. But it was stuck.

  ‘Jack?’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No,’ he gasped. ‘I’m...guk..gruch...’

  ‘Jack covered his fish with wasabi,’ Scarlet said to Mr Doyle, ‘and swallowed it!’

  ‘Why?’ Mr Doyle cried. ‘Wasabi is blisteringly hot!’

  Scarlet and Mr Doyle thudded his back until the lump of fish flew out like a cannonball. A waiter rushed over and poured water down Jack’s throat.

  Finally his face returned to its normal colour and he ate boiled rice to sooth his burnt mouth and throat.

  Scarlet sadly shook her head. ‘What made you do that?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought it was avocado!’

  They finished their meals and returned to the hotel room where Mr Doyle ordered some juice from the kitchen. As Jack drank it down, he asked Mr Doyle about his brother.

  ‘You’ve never mentioned him before,’ Scarlet added.

  Mr Doyle sighed. ‘I apologise for my silence,’ he said. ‘I rarely think about Edgar, let alone speak of him. It has been many years since we last saw each other. What would you like to know?’

  ‘You mentioned he is your step-brother?’ Jack said.

  ‘My father remarried after my mother’s death. His new wife, Jane, already had a son from a previous marriage. That was Edgar.’

  ‘You called him a scoundrel.’

  ‘Indeed he was,’ Mr Doyle sighed. ‘He was always wild, breaking rules and lying to our parents at every opportunity. As he grew older, he got even worse. It seemed the more my parents tried to discipline him, the more he grew determined to drive them to distraction.

  ‘Then my parents had an idea. They noticed that both Edgar and I loved mysteries. A distant cousin of ours—a man by the name of Sherlock Holmes—was a detective. They approached him to see if he would take us on as his apprentices.’

  ‘I’ve often wondered how you became a detective,’ Jack said.

  ‘It was a match made in heaven. Mr Holmes taught us everything he knew about the art of detection. How to disguise ourselves, find clues, tail criminals—everything that would prepare us for lives as detectives.’

  ‘What happened to Mr Holmes?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘He has long since retired,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘A dedicated bee keeper, he lives in Sussex.’

  ‘And Edgar?’ Jack asked.

  Mr Doyle’s face clouded over. ‘Whereas I wanted to use our skills for the betterment of mankind, Edgar wanted to use them for the betterment of himself,’ he said. ‘Edgar left home at eighteen and we did not hear from him for years.’

  ‘And then?’ Scarlet prompted.

  ‘Then we heard he had been arrested. He had become a jewel thief—a very successful one—but his luck had run out. My parents were both in ill health at that time. They went to visit him in jail, but he refused their help.’

  Mr Doyle’s eyes grew distant.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Jack said.

  ‘I haven’t seen him for years. I’ve barely even thought about him. Knowing how much pain he caused me and my parents...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I dread him coming back into my life. If I hadn’t been ordered by the prime minister, I wouldn’t be here.’

  There was a gentle knock at the door.

  Mr Doyle called ‘enter’ and a slim young man, aged about seventeen, entered. He had short, black hair, fine features and wore a grey suit with an open collar. His hands were small and fine, and he looked like he had not yet begun to shave.

  Bowing, he said, ‘You are Doyle-san?’

  ‘Yes, and you are...?’

  ‘Hiro Tanaka,’ he said. ‘I was working with your brother.’

  Mr Doyle made green tea as the young man sat down. He gave Jack and Scarlet a cautious smile.

  ‘We were told you would make contact,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘May I ask why you were working with Edgar?’

  ‘My parents are now dead, but they were very interested in history,’ Hiro said. ‘They raised me to take an interest in world events, and believed there would eventually be another war. You are British. I think it is better to have Britain as a friend than an enemy.’

  ‘What do you know of the Kusanagi sword?’

  ‘It is a legendary artefact.’

  ‘So you don’t believe in it?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Hiro said. ‘I believe in it very much. I pray it can be found and restored to the Japanese people. This was Edgar’s hope. It is my hope also.’

  Mr Doyle shifted in his seat. He had a bad leg from the war and it still troubled him. ‘You know of Edgar’s history?’ he said.

  ‘He told me he had once been a thief, but those days were long behind him.’

  ‘Knowing Edgar’s past,’ Mr Doyle said, ‘I find that unlikely. Still, we need to find him. When did you last see him?’

  ‘We had followed up several leads,’ Hiro said, taking a sip of his tea. ‘But they came to nothing. Then, a few weeks ago, Edgar noticed we were being followed.’

  ‘By whom? The Nazis?’

  ‘I think so. We would sometimes catch sight of European men, wearing dark-grey trench suits, watching us from a distance. They never approached us and we did not speak to them.’ Hiro stroked his chin. ‘One day I came to pick up Edgar from his hotel, but found him gone. I have not seen him since.’

  ‘Was there any sign of a struggle?’

  ‘No. His clothing was still here, but his notebook was gone. He never went anywhere without it.’

  ‘I see,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Where are his belongings now?’

  ‘Knowing you were staying at this hotel, I had them put into storage at the front desk.’

  Mr Doyle went downstairs to have a look at his brother’s belongings. While he was gone, Jack and Scarlet sat in an uncomfortable silence with the boy.

  ‘Do you like living in Japan?’ Jack asked, trying to break the ice.

  ‘Very much. I have been nowhere else.’

  ‘Your English is excellent,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘I learnt at school. My paren
ts were most insistent that I learn.’

  Mr Doyle returned, looking disappointed. ‘It was just clothing and a few bottles of men’s cologne.’ Stroking his chin, he asked Hiro, ‘Where were you going the day he went missing?’

  ‘To the Takao shrine,’ Hiro said. ‘It is in the mountains, west of the city.’

  ‘Then I suggest we make that our first point of call.’

  Grabbing their coats, they left the room. Scarlet brought along an umbrella in case it started raining again. They followed Hiro, who said their transportation was on the roof.

  Jack’s mouth fell open when he saw it.

  ‘What is that?’ he asked.

  ‘You are not familiar with kagerou? They are a dragonfly, one thousand times normal size.’

  It was a dragonfly. The creature was twenty-feet long with a white snout like a dog, a black furry nose and two green, faceted eyes that took up most of its face. The body, long, thin and black-and-white, supported an egg-shaped brass cabin with a curved glass dome at the front.

  The wings, as wide as its body was long, were transparent with an emerald and purple tinge. The creature made odd ticking sounds as it shuffled about on six spindly legs which were covered in thick hairs.

  Jack realised the airships he had seen the previous night were actually these vessels. ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ he asked.

  Hiro smiled. ‘There is no need to be afraid,’ he said, opening the passenger door. ‘Our people use them every day.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ Jack bristled. ‘Our airships in England are much larger.’

  ‘And slower.’

  Jack couldn’t argue with him, remembering the speed of the dragonflies.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Mr Doyle suggested. ‘The sooner we get moving, the sooner we’ll be there.’

  Climbing aboard, Hiro sat at the controls while Jack and the others settled into two long, facing seats behind. Peering over Hiro’s shoulder, Jack saw foot pedals attached to lines that stirred the huge insect into action or brought it to a halt. A steering wheel connected to a pulley system that attached to the wings.