The Lost Sword

by Pitt, Darrell

  A sound came from Jack’s bedroom. Then a thickset man wearing a dark-grey trench coat appeared. He barrelled towards them, pushing Jack and Scarlet out of the way before knocking Mr Doyle over. The parchment fell from the detective’s jacket.

  The intruder scooped it up.

  ‘Ich habe es!’ he cried, racing through the open door.

  ‘He’s a Nazi!’ Mr Doyle yelled. ‘And he’s got the map!’

  Jack gave chase as the thief raced down the corridor, pushing through the fire doors and charging upstairs.

  Where’s he going?

  The man burst from the stairwell onto the roof with Jack close behind. A fog had set in, drowning everything in a fine mist.

  The thief raced across the roof and leapt onto the adjacent building. Jack followed, picking up speed. The Nazi was bigger, but slower, and when jumping onto the next curving roof of a temple, he slid backwards. Jack made a grab for him, but the man swung around and threw a punch into his face.

  Jack saw stars. He hit the roof and started to slide down. Shaking his head, he raked the tiles with outstretched fingers, got a grip and scrambled up. The Nazi pulled out a gun, but Jack knocked it away and delivered a blow to the man’s stomach. The map went flying and clattered on the sloping tiles of the next roof.

  It’s going over the side!

  Jack threw himself after it.

  Snatching it in mid-air, Jack continued over the roof’s edge.

  Crash!

  He’d landed in a seat on the open-top of a triple-decker bus. Jack rolled and raced down the aisle, stowing the parchment into his coat. The passengers recoiled in terror. The bus picked up speed as it headed towards a major road.

  Glancing back, Jack saw the Nazi had landed in the back row and was already after him.

  As the bus pulled onto a freeway, another triple-decker drew near. Jack stepped onto the headrest of the nearest seat and jumped across to the next bus, sprawling into one of the seats. A family of tourists yelled at him.

  ‘Sorry!’ Jack cried. He glanced back to see the thief was still in pursuit.

  Does this guy ever give up?

  As they passed a row of tenement buildings, Jack took another running leap and landed on the nearest roof, with the Nazi close behind.

  Now there was nowhere to go: only a fifty-foot drop.

  Jack ducked and leapt sideways as the Nazi lunged—and continued over the side, screaming as he fell headfirst to the ground below.

  Jack managed to regain his breath—until he slipped and fell facefirst onto the tiles. The top of the roof was only a few feet above, but it may as well have been miles. He was about to fall!

  Then an arm reached out and grabbed his hand.

  Jack looked up in amazement.

  A ninja!

  Gripping Jack’s hand tightly, he pulled him to safety.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jack stammered. ‘You saved my life.’

  With the chance to examine the ninja more closely, Jack realised he was a she. The ninja stared back from under a hooded cowl that left only her piercing blue eyes visible. She wore a dark-red outfit—a jacket with overlapping lapels and loose fitting pants—and laced-up boots. From her belt hung a pouch, a sword and a grappling hook.

  The red ninja gave Jack a brief nod. Then she looked past him and pointed. Jack turned to gaze at the endless horizon of roofs. There’s nothing to see. When he turned back, she was gone.

  Deep in thought, Jack made his way down to the street. It took another two hours to find the hotel where he found security guards and police everywhere. Two figures broke from the crowd.

  ‘Jack!’ Scarlet cried.

  ‘My boy!’ Mr Doyle yelled.

  They threw their arms around him.

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone after him!’ Mr Doyle scolded.

  ‘At least it was worthwhile,’ Jack said, allowing the detective a glimpse of the parchment in his jacket.

  Returning to their room, the police demanded a full explanation of what had happened. Without going into detail, Mr Doyle had already told them the thief had stolen one of their belongings. Jack explained what had happened to the assailant, leaving out any mention of the ninja.

  After they left, Scarlet suggested they move to another room, but Mr Doyle shook his head.

  ‘The Nazis now know we’re carrying the map with us at all times,’ he said. ‘I doubt they’ll try again. They were watching Edgar and now they’re watching us.’

  He turned his attention to their room, insisting they tidy up immediately.

  ‘We’ll feel all the better for it in the morning.’

  Jack groaned. It was bad enough chasing a thief across half of Tokyo without having to clean too! But they went to work and, within the hour, had the place liveable again.

  ‘Oh!’ Jack yelled. ‘I haven’t told you about the ninja!’

  ‘What?’ Mr Doyle and Scarlet barked.

  He recounted what happened up on the roof, expecting them to disbelieve him. But Mr Doyle only nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘If you say that’s what happened,’ he said, ‘then that’s what happened.’

  ‘But ninja are just the stuff of legend,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘It seems the legend lives.’

  ‘And it’s a female ninja,’ Jack said. There were no female ninja, not even in his book, Ninety-Nine Ninja. ‘And she’s on our side.’

  Scarlet peered at him. ‘You’re sure you didn’t hit your head?’

  ‘Of course not! Well, I did, but she was real!’

  ‘And obviously a friend,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘She came to your aid when you needed it.’

  Finally climbing into bed, Jack thought he would be asleep in a minute, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the events of the day.

  I’ve seen a real ninja, he thought. And if there’s one, there must be more.

  When he next opened his eyes, he found Mr Doyle knocking at his door, looking bright-eyed and ready for action.

  ‘Another day!’ Mr Doyle announced. ‘We have a mystery to solve!’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Jack asked. He felt like he’d been run over by a triple-decker bus.

  ‘Attending more symposiums will stimulate our brain cells,’ he said. ‘Eventually we will understand the mystery of the map.’

  Jack wearily showered and dressed, and within minutes was eating breakfast with Scarlet. The map was on the table between them. Mr Doyle, as usual, had opted for cheese. The hotel clerk had tracked down several rare varieties, and Mr Doyle was systematically sampling each.

  Jack frowned at one covered in mould. Shouldn’t that be thrown away?

  ‘You’d enjoy this one, Jack,’ Mr Doyle said, trying to stifle a grin. ‘It’s wasabi-flavoured.’

  ‘Oh joy.’

  ‘Have you had any thoughts about the map?’ Scarlet asked Mr Doyle.

  ‘Only that it is was produced by a talented artist,’ he said. ‘I received a message from Hiro this morning. He has been delayed. H
e still needs to help his aunt.’

  Jack felt a surge of satisfaction.

  Good.

  Scarlet frowned at him. ‘What are you smiling at?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So you’re grinning like a mad person for no reason at all?’

  ‘I’m just happy!’

  ‘Well stop it!’

  They finished breakfast and went downstairs. A noticeboard displayed the day’s talks: one scientist was speaking about using the Australian wombat as a form of transport, another about experimental space steamers made from plants. The latter was such a strange idea that they all decided to go.

  Unfortunately, the speaker—Dr Hodder—turned out to not be the most exciting of speakers. And it seemed it would take him hours to get to the point.

  ‘I must begin with how life started on Earth,’ Hodder said. ‘Some four billion years ago...’

  Jack wondered if it was too late to switch to the other lecture. Shifting about restlessly, he was staring up at the ceiling when he heard the audience gasp. He looked back to see Hodder staggering away from the lectern, white and shaking. When he collapsed at the edge of the stage, people leapt to his aid.

  After a few minutes, Dr Einstein approached Jack and the others, his face pale.

  ‘Is Dr Hodder all right?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Einstein said. ‘He’s dead.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘And here,’ Mr Doyle said, pointing, ‘the way the artist juxtaposes small complex areas of pattern against large spaces of colour.’

  Jack glanced at the painting of an old man traipsing up a mountain with a pack on his back. They were at the Tokyo Art Gallery and he wasn’t particularly interested in complex areas or large spaces.

  ‘Mr Doyle,’ he said. ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘To enjoy the art, of course.’

  Jack sighed. ‘But shouldn’t we be investigating Hodder’s murder?’ he asked. ‘Or trying to work out what the parchment means?’

  Mr Doyle patiently led him towards the exit. ‘His murder is best handled by the Tokyo Police,’ he said. ‘If they ask for help, I will assist, but I have no authority to investigate anything without their consent.’

  The detective had already been helpful. It had only taken him a moment to spot a tiny wound on Dr Hodder’s left forefinger. Examining the lectern, Mr Doyle had discovered a tiny pin embedded in the timber. The police had since established the pin to be poisonous, and the cause of the doctor’s death.

  ‘Any number of people had access to the room prior to the doctor’s presentation,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘There is tight security, but the poisonous pin could have been placed there by a hotel staff member, a delivery person, almost anyone.’

  ‘But why did they do it?’

  ‘No doubt the killer worked for one of the industrialists that Albert spoke of—a Metalist.’

  ‘So now we’re dealing with both Nazis and Metalists?’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘And the Kusanagi sword?’

  Mr Doyle tapped the side of his head. ‘Working on it,’ he said.

  Leaving the art gallery, they boarded a steambus. Jack stared out the window without seeing, his thoughts turning to Scarlet. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Today she had opted to visit a bookstore and buy Japanese copies of the Brinkie Buckeridge books—with Hiro.

  ‘Why do you think Scarlet decided to go out with Hiro today?’ Jack asked.

  ‘You know her love of Brinkie Buckeridge,’ Mr Doyle said, gently. ‘I imagine she wants to purchase a complete set.’ He peered at Jack. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Because I’m worried she’s in love with Hiro, he wanted to say. Or he’s in love with her.

  But Scarlet was her own person. Jack couldn’t say who she could go out with or not.

  ‘No reason,’ he replied.

  Mr Doyle, pursing his lips, said nothing.

  The steambus crept through the busy metropolis to the hotel. It was late in the day by the time they arrived. Albert Einstein hurried over to them.

  ‘Ignatius,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Firstly, I wanted to apologise.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘I invited you here as our guest of honour. Instead you’ve almost been blown up on a space steamer, someone has tried to rob you and we’ve had a murder.’

  Mr Doyle laughed. ‘For us,’ he said, ‘that’s nothing unusual.’

  Einstein leant close. ‘Just between us,’ he said, ‘it’s a terrible tragedy that Dr Hodder was murdered, but he was the most boring speaker I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘I did fall asleep shortly after he started on the Jurassic period.’

  ‘Anyway, there’s been some talk of moving the symposium.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘That’s still being decided,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know when a plan is made.’

  As Einstein headed off, Jack spotted Scarlet and Hiro returning with shopping bags.

  ‘Buying books?’ Mr Doyle teased.

  ‘Only the whole Brinkie Buckeridge collection,’ she said. ‘How often does someone get the opportunity to buy every book—written in Japanese?’

  ‘But you can’t read Japanese,’ Jack pointed out.

  ‘So?’

  They went upstairs. After Scarlet had packed her books away, Mr Doyle produced the parchment and unfurled it on the table. It had no smell, but had an odd texture.

  ‘It’s made from goatskin,’ Mr Doyle explained. ‘Most parchments are made from animal hide, soaked in lime and coated with an egg sealant.’

  They had not looked at it since retrieving it from the temple. Clearly it was a map of a bay somewhere, with a nearby mountain.

  That could be anywhere, Jack thought.

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

  Mr Doyle rubbed his chin. ‘It is rather odd,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s take it one step at a time.’

  ‘It appears to be part of the coast,’ Scarlet said. ‘Do you recognise it, Hiro?’

  ‘No,’ Hiro said.

  ‘So you don’t know of a body of water with a mountain in the middle?’ Mr Doyle asked.

  ‘It is not familiar.’

  Mr Doyle peered closer. ‘There is very little detail here. It could take months—or years—to establish where this is.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes it’s best to return to basics. What exactly are we looking at?’

  ‘A map of a bay,’ Scarlet said. ‘And a mountain.’

  ‘And a flower border,’ Hiro said.

  ‘Hmm, those are peonies,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘A very pretty flower.’

  ‘Is there a place that’s famous for peonies? And has a mountain?’ asked Jack.

  Hiro stared at the picture, his brow creasing. ‘There is,’ he said. ‘And that may not be a picture of a mountain, but a volcano. Daikonshima Island was f
ormed by a volcano, and it is famous for its peonies!’

  ‘That must be it!’ Scarlet said. ‘Is it close by?’

  ‘It will take a few hours to reach by air.’

  ‘I knew something would come to us,’ Mr Doyle said. He glanced at his watch. ‘It is quite late now. I suggest we retire for the evening and leave first thing in the morning.’

  Jack felt like running out the door now and searching for the sword, but he knew what Mr Doyle would say. Brains and bodies work best when rested.

  Hiro headed back to his aunt, promising to meet them the next day. Scarlet went to her room.

  Jack was about to head for his when he saw Mr Doyle grimacing.

  ‘What is it, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s nothing, really,’ he said, ‘but my bedroom is directly above the hotel restaurant. The smells at night keep me awake.’

  ‘We can swap rooms, if you like.’

  Mr Doyle brightened. ‘That would be wonderful,’ he said. ‘You know what I always say?’

  ‘Er, brains and bodies work best when rested?’

  ‘That’s it, Jack.’

  Within minutes, Jack was climbing into a different bed and turning out the light.

  Mr Doyle was right about the smells from the restaurant. The scent of cooked meat was wafting through the window. But it didn’t worry him. He liked meat.

  It was many hours later when Jack woke. He glanced at a clock in the corner. 3am. The sounds and smells from the restaurant had faded away, replaced by the faint odour of hot metal and steam.

  That’s odd, he thought. It must be coming in from the street.

  He closed his eyes again.

  Krrikk!

  Lifting his head, Jack saw a gloomy room, illuminated only by light at the window. When he had gone to bed, the window had been open a crack. Now it was wide-open, a gentle breeze shifting the curtain. No-one could have entered the apartment. They were on the sixth floor.