by Ben Stevens
I was still dazed from what had just taken place. So it took me a few moments to interpret the Englishman’s words.
‘What is this?’ I managed to ask at last. ‘Some sort of devilry, taking place here in a Buddhist temple?’
‘Yes, Yoshida-sensei – exactly that,’ returned Holmes, raising his voice above the howling wind that was blowing into the hall behind us. ‘Devilry – man-made devilry.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Wait here,’ said Holmes. ‘Just keep your head out of this window. You’re strong enough to stand unaided now, yes? You won’t fall?’
I wouldn’t and I said so. It was hard for me now even to recall those terrors I’d been experiencing just a minute before. My mental and physical strength had almost fully returned, and I was again ready for anything.
Holmes was gone but for a few seconds. When he returned he said –
‘We don’t have much time. The poisonous atmosphere has all but dispersed by now, due to the window being open, so we must shut it as it was before and then adopt our positions before the altar.’
‘What positions?’ I inquired.
‘We must pretend to be dead,’ declared the detective bluntly. ‘But keep your face pressed into your arm, so that it cannot be seen. Else the usual, awful expression will not be evident and so suspicions may be aroused.’
‘But, Holmes-san, I don’t understand…’
‘That doesn’t matter for now! Just trust me!’
This fiercely-whispered entreaty was more than enough for me. I copied Holmes in a ‘prone’ position before the altar, the wood-and-paper window now slid shut, and waited…
10
It wasn’t long before I heard the sliding door into the main hall – which Katamari had closed behind him – open, and someone enter. Whoever it was walked quickly over to the window and again opened it.
The wind whipped in for a minute or so, although as before I doubted it was strong enough to extinguish any of the candles burning, and I heard the door slide shut again as our mysterious guest departed.
Then all was silence. I hardly dared breathe, Holmes lying close beside me. Whoever had just entered had walked past our apparently dead bodies without even a murmur…
But who…?
The door slid open again ten or so long minutes later. This time there was a gasp of surprise and then the shriek –
‘More deaths! More deaths! Someone – help!’
I didn’t recognize the voice. As likely as not it belonged to one of those junior monks, who’d possibly come to prepare the hall for the evening service. But where was Katamari, who’d said he’d return with everyone resident at this temple – even the Jushoku, his health allowing?
I could hear footsteps hurriedly approaching along the wooden floor of the corridor outside. More cries of dismay as other monks now evidently peered in, to observe Holmes and I lying there before the altar.
‘Get the Jushoku – get Katamari-san!’ someone cried.
The voices came nearer, the monks obviously beginning to enter into the hall…
Then at once I heard Katamari’s voice saying –
‘What? What is this?’
And then the Jushoku’s voice, rendered almost hysterical through his recent illness and the further shock he’d just received –
‘A curse! There is a curse upon this temple of death – there can surely be no other explanation! First the two monks; and now the famous gaijin detective and his Japanese doctor friend lie dead…’
‘Forgive us for the deception, Jushoku – but Yoshida-sensei and I are in fact very much alive,’ said Holmes then, as I cautiously lifted my head to observe him getting to his feet.
I quickly did the same.
‘What… what is the meaning of this?’ demanded the priest, his unshaven face with the pouched eyes deathly-pale. It was obvious he’d come straight from his bed. He was stood at the front of the gathered monks, Katamari a short distance away from him. The senior monk’s eyes were wild now as they stared in disbelief at Sherlock Holmes.
‘Jushoku, not everything I say will be wholly clear to you – I can explain certain parts in greater detail later,’ began Holmes. ‘But for now, I can tell exactly how those two monks were murdered – and for what reasons…’
‘Murdered?’ exclaimed the head priest. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I shall start at the beginning,’ said Holmes. ‘The scroll hanging in the dining room contains an instruction to search behind the mirror which is placed in the main entrance. This I did – ’
‘What?’ gasped the Jushoku, as the monks gazed goggle-eyed at the hawk-faced Englishman.
He in turn held up his hand.
‘Just hear what I have to say; I will expand upon certain points later…
‘So – assisted by my friend here, the doctor, I searched behind this mirror the night before last. There, placed inside a sealed piece of bamboo, I found another set of instructions. But I also realized that I was not the first person to look behind this mirror, as someone had cunningly placed a tiny piece of thread on the frame and surrounding wall, so to see if the mirror had been moved.’
Holmes pointed a long, bony forefinger straight at Katamari.
‘You did this. Just as you murdered the monks Matsuo and Isuke, in your increasingly desperate attempts to locate Gyoja-sama’s treasure hidden somewhere in the temple.
‘What?’ said the Jushoku again. But Katamari seemed almost stunned into silence, and could only glare at Holmes and shake his head.
‘Some things I can only guess at,’ continued the detective. ‘But it seems safe to reason that the monk named Matsuo first realized what the scroll hanging in the dining room actually pointed to. For some reason – maybe you, Jushoku, were ill at this time – Matsuo confided this realization in Katamari.’
‘Matsuo was here for little more than a fortnight before he – died,’ murmured the head priest. ‘And, yes, I was indeed sick with a fever for most of that time…’
‘He and Katamari checked behind the mirror, and found another scroll. When Matsuo failed to understand what was written on this scroll, and in any case was becoming ever more insistent that you, Jushoku, should be told exactly what had been discovered, Katamari murdered that intelligent young monk.’
‘But how?’ demanded the head priest
‘I will come to that shortly… With Matsuo gone, you again had to try and find a suitable successor, Jushoku. As any monk wishing to become head priest here has to first exhibit a particularly high level of intelligence, Katamari also hoped – fervently – that this person would be able to solve the second part of the riddle.’
‘Preposterous!’ Katamari finally managed to hiss. But the Jushoku and the other monks were now listening to Holmes as though spellbound.
‘Anyway, Isuke arrived. I suspect that this time Katamari quietly informed him of what the writing on the scroll in the dining room actually referred to, and furthermore showed him the writing on the second scroll, hidden behind the mirror. Somehow, Katamari also swore Isuke into secrecy about this matter.
‘Isuke realized the writing on the second scroll related to water – but couldn’t understand anymore than that. Katamari began inwardly to fret as the seemingly unanswerable riddle drove Isuke half-insane, making him prone to such outwardly bizarre behavior as taking walks in the pouring rain.
‘What ‘riddles’ are these you speak of?’ said the Jushoku, his fever-flecked eyes very wide. ‘Where does all this lead?’
‘About that, I shall reveal shortly,’ returned Holmes. ‘As for Isuke – his strange behavior was understandably attracting attention from you, Jushoku, and every other monk here at this temple. Katamari feared that Isuke might break down and say everything he knew. Also, the senior monk suspected that Isuke would never be able to solve the second riddle in any case.
‘And then Katamari learnt that I was staying at an inn close by. He was playing a desperate game, and he realized – a second ‘m
ysterious’ death would oblige me to come to this temple to investigate, and perhaps I could also be ‘directed’ into determining the meaning of these mysterious scrolls.’
‘This is nonsense – this man is insane!’ cried the senior monk angrily. The Jushoku looked at him, opened his mouth as though to speak, and then shaking his head slightly stared back at the gaijin. I realized that what Sherlock Holmes was saying was so fantastic that it had the head priest and the monks completely gripped.
‘So Katamari caused Isuke’s death the same way he’d caused Matsuo’s. Incidentally, Katamari informed me yesterday that Isuke had lately been complaining to the other monks of a bad smell in his room. Is this so?’
A few of the monks nodded, staring almost open-mouthed at Holmes.
‘And who gave Isuke the stick of incense?’
The monks looked in confusion first at Holmes, and then at each other. They clearly had no idea what Holmes was talking about.
‘How curious…’ said the Englishman, now looking directly at Katamari. ‘And yet yesterday, you informed me that Isuke had been given incense to burn – so to mask the unpleasant smell – by another monk. You stated that you’d discovered this by asking the monks themselves.’
It was obvious, from the monks’ continued, shared expression of bewilderment that Katamari had lied about this.
‘You yourself gave Isuke the incense stick to burn,’ stated Holmes, keeping his eyes fixed on Katamari. ‘Just as you placed the small rodent, or whatever it was, secretly under his floor or behind the wooden walls, there to decompose and provide the bad smell in the first place.
‘How quickly your mind worked, and how quickly you acted, once you heard that I happened to be staying at an inn nearby!’
‘This talk of incense – what does it all mean?’ stuttered the head priest.
‘In China, they are known as the ‘Sticks of Death’,’ replied Holmes softly. ‘During his stay in Chang’an, Katamari somehow heard of them – and more than that, managed to get some in his possession. The seed of evil already in his heart, he hid them away, perhaps suspecting that he might one day have cause to use them.’
The ‘Sticks of Death’? echoed one of the monks, in what was little more than a whisper. The tone reflected perfectly everyone’s amazement at what they were hearing – my own included.
‘Yes – what appears to be just a simple stick of incense, but which contains an extract from a certain, rare plant which, when burnt, sends anyone who inhales the smoke so mad with terror that they actually die.
‘Katamari first used one of his foul sticks on Matsuo, luring him into the main hall on some pretext, lighting the stick, and then hurriedly leaving as Matsuo quickly expired. He returned a short while later – the incense stick now just so much ash – opened the window for a short while, and then left again. Sometime after that, Matsuo’s body was discovered by another monk.’
Katamari was staring wildly at the English detective, his thin lips trembling. I noticed that he was moving slowly away from the other monks and the Jushoku, staying close to the wall as he began to circle around the main hall…
‘In Isuke’s case – that young monk actually lit the stick of incense given to him by Katamari, thereby inadvertently causing his own death. Katamari entered the monk’s room later than night, checked that Isuke was indeed dead, and opened the window for a short while to air the room before leaving again. It’s quite possible he also removed the source of the smell of corruption Isuke had complained about – certainly I noticed no such odor, when I was in the dead monk’s room the day before last.’
‘But why?’ cried the priest. ‘For what purpose was all this done?’
‘Jushoku,’ said Holmes. ‘I know now – and strongly suspected before – that Gyoja-sama brought back with him, from his travels around India and China, some incredible store of treasure he’d somehow come across. I mean something physical, of such intellectual and religious value that it is truly priceless.
‘Katamari also suspected the existence of such a thing – but knew that he had first to solve the series of riddles left by Gyoja-sama.
‘Through the trick of the thread, Katamari quickly knew that I’d realized what the writing on the scroll in the dining area meant. He may even have suddenly guessed what was written on the scroll found behind the mirror, when I ‘accidentally’ fell into the large, deep pond outside the tearoom – and in doing so managed to verify the existence of a tunnel running underneath the water.’
The power of speech now seemed to have deserted the head priest. He could only shake his head at what he was hearing.
‘In any case, last night Katamari concealed himself near the room occupied by Yoshida-sensei and me, thus hearing when we left and following us to the tearoom. He waited until Yoshida-sensei was almost out of the tunnel – carrying the second scroll placed inside a length of bamboo – before making his appearance.
‘He then dropped his pretence of before – by which I mean the apparent, barely-concealed distain he felt for me. Something to dispel any suspicion I might otherwise have had that he’d actually deliberately engineered events, in order to get me to come to this temple.
‘Instead, he began enacting a new role. This involved him apparently now appreciating my meager talents, and also turning to me for assistance. But he could barely conceal his excitement: he knew he was so close now to discovering exactly what Gyoja-sama had secreted somewhere within the temple. He had only to wait for me to realize the last riddle – which was when I and my friend the doctor would meet exactly the same fate as Matsuo and Isuke…’
‘Liar.’
Katamari’s voice sounded cold in the candlelit hall. He was now stood by one of the sliding windows of wood-and-paper, his body and face half in shadow.
‘Do you really believe this… this tissue of lies, from a gaijin?’ spat the senior monk then. ‘The ‘Sticks of Death’, indeed – where is his proof of such a thing?’
‘In the bowl of ash by the altar,’ returned Holmes promptly. ‘I knew what you would do, and so I held my breath the moment you lighted the two incense sticks. Two, none the less! You were taking no chances…
‘There was no way to warn my friend of your foul intention, unfortunately, so he breathed some of the smoke before I could drag him over to the window. Leaving him there to breathe the fresh air and recover, I then quickly returned to the altar and turned the deadly burning sticks upside down, thereby immediately snuffing out the burning ends in the ash of the pot.
‘See for yourself – over half of each stick still remains. You did not notice this fact, when you entered the hall for the first time, walking past our apparently lifeless bodies to open the window for the purpose of ventilation? Just as you failed to notice that the air was already, somehow, curiously ‘fresh’.
‘So, Katamari,’ continued the English detective, in a voice strong and commanding. ‘If all I have said is a ‘tissue of lies’, simply light the remains of those incense sticks, and stand near them and breath in the smoke.
‘If what I am saying is delusional, you of course have nothing to fear. But you’ll excuse me, if I and Yoshida-sensei choose to observe you from the corridor outside. I would also strongly suggest that the Jushoku and other monks do the same thing.’
Katamari’s hand shook as he pointed one thin finger at Sherlock Holmes. His eyes seemed almost to glow with hatred, in the semi-darkness that was by the window.
‘A curse on you, Holmes,’ said the senior monk, his voice a horrible, high-pitched whine. ‘I put a – ’
‘Your reign of fear and death is over!’ cried Holmes, in a voice so firm that the evil monk almost cowered before it. ‘It only remains now for you to face justice.’
‘Yes – justice,’ breathed the Jushoku, his expression haggard and terrible as he stared at Katamari.
‘I trusted you, for so many years,’ continued the priest. ‘But now I strip you of all authority and rank in this temple. You will be given to the author
ities to stand trial for murder.’
‘And then to be punished with death? That’s the punishment for murder. Never – do you hear me? Never!’ screamed Katamari.
With that he spun round, and before anyone knew what was happening he’d pushed open one of the sliding windows. In rushed the wind, once more.
‘Stop him!’ cried Holmes, at the same moment starting forwards. But it was too late. Katamari placed his hands on the bottom of the window frame, hesitated for just a fraction of a second – and then launched himself outside.
A terrible scream as he fell down, down…
And then there was again just the sound of the wind, blowing in from the stormy night outside.
11
‘What I still don’t understand, Holmes-san, is how you knew Katamari had been to China,’ I said exactly a fortnight later, as Holmes and I relaxed in an inn some distance away from the temple we’d finally left two days before.
‘As soon as I suspected the use of the so-called ‘Sticks of Death’, I knew that the murderer must have spent some time in China,’ replied the English detective. ‘Indeed, I should have suspected that this method of assassination had been used when I happened to hear about the death of the monk Matsuo, some six months before – especially given how his face apparently looked. But that would have seemed too fantastic…
‘Anyway, as I quickly became certain that the murderer was Katamari, I had only to catch him off-guard – that is, with the sudden question concerning how long he’d been in China.
‘Of course, learning that he’d spent time in Chang’an only provided more proof that he’d learnt about the Sticks of Death – as I also did there.’
‘So he also learnt some of these ‘dark secrets’, of which you previously spoke?’ I asked quietly.
Holmes gave a brusque nod.
‘One can guess that Katamari crept around the darker parts of the city in such free time as he had, exhibiting his natural slyness and cunning mixed with, I have to say, a certain, fiendish intelligence…