Embassy Row

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Hai?” said Ambassador Tochigi.

  “The ambassador questions you in the affirmative,” said Mister Minato. His English was almost flawless. I was astonished to hear him, for I realized how great my disadvantage was in knowing no Japanese.

  Holmes continued, unperturbed. “I wish the ambassador to know I am very grateful for his invitation—unofficial though it is—but I wonder if we would not serve our countries better by continuing to meet less conspicuously, given the delicacy of our current discussions.”

  Ambassador Tochigi looked directly at Holmes. “It would insult the Emperor if you were not in attendance.”

  Holmes turned over his hand as if surrendering his king in chess. “Very well. What can I be but honored.”

  “Excellent. We will make all necessary arrangements before you leave today. Tomorrow may be a difficult time,” said Ambassador Tochigi.

  “Your concern is more than I deserve,” said Holmes in the same unflustered, deferential tone as before.

  “I doubt that,” said Ambassador Tochigi, letting sharpness tinge his graciousness.

  As I listened, I made a few inconsequential notes, in large part because Messers Minato and Banadaichi were writing steadily and I did not want to appear lax. When I became aware of the growing silence I put my pencil aside. What a strange game this was, I thought, like one of those tales of the American West where adversaries wait for someone to blink before taking sudden action. It was a disconcerting feeling, sitting there so very still and yet as if expecting an explosion.

  “I will inform Prince Jiro that he is to meet with us before the reception begins. He will decide if he is willing to do so,” said Ambassador Tochigi after the quiet became intolerable.

  “That will be most acceptable. We may maintain the discretion we have sought in these dealings with such a meeting,” my employer agreed, and went on as if there had been no cessation of conversation or good-will between them. “If my efforts can do anything to assist you in learning the identity—”

  “That will not be necessary,” said Ambassador Tochigi, and directed Mister Banadaichi to open a chart of the western Pacific Ocean and lay it out on the table. He used his pencil to point out the coast of China. “Now, I think it would be best if we discussed the number of warships your Royal Navy requires to reinforce Australia and Hong Kong, as well as maintain an acceptable presence in the Pacific regions?” His inflection took the command from his suggestion, but not by much.

  I could not tell if this sudden change of subjects annoyed him: Mycroft Holmes sat forward on his chair, hands clasped beneath his chin, giving the Japanese his full concentration. I continued to make notes.

  FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  Sutton is making enough noise to herald judgment Day. You would think he was demolishing the flat with a hammer and saw for all the thunderous racket he has produced. All of Pall Mall must know that there are repairs being made. It has also provided a superb excuse for me to absent myself from the flat. No one would wonder at my leaving during such cacophony. I have also had the opportunity to complain of this intrusion into our well-ordered lives, and to receive the commiserations of the other servants in this and adjoining houses, all of whom have declared themselves to be wholly opposed to such total intrusions as the one I am currently suffering. I have been offered the comfort of tales of the perfidy of all disruptions to routine, as well as the opportunity to avail myself of the servants’ quarters in the ground-floor flat of this building. In turn this has allowed me to remark on the strange behavior of the men in the butcher’s delivery van. I must compile all I have heard for M H to peruse on his return.

  I did not anticipate the scorn of some other delivery men in regard to the butcher. Few of them thought well of him. One called him lazy, another called him a Nosey Parker, and I began to suspect that this man has recently become unpopular with his comrades. One of the men I questioned shares my belief that the driver was foreign, though he could give me no specific reason for his opinion. I will have to try to garner more tomorrow, when Sutton is at work on the pocket doors. As ruses go, this one is certainly achieving its end, but I cannot help but think that the headache I must endure is a high price for a disguise.

  There is a note from Tschersky again, and I gather he is the one making inquiries this time.

  AS WE CLIMBED into Sid Hastings’ cab later that evening, Mycroft Holmes said, “I wish I knew what Tochigi is hiding.” He consulted his watch. “Ten-thirty. It could be worse.”

  “Do you think he is hiding something, or that it is his manner that makes you think so? He is very reserved, and I have not yet learned to interpret his silences.” I had often found myself baffled during the day, and was not yet convinced that I had any grasp of the actual trouble with the Japanese, other than their determination to put an end to Prince Jiro’s unfortunate romance.

  “I have thought about that; surely he has a number of tasks to accomplish in his treating with us. The man is less accessible to me than a European would be, and not solely on the grounds of language. He sees the world in a very different light than we of the West do, and I must caution myself against making assumptions that do not consider his character in such perspective,” said Holmes quietly as he patted his case. “And in spite of these considerations, I am now tolerably certain that Ambassador Tochigi is evading certain matters, but for what purpose I cannot tell. Allowing for all the formality of Japanese society does not entirely account for Ambassador Tochigi’s total reluctance to tell me anything of note he may know of the Prince’s paramour. If he is aware of her identity, I doubt he will vouchsafe it to me, though I begin to suspect that he is as ignorant as I on the matter. I can do nothing more without his cooperation, and he is not going to provide any, I fear.” He rubbed his face. “Damned frustrating case.”

  “So it seems to me,” I agreed, secretly relieved that Holmes did not have any greater insights into this situation.

  We were going along at a good rate—the horse trotting through the half-empty streets—when Sid Hastings swore and drew his horse in. Ahead, just short of the intersection, an omnibus had collided with a house-remover’s van, which lay canted on its side. Drivers of both vehicles were on the paving stones, trying to untangle their reams from their harness without causing any more injury to their panicked horses. Frightened passengers on the omnibus pressed their faces to the windows and stared out at the chaos.

  Holmes saw all this in an instant; he shouldered out of his cloak and reached for his umbrella, thumbing the release in the handle to free the sword. He motioned to me to be ready.

  The same hackles-raising sensation had seized me as well. I flung out of my coat, then closed my hand around the shaft of my umbrella and wished for something more lethal. Then I readied myself for what was about to happen.

  “Now!” As the panels of the cab were pulled back on both sides by men in dark clothing and capes, Holmes rose to his feet and threw himself forward onto the intruder on his side as I rose and kicked hard at the man attempting to gain entrance from my side of the vehicle.

  Above us, Sid Hastings swore vitriolically and strove to steady his horse; the cab rocked violently.

  I was almost jolted from my feet as the man I had kicked grabbed for my legs and jerked hard. I clung to the inside brace of the hood of the cab with one hand and struck out at him with my umbrella, having the satisfaction of feeling a solid impact and hearing an angry howl.

  Mycroft Holmes was hanging precariously on to the cab, his sword flickering deftly in his hand as he kept the man on his side at bay. Once he came dangerously close to being pulled from the cab, but he held on with surprising tenacity. He shouted to me as he fought, “Guthrie! Don’t let them get the case! They want the case!”

  I realized at once that he was right, for a third man had just begun to climb up the shaft into the front of the cab, a knife glinting in his hand. I slammed my umbrella into his chest and heard the wind go out of him at the same instant I
felt the wooden shaft crack and splinter, vanes opening as the tension gave out. I threw the useless thing down and prepared to fend off more of the attackers with my fists and feet. As one of the ruffians seized my leg, I realized I might have been lured into folly, for he twisted my foot with a strength that stunned me. I struggled to pull away, each effort on my part increasing the pain in the sinews of my ankle, the jolt of the pain through my body seeming to unhinge my jaw.

  The mare neighed and sidled, sparks coming from where her hooves struck the pavement.

  “Watch out! Guthrie!” Holmes shouted as a fourth man joined the assault, hampered by the nervous skittering of the horse, who whickered with distress.

  Then Sid Hastings’ whip snaked out and flicked the cheek of the new assailant, leaving a bleeding kiss behind. The man clapped his hand to his torn face and screamed. Hastings could not be bothered with this commotion. He used the whip again and the man who was trying to drag me from the cab staggered back.

  As quickly as it had begun it was over. The unknown men were routed.

  Trying to stave off a residual dizziness I took a firm grip on the panel and pulled it closed again. I had the satisfaction of feeling fingers crunch as I did. As I regained my balance I heard footsteps running away from the cab.

  Holmes swung back into the cab once more and pulled his panel to. There was the sheen of perspiration on his brow and he was breathing hard as he shoved the sword back into the umbrella shaft. Then he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Well done, Hastings, very well done,” he called out before he turned to me. “Are you all right, dear boy?”

  “I . . . think so,” I answered, aware now that my ankle was throbbing and the palm of my right hand was scraped where I had clung to the frame.

  “Not injured, are you?” he demanded.

  “Not that I’m aware of, not really, nothing to speak of,” I answered, attempting to regain my composure. I did not want to complain of so small an injury as a twisted ankle, for in comparison to the threat, it was an insignificant thing. I gave my foot a tentative waggle; the pain was not too severe. “It was so unexpected.”

  “That it was,” said Holmes grimly. He rapped on the ceiling of the cab. “If you are able to, Hastings, drive on.”

  “Of course, sir,” said Hastings. “Just wanted to give Jenny a chance to settle down.” He ducked once to his mare, and the cab moved forward again.

  As we picked our way around the wreck, I asked Holmes, “Do you think this was an ambush?”

  “It depends on who was doing it,” Holmes answered, sounding more apprehensive than he usually did in the face of trouble. “And if it was an ambush, our situation is graver than I first anticipated.” He stared out into the night-dark street. “I may have underestimated the stakes in this hand.”

  “How do you mean?” I reached down to make sure our cases were still in place. “What have you underestimated?”

  “Those who have an interest in our dealings with Japan, I must hope,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “I will have a bruise tomorrow. Damnation.” He was breathing sharply still, and I saw that he had one hand pressed against his side.

  “Sutton will give you paint to cover it, if you wish to conceal the bruise,” I said, certain it was so.

  “Good.” He remained silent for a short while. “If the Japanese were behind this little escapade, then it would be wise not to reveal any sign of battle. If they did not—” He began to toy with his watchfob. “Tomorrow morning I will send Tyers round to Baker Street, to find out if there are street gangs preying on hackney cabs in this part of town.”

  “You think it was a street gang? I didn’t suppose they would venture beyond The Dials.” I was as shocked at this suggestion as I was at the thought that the Japanese might have arranged the attack. I could not shake the growing conviction that the Brotherhood was behind it, for they were Holmes’ sworn enemies.

  “Nor did I. But we must rule out the possibility before we engage in other speculation.” He leaned back against the squabs. “I will want a brandy before I retire. And I must warn Edmund about the increased risk.”

  “Surely you don’t think that he—” I began.

  “I don’t know what to think, Guthrie, and that is nothing more than the truth.” He stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket and brushed at the front of his cloak as he pulled it around him once again, one hand still firmly in place against his ribs.

  I had a thousand questions I still longed to ask him, and I was troubled that he might be hurt, but knew I could receive no answers tonight, nor was I of a mind to pursue the matter now. I did my best to content myself with trying to make myself comfortable for the rest of the ride to Pall Mall.

  By the time we alighted, I was feeling chilled and stiff, and I supposed the same was true of my employer, whatever injury he had sustained. My ankle was steadily hurting now and I could feel it swollen in the shoe. I was not certain it could bear my weight. I gathered up the case and portfolio, then waited as Holmes bade Sid Hastings good-night and tipped him handsomely for all he had done. As I swung the panel open, I was reminded afresh that my palm was scraped. I winced.

  “Give your Jenny an extra measure of oats,” Holmes recommended as he reached the sidewalk. He handed Sid Hastings two pound notes. “She’s more than earned them tonight.”

  “And this will buy the Missus a beef joint to dress as well, thanking your honor for this,” said Sid Hastings, accepting the flimsies with a half-salute. With that he signaled his mare the office and went away down the street.

  “I didn’t realize Hastings was married,” I said as we started up to Holmes’ flat.

  “Oh yes. He’s the father of four hopeful children. The youngest is four, the oldest is twelve. He has a daughter, his second child, with a rare aptitude for mathematics. Unfortunately.” He did not climb quickly and I began to fear he had received more hurts than I was aware of.

  “Why unfortunately?” I asked, not wanting to think of my ankle, which was throbbing painfully.

  “A girl with such abilities is nothing more than a freak, particularly in such a household as that of Sid Hastings, where there is little to offer talented children. If one of his sons had such abilities, something might be done for his advancement in more usual ways, but as it is, she will be hard to marry off, most men disliking their women more intelligent than they. And there are no university chairs in mathematics sponsored for females.” We reached the first landing. “There is a man who runs a casino on the Continent who might be willing to take her on as a kind of apprentice. If she has the good sense I credit her with having, she will flourish there. I have promised to write to him on Hastings’ behalf when the child turns fifteen.”

  “An apprentice at a casino, who has a talent for mathematics,” I said, trying to grasp the full implications and failing.

  “Oh, believe me, Guthrie, such abilities are cherished by those who live by setting odds. If she is able to learn the trade she should do very well for herself. And she would be in a position to assist my inquiries from time to time. I am not entirely altruistic, alas.” He paused as we reached the second landing, which was dark, giving the impression that Holmes was within, reading, as was his reputed custom. “I hope you will summon Tyers and explain what has happened. I must have a private word with Edmund at once. He is in great danger if his ruse has been discovered.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Remember about tomorrow morning and Baker Street. My brother will shed some light on these street ruffians.” He leaned on the bannister and I could not conceal my alarm.

  “Sir, are you—” I started.

  He interrupted me wearily. “Knock, Guthrie. Please.”

  I did as he ordered at once and was relieved to hear footsteps in the hall beyond almost at once.

  The door swung open: both Tyers and Sutton stood before us, Tyers holding a lantern. Both of them stared as the light touched us. Gathering from their expressions, we must have bee
n a sight.

  “Sir!” exclaimed Tyers. “What on earth—”

  “Holmes!” Sutton said at the same breath. He reached out and shouldered the arm of our employer in order to support him into the flat. “Good Lord, what happened?” he asked as Tyers secured the door behind us.

  I found myself suddenly too unnerved to talk. I did not want to move the fingers of my scraped hand. My ankle ached abominably, and must have done so since it was injured, but I had not realized the extent of the pain until now, when I no longer had to resist it. I stumbled toward the sitting room, in search of a chair with a hassock. Tyers was right behind me, offering his help.

  “Let me get you a brandy, Mister Guthrie,” he said in a tone that revealed little. “You’re pale as whey.”

  “Pale, am I?” I asked shakily as I lowered myself into a chair. Had I been a child, I would have wept for the relief this brought. As it was, I shuddered as I carefully elevated my leg and placed my ankle on the hassock. My muscles felt unstrung and every joint was sore as if from prolonged cold.

  “Yes, sir. And Mister Holmes, sir, is . . .” He could find no words to describe the condition.

  “We were set upon,” I said testily, thinking this much should be obvious to the most simple-minded observer. “Coming here in the cab we were attacked. A party of unknown men waylaid us.”

  “So I gathered,” said Tyers with a steadiness of tone that was a lesson to me.

  I realized I ought to say more. “A collision caused a delay. While we were waiting to get past it, we were set upon. There were at least three of them, armed. Fortunately Sid Hastings thought quickly. Used that whip of his, too.” I turned around to see what had become of Holmes.

  Tyers saw this and said, “I think Sutton is attending to him, Mister Guthrie. They have gone to the study.”

  I was suddenly deeply alarmed. “Will you go and find out what has happened? I know Mister Holmes received some injury, but I don’t know its extent, or nature.” It bothered me to speak my fears aloud. That they might be justified filled me with dismay.