The Diamond Chariot (77 page)

Tsurumaki added in English:

‘Shirota-san is a genuine Japanese patriot. A man of honour who knows that duty to the Motherland comes above all other things. Go, my friend. You should not be here when the police arrive.’

With a low bow to his new master and a brief nod to Fandorin, Shirota left the room.

The titular counsellor was still being held as tightly as ever, and that could mean only one thing.

‘The police, of course, will arrive t-too late,’ Erast said to the master of the house. ‘The thief will be killed while attempting to escape or resisting capture. That is why you have sent the idealistic Shirota away. I am such a dynamic individual – not only can I not be left in Japan, I cannot even be left alive, right?’

The smile with which Tsurumaki listened to these words was full of jovial surprise, as if the millionaire had not expected to hear such a subtle and witty comment from his prisoner.

The Don turned the Herstal over in his hand and asked:

‘Self-winding? Hammerless?’

‘Yes. Simply press the trigger and all seven bullets will be fired, one after another. That is, six, one round has already been spent,’ replied Fandorin, inwardly feeling proud of his own cool composure.

Tsurumaki weighed the small revolver in his hand and the titular counsellor readied himself: now it would be very painful, then the pain would become duller, and then it would pass off altogether …

But the Herstal was sent flying to the floor. Erast Petrovich was surprised only for a moment. Then he noticed that the Don’s pocket was bulging. Of course: it would be strange if the robber were to be shot with his own revolver.

As if to confirm this guess, the master of the house lowered his hand into that pocket. Events were clearly approaching their conclusion.

Suddenly Kamata, who had been keeping his eyes fixed on the titular counsellor, turned his bony face covered with coarse wrinkles towards the door.

There were shouts and crashing sounds coming from somewhere outside.

Had the police arrived? But then why the noise?

Another Black Jacket came running into the room. He bowed to the master and Kamata and jabbered something.

‘
Tsurete koi
,’
¹
Tsurumaki ordered, without taking his hand out of his pocket.

The servant ran out, and half a minute later Masa, looking much the worse for wear, was led in by the arms.

When he saw Fandorin, he shouted something in a desperate voice.

Only one word was comprehensible: ‘O-Yumi-san’.

‘What’s he saying? What’s he saying?’ the vice-consul asked, jerking in the arms of his guards.

To judge from the master’s face, he was astounded by the news. He asked Masa something, received an answer and suddenly started thinking very intently. He took no notice of Fandorin’s repeated questions and merely scratched at his black beard furiously. Masa kept on trying to bow to Erast Petrovich (which was not easy to do with his arms twisted behind his back) and repeating: ‘
Moosiwake arimasen! Moosiwake arimasen!’

‘What is that he’s muttering?’ the titular counsellor exclaimed in helpless fury. ‘What does it mean?’

‘It means: “There can be no forgiveness for me!”,’ said Tsurumaki, suddenly looking at him keenly. ‘Your servant is saying some very interesting things. He says he was sitting at the window and smoking a cigar. That he felt stuffy and he opened one windowpane. That there was a whistling sound, something stung him in the neck, and after that he remembers nothing. He woke up on the floor. There was something like a thorn sticking out of his neck. He dashed into the next room and saw that O-Yumi had disappeared. The bed was empty.’

Erast Petrovich groaned, and the master of the house asked Masa another question. When he received an answer he jerked his chin, and Fandorin’s servant was immediately released. Masa reached inside the front of his jacket and took out what looked like a wooden needle.

‘What’s that?’ asked Fandorin.

The Don examined the ‘thorn’ gloomily.

‘A
fukibari
. They smear this piece of rubbish with poison or some other kind of potion – to paralyse someone temporarily, for instance, or put them to sleep – and fire it out of a blowpipe. The ninja’s favourite weapon. I’m afraid, Fandorin, that your girlfriend has been abducted by the “Stealthy Ones”.’

At that very moment Erast Petrovich, who had fully prepared himself to die, suddenly felt that he wanted terribly not to. Why, one might think, should he care about anything in the world? If there are only a few seconds of life left, do unsolved puzzles, or even the abduction of the woman you love, really have any importance? But he wanted so much to live that when the Don’s hand moved in that ominous pocket, Fandorin gritted his teeth tightly – in order not to beg for a respite. They wouldn’t grant him a respite in any case, and even if they did, he couldn’t possibly ask a murderer for anything.

The vice-consul forced himself to look at the hand as it slowly pulled a black, gleaming object out of the pocket until it emerged completely.

It was a briar pipe.

After I read it –
The Latin word for ‘briar’ –
I took up a pipe

1
‘Bring him’ (Japanese)

TWO HANDS TIGHTLY CLASPED

‘I like your Shirota,’ the Don said thoughtfully, striking a match and puffing out a cloud of smoke. ‘A genuine Japanese. All of a piece, intelligent, reliable. I’ve wanted an assistant like that for a long time already. All these’ – he waved his pipe round at his black army – ‘are good for fighting and other simple jobs that require no foresight. But Shirota belongs to a different breed, a far more valuable one. And what’s more, he has made an excellent study of foreigners, especially Russians. That’s very important for my plans.’

The very last thing Fandorin had been expecting was a panegyric on the virtues of the former secretary of the consulate, so he listened cautiously, not sure what Tsurumaki was driving at.

But the millionaire puffed on his pipe and carried on in the same style, as if he were thinking out loud,

‘Shirota defined you very precisely: brave, unpredictable and very lucky. That is an extremely dangerous combination, which is why this performance was required.’ He nodded at the safe with the magical radiance streaming out of it. ‘But now everything is changing. I need you. And I need you here, in Japan. There won’t be any police.’

The Don gave an order in Japanese, and suddenly no one was holding Erast Petrovich any longer. The Black Jackets released him, bowed to their master and left the room one by one.

‘Shall we have a talk?’ asked Tsurumaki, gesturing towards two armchairs by the window. ‘Tell your man not to worry. Nothing bad will happen to you.’

Fandorin waved his hand to let Masa know that everything was all right and his servant reluctantly left the room, with a suspicious glance at the master of the house.

‘You need me? Why?’ asked Fandorin, in no hurry to sit down.

‘Because you are brave, unpredictable and very lucky. But you need me even more. You want to save your woman, don’t you? Then sit down and listen.’

The vice-consul sat down at that; he didn’t need to be asked twice.

‘How do I do that?’ he asked quickly. ‘What do you know?’

The Don scratched his beard and sighed.

‘This is going to be a long story. I wasn’t intending to make any excuses to you, to deny all the nonsense that you have imagined about me. But since we shall be fighting a common cause, I shall have to. Let’s try to restore our former friendship.’

‘That won’t be easy,’ Fandorin remarked ironically, unable to resist.

‘I know. But you are an intelligent man and you will realise I am telling the truth … to begin with, let’s clear up the business with Okubo, since that’s where everything began.’ Tsurumaki looked into the other man’s eyes calmly and seriously, as if he had decided to set aside his everyday mask of a jolly bon vivant. ‘Yes, I had the minister removed, but that is our own internal Japanese affair, which shouldn’t be of any interest to you. I don’t know what your view of life is, Fandorin, but for me life is an eternal struggle between Order and Chaos. Order strives to pigeonhole everything, nail it down, render it safe and emasculate it. Chaos demolishes all this neat symmetry, turns society upside down, recognises no laws or rules. In this eternal struggle I am on the side of Chaos, because Chaos is Life, and Order is Death. I know perfectly well that, like all mortals, I am doomed: sooner or later Order will get the better of me, I shall stop floundering about and be transformed into a piece of dead matter. But for as long as I am alive, I wish to live as intensely as I can, so that the earth trembles around me and the symmetry is disrupted. Pardon the philosophy, but I want you to understand correctly how I am made and what I am striving for. Okubo was the absolute incarnation of Order. Nothing but arithmetic and precise accounting. If I had not stopped him, he would have transformed Japan into a second-rate, pseudo-European country, doomed eternally to drag along in the wake of the great powers. Arithmetic is a dead science, because it only takes material things into account. But my Homeland’s great strength is in its spirit, which cannot be quantified. It is non-material, it belongs entirely to Chaos. Dictatorship and absolute monarchy are symmetrical and dead. Parliamentarianism is anarchic and full of life. The downfall of Okubo is a small victory for Chaos, a victory for Life over Death. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?’

‘No,’ replied Fandorin, who was listening intently. ‘But do carry on. Only please, m-move from the philosophy to the facts.’

‘Very well, let it be the facts. I don’t think I need to go into the details of the operation – you already have a good grasp of that. I employed the help of the Satsuman fanatics and several highly placed officials who see the future of Japan in the same way as I do. I feel sorry for Suga. He was an outstanding man and would have gone far. But I bear no grudge against you – you have given me Shirota instead. For the Russians he was a lowly native clerk, but from this seed I shall grow a remarkable sunflower, just you wait and see. And perhaps you and he will make peace with each other yet. Three friends like you, me and him are a great force.’

‘Three friends?’ Erast Petrovich repeated, clutching the armrests of his chair with his fingers. ‘I had three friends. You killed them all.’

The Don was disconcerted by that and his face fell.

‘Yes, that was most unfortunate … I didn’t order them to be killed. I only wanted to take back what should not have fallen into the wrong hands. It is my fault, of course. But only in the sense that I didn’t
forbid
them to be killed, and as far as the Stealthy Ones are concerned, the less bother, the better. I forbade them to touch you, because you are my friend. That’s why they killed the little prince, but not you.’

The titular counsellor shuddered. That sounded like the truth. Tsurumaki had not wanted him dead? But if that was the case, the entire pattern he had figured out was shot to hell!

Erast Petrovich wrinkled up his forehead and immediately restored the sequence of logic:

‘Right. You decided to get rid of me later, when I told you what Onokoji said before he died.’

‘Nothing of the kind!’ Tsurumaki exclaimed resentfully. ‘I arranged everything in the best possible manner. I made Bullcox give me his word, and he kept his promise, because he is a gentleman. He satisfied his vanity, cut a dash, humiliated you in public, but he didn’t maim you or kill you.’

‘But surely … surely the stroke was not staged?’

‘Why, did you think he was struck down by lightning from heaven? Bullcox is an ambitious man. What would he want with the scandal of a killing? But this way he saved his honour and did no damage to his career.’

The pattern had collapsed anyway. No one had intended to kill Erast Petrovich, and his lucky star apparently had nothing to do with anything!

This news made a profound impression on the titular counsellor, but even so he did not allow himself to be put off his stride.

‘But how did you find out that my friends and I had evidence that was dangerous for you?’

‘Tamba told me.’

‘Who t-told you?’

‘Tamba,’ Tsurumaki explained matter-of-factly. ‘The head of the Momochi clan.’

Fandorin was totally bemused now.

‘Are you talking about the ninja? But as far as I’m aware, Momochi Tamba lived hundreds of years ago!’

‘The present Tamba is his successor. Tamba the Eleventh. Only don’t ask me how
he
knew about your plan – I have no idea. Tamba never reveals his secrets.’

‘What does this man look like?’ Erast Petrovich asked, unable to control a nervous tremor.

‘It’s hard to describe him, he changes his appearance. But basically Tamba is short, less than five feet tall, but he can make himself taller, they have some kind of cunning devices for that. Old, skinny … What else? Ah, yes, the eyes. He has absolutely special eyes that are impossible to hide. When he looks at you, they seem to burn right through you. It’s best not to look into them – he’ll put a spell on you.’

‘Yes, that’s him!’ Fandorin exclaimed. ‘I knew it! Tell me more! Have you been dealing with the ninja for a long time?’

The Don paused, gazing at the other man quizzically.

‘Not very long. I was put in contact with them by an old samurai, now deceased. He used to serve the princes Onokoji … The Momochi clan is a very valuable ally, they are capable of working genuine miracles. But they are dangerous to deal with. You never know what is on their mind and what to expect from them. Tamba is the only man in the world I’m afraid of. Did you see how many guards I have in the house? But before, if you recall, I was perfectly happy to spend the night here alone.’

‘What happened between you? Did you not have enough money to pay him?’ Fandorin laughed mistrustfully, glancing at the safe packed with gold ingots.

‘That’s funny,’ Tsurumaki conceded dourly. ‘No, I always paid on time. I don’t understand what happened, and that’s what alarms me most of all. Tamba has started some game of his own, with goals that are not clear to me. And in some strange way that game is connected with you.’