by A. J. Roe
The car pulled up to the temple-like entrance—a square archway raised upon three steps—and a portly middle-aged white man stepped out to greet the vehicle. The man who Rick assumed was Voss waddled over to the waiting car, dressed in a grey and purple Kimono with wooden sandals that cracked against the floor with each hasty step. A huge, warm smile spread across the Professor’s circular face, highlighting the wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth. His eyes had dark circles around them, partially hidden beneath large round glasses that magnified his pupils to extreme proportions.
“Richard,” the Professor yelled with excitement, “What a pleasure to meet you!” He grabbed Rick’s hand as he stepped from the car and began pumping it up and down with such force that a nerve pinged in his elbow. “It’s wonderful to see you in person at last. How was the journey? I hope everything was to your taste.”
Voss finally took a gasp of air, looking as though he might keel over any minute. His florid complexion was that of a man who liked to live a little too well.
“Nice to meet you too.” Rick smiled, a little overwhelmed by the quick-fire questions of the bizarre figure.
“Oh, my apologies,” the Professor said, still shaking Rick’s hand and showing no sign of letting up soon. “My name’s Igor Voss, I’ve been a little caught up in the excitement after seeing the image of your find.” His voice dropped as he glanced over to where the driver was now standing by the front of the car, a few feet away. “I trust the relic is somewhere safe?”
“Relic?” Rick tried to stifle a smile. “Yeah, of course.” Voss’s face beamed and he returned the grin, certain now that he would be leaving considerably richer.
“Please come inside,” the Professor said, leading his guest by the arm. “Someone will bring your things through immediately.”
“No need,” Rick held up his single leather bag. “Someone told me I was only going to France.”
“Oh my, I’m so sorry about that, we can’t be too careful nowadays though I’m afraid. These are strange times we’re living in.”
“Very true. But that’s okay, I’ve always wanted to visit Japan.”
“Well that’s fantastic,” Voss gushed, “Once our business is concluded I’d be over the moon to personally take you on a tour of some of the local sites. I’m sure you couldn't help but notice Asakura at the foot of the hill coming in, it's such a pretty little town and so full of history.” The Professor practically pulled Rick by the arm up the three stone steps towards the entrance.
“Welcome to my home.” The Professor gestured with a thick-fingered hand towards the front door. Just beside the entrance, with her back against the stone outer wall, stood a petite Japanese woman. Rick guessed she was in her late twenties, but for all he knew she could have been anywhere between fifteen and fifty. She was quite pretty but had a bit of a timid, geeky look about her, appearing even more tiny next to the larger-than-life professor.
The woman was dressed in a neat white blouse with plain black suit trousers; the kind of outfit that was all business and no pleasure. “This is my colleague and confidante, the soon-to-be Doctor Hazumi Yuriko.”
The young woman bowed her head. “Onegaishimasu, welcome,” she said softly.
“Thanks,” he imitated her bow, craning his neck forwards at an awkward angle and immediately felt like an idiot for even trying.
The Professor removed his sandals and signalled for Rick to take off his shoes. He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect considering the eleven-hour plane flight and the state of his holed, once-white socks which were waiting to release a truly repugnant aroma.
“Yuriko is an extremely capable young woman who has worked with me for a number of years. She recently joined me full time to assist with my research and acquisitions.” His final word sent a jolt of excitement down Rick’s spine. I really hope this is going to be an acquisition.
The more he thought about the voice that he’d heard in the moments before the crash, the more convinced Rick became that it had all just been in his head. Now, despite the excitement of having been flown to Japan on the merit of his discovery alone, he wanted to just sell the weapon and be done with the thing.
“I hope you don’t mind her sitting in on our meeting, but unfortunately ancient Chinese is a little beyond my capabilities.”
“Of course not,” Rick smiled at her.
“Thank you,” Yuriko bowed again and waited for her boss to start moving. She then turned to lead the group into the house.
With each step the hallway around them seemed to grow more simple and yet more impressive at the same time. The walls were made entirely from panels of light reddish-brown wood which soaked up any noise, giving the space a calm and silent feel, like a church or temple.
In the centre of the long corridor sat a single plinth with a brown porcelain bowl in the middle. It was somehow both elegant and conspicuous all at once. The woven bamboo matting was warm beneath Rick’s feet and a cool breeze wafted through the space. Voss’s home exuded an air of tranquillity that he had rarely experienced anywhere, let alone walking through a stranger’s hallway with his shoes off. For a few seconds, Rick pondered how he would live if he had such money. Soon enough.
Twenty feet ahead, the group entered a large open hall that looked more like something out of a Bruce Lee movie than a living room. It was roughly fifty feet across, with wooden pillars at each corner. The floor was a spongy type of wicker mat and to the left and right vast silk tapestries hung with images of dragons and hunting tigers all woven with magnificent skill. Rick was no connoisseur but even for someone with his limited knowledge of art, it was clear that these pieces must each have been worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, if not more.
The Professor indicated a row of soft-soled black indoor shoes that had been lined up by size at the entrance. Rick followed Yuriko’s lead and slipped into a pair of the trainers before falling in behind his host and crossing the threshold into the hall.
Above them were rows of ornate, hexagonal wooden lanterns hanging from the rafters and casting a warm yellow glow over the room. Rick’s gaze followed them to the far wall, which was covered entirely by an enormous rack of swords that stretched from floor to ceiling—numbering a hundred or more. Holy shit, he thought, running his eyes across what was no doubt a priceless collection. The Professor followed his line of sight towards the treasures.
“Beautiful, aren’t they? Japanese swords are a little passion of mine, the design, the function, the sheer skill of those that crafted them, everything about the Katana resonates with perfection.”
“Definitely,” Rick said as he wandered from the centre of the room up close to the rack. He recalled once reading a book about the process of Japanese metallurgy, in which the master sleeps just one or two hours per night over a period of forty days as he heats, tempers and folds the blade thousands of times, making sure it never cools too fast or overheats. The tiniest mistake with temperature could result in minute fractures or stresses in the steel that might prove fatal in combat. The book went on to explain that this attention to detail was what produced the most powerful and valuable blades humanity had ever seen.
“It’s quite the collection.” Rick grinned and reached out a hand for one of the swords that sat just above head height, in the centre of the three racks. For some reason, it stood out among the others. He stopped just a moment before his hand made contact.
“May I?”
“Of course. I only ask you to be careful my friend. This blade is the pride of my collection. It was forged by the personal bladesmith of the first Tokugawa Shogun, widely considered to be the greatest sword builder that ever lived. This was his final work.” Voss paused for a minute as if to respect the majesty of the creation. “You can see the blade has not been fine polished towards the hilt, according to legend he was assassinated before he could complete the weapon. The flawed nature of the sword is what makes it so rare and valuable. It perfectly embodies the Japanese spirit of Wabi-Sabi—the beauty of i
mperfection.”
With a swish of steel, Rick released the sword from the plain, black unvarnished scabbard. He ran the blade through the air, it was so streamlined and sharp it almost floated with a life of its own.
Rick was suddenly hit with an urge to try and cleave something (or someone) in half, much like the inexplicable desire to jump that always comes when standing on a high ledge. Fortunately, he managed to suppress it.
Sheathing the magnum-opus with absolute care, Rick returned it to its home upon the wall.
At his side, Voss cleared his throat, “Now, before we get down to business, there is one extremely important matter to discuss.” Their eyes met. The Professor’s eyebrows lowered and his face hardened. Rick held his breath.
10
“Bangohan!”
“What?” Rick’s face contorted in confusion, his jet-lagged brain was at an absolute loss searching for meaning his host’s words.
“Dinner!” A smile broke through on the Professor’s face. “I assume you haven’t eaten this evening?”
“I think it's still morning for me; not sure if I could manage dinner right now to be honest.”
“Nonsense. You must eat. It’s the best way to acclimatise to your new time zone. Do you like Japanese food?” Curiosity over what he might expect from the overweight billionaire’s kitchen won Rick over. “Sure.”
The dining room matched the style of the rest of the house—a mixture of traditional Japanese furnishings interspersed with modern conveniences. Although constructed from stone, the walls of the room had been covered with sliding white paper panels that gave the impression of an old-style tea house or martial arts dojo.
Rather than sitting on cushions at the low table as it seemed at first glance, Rick noticed a cavity had been cut into the floor. He wasn’t sure if this was a style feature or a requirement for the Professor who looked like he might have trouble getting back up if he went too far down.
The meal certainly didn’t look like it would disappoint either. The table was lit up by an incredible rainbow display of Sashimi, Tempura, seaweed salads and a dozen other mystery dishes.
The Professor huffed, lowering himself down at Rick’s side while Yuriko slithered in opposite them. Once the group was settled, one of the waiters lugged in a comically oversized bottle of Sake, similar to the huge Goliaths of Champagne that are smashed against ships or ejaculated by Formula One winners.
As he was offered a warm beaker of the cloudy liquid, the thought occurred to Rick that Voss might be trying to get him drunk. Still wary, he took the cup, clinked it with his host and watched as the Professor drained his in less than a second. It was a relief to know the big man was probably more of a risk to himself than anyone else.
As the Professor began to gush about Samurai swords and everything else that had attracted him to this country, through mouthfuls of sushi, Rick found his thoughts wandering to Yuriko. There was something a little enigmatic about her; she'd declined a drink at first, although her boss eventually coaxed her into sipping one slowly. Rick decided he needed to keep an eye on both her and his bag sitting in the corner of the room.
Soon after they had begun eating, Rick’s head was swimming from the cups of warm and cloudy rice wine that Voss kept passing him. As they ate, a personal waiter stood at the side of the room. He refilled their glasses and changed their chopsticks every few minutes.
Conversation with the Professor flowed easily. He gave Rick a mini lecture on Japanese mythology, while Yuriko chimed in occasionally to dispute the odd theory or date with a confident tone that just came off as smug. After a little while, Rick found himself fighting the argumentative instinct that booze brought over him and reminded himself that he was a guest in someone else’s home and couldn’t get away with telling Yuriko to ‘shut up’.
What exactly is she doing here? He wondered, this wasn’t a professional setting by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe Voss is banging her? No, it'd be too weird.
Despite the Professor’s enormous wealth, it didn’t seem likely, or even within the realms of physical possibility that he and Yuriko could have sex, without her being crushed or suffocated.
As the conversation progressed, Voss revealed how his investments in electronic manufacturing as a younger man had introduced him to the Far East, which in turn spurred his interest in the region and had eventually provided him with the time and wealth to pursue his interests. He eventually gained a doctorate in anthropology from Oxford and published several well-regarded papers and books on Asian history and culture. Finally, the conversation turned in the direction Rick had been dreading since he first arrived.
“I hear it was quite the discovery you made a few years back. A rather large haul of silver if I recall correctly?”
“Yeah, but I only ever saw a fraction of what we found.”
“The dreaded tax-man eh?” The Professor laughed, his red cheeks puffing out even further than usual.
“Sounds fair to me,” Yuriko chipped in from across the table.
“Excuse me?” he said, in disbelief at her audacity.
“I read the articles and the paper you wrote about it. It was basically just blind luck that you found anything at all.”
Rick’s cheeks burned. He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed at her attack or the fact that she was just saying what he had long thought but never been called out on. “No actually, I found that silver because I never gave up looking when everyone else did! It took months of careful planning and preparation.”
“And seconds for you to read the maps wrong.”
Rick pointed his finger at the girl. “Why don’t y-”
“-Okay, okay.” Voss raised his palms between the pair. “Let’s keep it civil. We all spend enough time and energy trying to convince others of the legitimacy of our field, we shouldn’t have to convince one another.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Rick did his best to swallow his pride and Yuriko gave him a sweet smile from across the table. He ground and teeth. Sanctimonious bitch.
11
By the time the meal was done, a good forty minutes later, Rick had successfully managed to eat off the stupor of the alcohol. Instead he was now struggling to keep his eyes open, the booze certainly hadn’t done his body clock any favours.
Two middle-aged housekeepers soon entered and set about cleaning up the few remaining scraps of food (although he got the impression his host didn’t often leave much for them to clean).
Heaving himself up onto his feet, Voss invited his guests to do the same. Rick took his bag from the corner and slowly trundled out behind the Professor and Yuriko, his belly weighing heavy from the feast. They went back through the hall and up a wooden spiral staircase on the far right of the epic space.
On the second floor, a narrow corridor ran the width of the house. They went through the first door on the left and entered a room that was aesthetically different from the rest of the residence.
A pair of tall rectangular windows dominated the right-hand side of the office space. Beneath them a brown leather sofa and ten-foot-long mahogany coffee table ran most of the length of the room. On the three other walls sat a fortune in antiques; everything from tastefully presented displays of Nazi medals to busts of Mesopotamian Gods.
In keeping with its museum-like aesthetic, the office was lit with a dim orange glow. Despite its gentle lighting and soft furnishings, the spectacle of the room seemed to give Rick a second wind, briefly making him forget all about sleep.
The Professor waved his guests inside and closed the heavy wooden door with a thud, before sliding a thick steel deadbolt across, sealing the three inside. “You’ll have to excuse my caution,” Voss said, “I’d prefer to keep the details of our little meeting as secure as possible.”
“Sounds good to me,” Rick agreed. He walked the length of the nearest wall and stopped to study a particularly grotesque Japanese demon mask mounted on a black slate plaque. Yuriko sat quietly on the sofa and set about pouring three tumb
lers of brandy from a crystal decanter in the centre of the table. Like most things in the room, it was probably worth more than all of Rick’s possessions.
The young woman filled two of the glasses up halfway and in the third she poured no more than a few drops. Lightweight.
Yuriko walked over and passed one of the full cups to Rick, giving him a superficial smile. She gently set the other on the table before Professor Voss with the type of grace and care that only the Japanese possess.
Drink in hand, Rick wandered back over towards the Professor who raised his glass up in a toast. “To friendships, old and new,” he said, nodding towards both guests in turn. After a long gulp, the red glow of alcohol, that had only just begun to fade from the Professor’s cheeks, returned with a vengeance.
“Would you like to see it then?” Rick said, barely able to contain his impatience any longer. This was the moment he’d been waiting for his whole adult life.
“More than anything. Although let’s move over to my desk. I have had it sterilised in preparation.”
Voss left his brandy on the coffee table and wandered over to the back of the room. A huge antique desk that looked like it belonged to a Victorian bank manager sat at the rear. Behind it were floor to ceiling bookshelves, each filled with hundreds of leather-bound tomes.
Three chairs had already been placed around a plastic film and white LED magnifier light that had been clamped onto the corner. The Professor opened the top drawer and removed a small, green cardboard box. He then pulled out a pair of rubber surgical gloves and passed the container to Yuriko who took a pair and then passed it along to Rick. He hesitated a moment, wondering if it would be stupid to let them know how he had been handling it so far. Yes. Definitely.
Voss swapped his glasses for a customised pair that clipped on behind his head and pressed his hands together expectantly, looking at his guest.
