“Were you able to observe your brother’s condition when you arrived?”
“Yes…He was in serious condition, and remained senseless. He still does, today.”
The entire conversation had left Ito reeling. They had been notified at first that the injury was serious, and included damage to the skull. During His Grace’s visit, however, they were told the injury was quite minor. As confusing as that discrepancy had been, Ito never imagined that the truth would be as strange as this.
Nicholas stared off into space. “I was uninjured, of course, but we wrapped my head in bandages. We arranged our story with the court physician in advance, before the Emperor arrived. George was transferred to the Pamiat Azova, then later to another ship, and then to a hospital in Vladivostok.”
And this explained why Prince Takehito Arisugawa and the interpreter, Naohide Madenokoji, had not been admitted into the room. Naturally they could not be allowed inside. They still believed Nicholas was the younger brother.
“After the incident,” Sherlock said, “the Emperor was not the only person you needed to deceive. There were reporters, as well.”
“Yes, precisely. Originally we planned that I would go to Tokyo, and we could take photographs then. It would have looked strange if the military photographers had not taken any photos before the Otsu incident. After Siam, they might have been punished for forgetting their duties again.”
Sherlock snorted. “Your Highness is very kind to worry.”
Nicholas was offended. “We didn’t mean any harm. We assumed the whole matter would remain secret.”
“You summoned the two rickshaw drivers to the warship in order to falsify some photographs. That is why you asked them to wear their rickshaw uniforms.”
“You have worked it all out, I see. Yes. We paid the drivers a great sum, and awarded them with medals to keep them quiet after. We thought if we had given them a one-time reward they might have had second thoughts afterward. But a lifetime pension meant we could cut off their funds if they should ever let the secret slip.”
“Very effective. I suspect your father had a hand in devising such a threat.”
“Yes. I had hoped to keep the whole affair a secret from Father, but George was still senseless when we sent him to Vladivostok. We had no choice but to lay the whole thing bare. I had the captain send a wire to ask for Father’s orders.”
“The medal ceremony was not held until the evening. You invited the drivers aboard at noon. That was so you could sneak them from the ship and take your photographs.”
“We lowered the boat from the starboard side in order to avoid detection. Disguising ourselves as commoners, we docked at a small fishing port where we took the photographs using a rickshaw we’d arranged for. I wore the same bowler and blazer that George had when he was in Otsu. We continued taking pictures until the sun dipped and began to set, at which point the photographer said it was too dark to take any more. We returned to the warship by boat, and held the medal ceremony then.”
Now it finally makes sense, Ito thought. That must have been when the rickshaw drivers saw Mt. Fuji.
“After spending so much time taking fake photographs, I should think you would have more to show for it,” Sherlock said in some astonishment. “You provided only two photographs to the newspapers.”
“But if even a single passerby was in frame, someone might work out that the photographs were not taken when we said they were. We had to be sure nothing was behind us that could give away our location, and that the lighting generally matched my brother George’s travels. So from all the pictures we took, we were left with only two photographs.”
“You expressed gratitude to the Emperor for his visit. Before returning to Russia you also released a similar message in the newspapers, thanking the Japanese people.”
“I was nearly moved to tears when I learned of the faith George had inspired in the people of Japan. My brother had truly loved this country. I had to continue expressing those same sentiments to some degree, in his place.”
“I assume your true feelings were much less generous.”
“Much less,” Nicholas replied stiffly.
“Afterward,” Sherlock prompted softly, “when the court released your diary…”
“It was Father’s idea, to better establish the narrative of my travels in Japan.”
“In your diary, however, you stated that none of the Japanese people came to your aid. The statement resulted in controversy.”
“That’s what my cousin Prince George of Greece said in his report. He insisted quite vehemently that it was he who saved my brother. It was also Prince George who told me that people along the road did not intervene.”
“The people standing along the road had their heads bowed,” Ito said. “Most of them didn’t even see the attack when it happened. Once the commotion had begun and they had finally raised their heads, all they would have seen was a policeman—an officer of the law—running down the street. Of course they only watched. What else would you expect them to do?”
Nicholas raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You mean to tell me that the people did not recognize George because he was wearing ordinary clothes, whereas the familiar policeman projected an air of authority? Is that how the mind of a peasant works? I find that rather unpersuasive.”
Sherlock didn’t turn his gaze away from the Tsarevich. “The Japanese had hurt your brother. You hated them now more than ever. Correct?”
“Of course I hated them.” Nicholas stared at Sherlock defiantly. “Perhaps it is wrong to say this in front of Chairman Ito, but you wanted me to be honest. I knew the Japanese were uncivilized barbarians before we even got here, just like the people in Siam and China. After the Otsu attack, I was still hopeful. I thought George would regain his senses before long. But his condition has grown worse! The doctors say they are unsure how to treat him, and there is no telling if he will ever recover…”
“You referred to the Japanese as monkeys?”
“They are damned monkeys, not even people. How many foreigners were slaughtered in this country, mere decades ago? They are savage yellow monkeys and I will never forgive them.”
The hairs on the back of Ito’s neck bristled. “Then you take no responsibility for sending your brother in your place? Of making a mockery of our country?”
Nicholas stood up, his eyes flashing with anger. “If my brother hadn’t taken my place it would have been me who was attacked. The chauvinism of the Japanese, to protect the man who attacked my brother when you know he should be executed! I detest it!”
“We are not chauvinists! We are a country of laws!”
“Those are empty excuses. Tell me, what were you doing before the Meiji Restoration? Are you going to say you never supported joui, not even once? That you never spilled Western blood?”
Ito was silent. Not for lack of a counterargument, however. He knew Nicholas was only trying to change the subject, and he would not allow himself to be provoked. Westerners were quick to bring up joui when they wanted to portray themselves as victims and justify their aggression against Japan. However much Japan attempted to develop and progress, their reputation was still shackled to the Bakufu. Was it truly Japan, though, that had been high-handed? No. Rather, wasn’t it the Western powers who had resorted to force to interfere in Asia?
Sherlock interceded, raising both hands. “Our only interest now is the truth. Tsarevich Nicholas, you were preoccupied by hatred of the Japanese, and a desire for revenge. The international community, however, has applauded you for your magnanimity. This only caused you further rage.”
Nicholas looked down and sighed. “It was galling. And Father would not understand at all. He counseled me to be patient. Can you believe it? The ministers and generals all insisted that I abide. They are insane. Russia has been laying the groundwork to crush Japan for ages. Why else would we build the Siberian rai
lway, or Vladivostok port?”
Chekhov shifted in discomfort. “Your Highness, with all due respect, I am afraid you have misunderstood His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s intentions. His Imperial Majesty, the ministers, the generals—all they wish for is peace. They would never pursue any actions they thought would lead to war.”
“I don’t believe you! I am not the only one who realizes the Japanese are damned monkeys. Important people—in the military, in the government—agree with me. Ever since I was a child, everyone I know has looked down on Japan. The only reason we do not act now is because they have the British backing them. Japan is ours for the taking, if only Father would not fear the Brits. You see, Chairman Ito even came here today with a British lapdog!”
Nicholas’ angry voice reverberated. The quiet that ensued almost seemed itself like a sound. The more silent it was, the louder the pulsing in everyone’s ears.
“So you demanded revenge against the Japanese,” Sherlock said coolly, “but your father refused to lend you an ear. Instead, he ordered that you negotiate with the Siamese. You saw this as an opportunity to take action on your own. You anchored in Japan rather than Siam, and goaded Ambassador Shevich into reigniting disagreement over Tsuda’s verdict. You hoped that you could pressure Japan until it broke.”
“I wasn’t acting alone. The captain of the ship sympathized with me.”
“And your father probably predicted what you would do. This explains why he did not allow you to take your imperial flagship. But you requested the largest escort you could, and then led your string of cruisers about like they were toys. You remind me of a boy who has run away from home dreaming of military glory.”
Nicholas stepped forward and shouted in Sherlock’s face. “You dog! You insolent English dog!”
“Am I as insolent as you were when you deceived the Emperor and King Rama V?” Sherlock said sharply. “Your behavior is not fitting of a crown prince. Protest all you like, but after such behavior I am afraid there are few foreign dignitaries who will find value in your opinion. Even now you flinch at shadows, and you are terrified that unless you get this tattoo upon your arm you will be undone. Your behavior in all this is beneath Japan’s dignity.”
Nicholas’ face turned bright red. He raised his arms in the air, but made no attempt to swing at Sherlock—who towered over the Tsarevich. Instead Nicholas sat down again and cradled his head in his hands.
They heard a commotion from the hallway. Many footsteps approached and the door flew open with enough force to nearly tear it off its hinges.
Lt. Colonel Kanevsky rushed inside, accompanied by three guards. Ambassador Shevich came last.
Shevich glanced first at Ito, and then at Sherlock. Unbridled rage spread across his face. “It is the Queen’s mongrel!” he shouted. “How dare you show yourself again! You have broken our agreement. I hope you are prepared now for the consequences!”
Kanevsky and his guards rushed to Nicholas’ side. Nicholas remained slumped over in the chair. They seemed to be urging him to escape.
“A moment,” Ito said to the ambassador. “You misunderstand.”
“Chairman Ito, what on earth are you wearing?”
“Tsarevich Nicholas has confessed everything. Once you learn what he has done, you will realize your own behavior toward our country has been greatly in the wrong.”
The Russians paused in confusion. Kanevsky cast a questioning look at Nicholas.
Nicholas rose solemnly to his feet. “I have no idea what they are referring to.”
The guards stood at attention, though clearly confused. Nicholas walked past them, and headed for the door.
Shevich turned toward Ito again. “How can you claim Japan is a nation of laws when the Chairman of the Privy Council himself intrudes upon our private property? This is the Russian legation! What could possibly drive you to—”
“Stop!” Chekhov shouted.
Everyone fell silent. All eyes had turned toward Chekhov. There were rivulets of sweat running down his face.
Chekhov stared at Shevich, his face grave. “I heard it all. Unlike in May, it was not His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s will that we come here to call again for Sanzo Tsuda’s execution. Tsarevich Nicholas has acted alone. Mr. Holmes laid out the facts just now, and His Highness the Tsarevich admitted they were true.”
Shevich’s eyes widened. Nicholas was already on his way out of the room, but he stopped, no doubt feeling the stares of disbelief from behind him. He stood motionless, his back turned.
Chekhov continued. “I believe…It seems His Highness the Tsarevich has misunderstood some of Russian policy. The Siberian railway, for instance. Russia has given Japan permission to use it for trade. It was not built to facilitate an invasion.”
Anna began to speak as well, her voice high and flustered. “Grand Duke George is still senseless and incapacitated. In his grief, His Highness Tsarevich Nicholas has grown to resent Japan.”
“What are you saying?” Shevich was stupefied. “I don’t understand. What has happened to Grand Duke George?”
Ito’s jaw dropped in amazement. The ambassador didn’t know? Was he entirely unaware that Grand Duke George had posed as Nicholas to visit Japan?
It was possible, of course. Tokyo had been the only place Nicholas actually visited in person. He probably only met Ambassador Shevich during that portion of the trip.
And though Shevich undoubtedly rushed to Kyoto as soon as the Otsu incident occurred, by the time he arrived, Nicholas must have already taken George’s place in the sickbed.
Chekhov sighed. “The entire crew of the Pamiat Azova—the captain, the attendants, even the sailors—were in on this. We were forbidden from telling you the truth, Ambassador. That we travelled with His Highness Grand Duke George on official business for the past four months, that he is resting in Paris…It was all a lie.”
The color drained from Shevich’s face. “You expect me to believe this?! By the time of the attack His Highness Grand Duke George had already returned home. I was told so by the Emperor himself!”
“We were following His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s orders! And His Highness the Tsarevich’s, as well!” Chekhov’s voice rose, and his red hair seemed increasingly disordered. “But we were wrong. We shouldn’t have!”
The room fell silent again. This time no one broke it. Everyone stared at Nicholas with bated breath.
Finally, Kanevsky drew himself up. He spoke in Russian, but his voice sounded tentative. He seemed to be asking Nicholas a question.
Nicholas continued to face away. His reply was clipped. The guards glanced at each other as he exited to the hallway.
Chekhov turned to Ito with a haggard look. “His Highness asked that they see the guests outside.”
Shevich and Kanevsky stared at each other, clearly at a loss.
Sherlock remained calm. “I called at the legation today to help correct your misunderstanding. You are of course welcome to reinstate our previous arrangement until such a time as reports of my death can be confirmed as false. I wish you a good day.”
He left the room smoothly.
“Ambassador,” Ito addressed Shevich. “My apologies for our sudden visit. I will take my leave now as well. Let us meet again in the coming days.”
The other man remained stunned. Chekhov and Anna seemed exhausted, but also clearly relieved. The two had shown true courage. Ito bowed deeply, before turning and walking out the door.
25
The next morning, Sherlock sat at breakfast with the Ito family. He had changed into his morning jacket before joining them at the low table. It was eccentric, but this arrangement was already becoming second nature to him.
“No!” Asako said. “Obasama is Japanese for ‘aunt.’ ‘Grandmother’ is Obaasama.”
Sherlock scowled as he worked his chopsticks. “I confess I do not see the difference
.”
Ito smiled. “It is the length of the vowel, Mr. Holmes. The first vowel sound is held for a beat longer.”
Sherlock still could not hear the difference. It was a difficult difference for an English speaker. “How do you say mother?”
“Okaasama,” Ikuko said.
“Hmph. But don’t you call the gentleman across the way as Okasama?”
Asako and Ikuko glanced at each other and burst out laughing. “That’s Oka-san. Mr. Oka,” said Ikuko. “When being polite, you would address him as Oka-sama.”
“You mean they are the same? Mother and Mr. Oka?”
“No, not the same!” Ito’s daughters were still laughing when they were interrupted by a voice from outside, speaking Japanese in a foreign accent.
“Sumimasen!”
One of the servants trotted to the gate. A moment later he returned and approached the veranda. Umeko stood and spoke with him in Japanese.
“A Mr. Chekhov and Ms. Luzhkova are here, from the Russian legation,” she said, turning back toward the room.
The air of surprise was palpable. Ito rose to his feet. He and Sherlock put on their shoes at the front door and stepped outside.
Indeed, Chekhov and Anna stood outside the gate. Though they still had a timid air, they seemed calmer now than they had the day before. Ito asked them to enter the garden.
“Will you join us for breakfast?” he invited.
“No thank you,” Chekhov said, slowing his steps. “We are only stopping by on our way to work.”
“It seems very early. Is something wrong?” Sherlock asked.
The two Russians looked at each other before turning back. “We wanted to tell you our news in person. Once we return to Russia, Ms. Luzhkova and I will be resigning from the Ministry of State Property.”
Ito furrowed his brow. “Resigning? Can this be because of yesterday…”
Anna shook her head. “Not at all. Tsarevich Nicholas was angry, but Ambassador Shevich knows we are not to blame. We have chosen to resign of our own volition.”
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