Chekhov nodded. “Chairman Ito, Mr. Holmes, after your visit I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from our shoulders. It has truly been a relief.”
Sherlock thought he knew what they meant. Neither had said so much, but they must have felt a deep sense of guilt over their role in Nicholas’ deception. The two were sincere and retiring by nature—ill-suited to meet the weight of Nicholas’ expectations. But it was fortunate that, as a result, the truth had finally come to light.
“And you truly haven’t incurred Ambassador Shevich’s displeasure?” Ito wanted to confirm.
They smiled. “Ambassador Shevich says that the scales have fallen from his eyes,” Anna said. “He said that even if you are here to help establish an intelligence agency for Japan, he is grateful for being given the chance to learn of the truth. He wondered if he ought to express his thanks directly to Ambassador Fraser.”
“No need, I assure you,” Sherlock said quickly. “Thanks are unnecessary. Please advise Ambassador Shevich to maintain his distance where England is concerned. It is probably for the best that Russia and Britain remain rivals in the Far East, and that our legations stay on their toes when in one another’s presence.”
Anna looked confused. “Truly? But you seemed so interested in peace…”
“Of course I am.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “But I am a realist, that is all.”
The Chairman intervened. “What Mr. Holmes means to say is that it is probably best we not force Ambassadors Shevich and Fraser together unnecessarily, as the two are unlikely to get along.”
“Oh,” Anna said, uncertainly. “If you think that is best then I shall tell the ambassador so.”
Sherlock nodded. “Please do. And as Ambassador Fraser is very busy, if there is any information Ambassador Shevich would like to share with the British, I would be happy to make myself available in Ambassador Fraser’s place. I know that they are still awaiting confirmation about those reports of my death, but until then, should he have any use for my talents, I am sure that I could be of assistance—well, contingent upon any particulars, of course.”
Chekhov fixed his eyes on the English detective. “I’m pleased you say so. In truth, Ambassador Shevich was curious if you knew anything of a man named Olgert Bercerosky?”
“Bercerosky. I’m afraid it is the first time I am hearing that name.”
“I see. The Russian police, too, have uncovered very little beside his name. We know that he is an agitator for the Second International, and that he has taken cover in Japan—nothing more.”
The Second International—a worldwide socialist organization formed two years prior. Its predecessor, First International, had antagonized the Anarchists, who still exerted a strong influence in France, and been dissolved 15 years earlier as a result.
“The Second International advocates for issues such as 8-hour workdays and the formation of militias,” Ito said. “They are hardly extremists. They want May Day to be a public holiday, they organize labor movements…activities on that level. I don’t know what you mean by agitator, but he can hardly be dangerous.”
Chekhov’s eyes fell on Ito. “I can’t say for sure, but in addition to being a Marxist it seems this Bercerosky fellow believes in violent revolution. There is a rumor abroad that it was he who commissioned Sanzo Tsuda to assassinate Tsarevich Nicholas, and that he later murdered Tsuda after Tsuda’s failure, so as to prevent him from talking…Though in my opinion it all sounds rather fanciful.”
Anna smirked too. “Ambassador Shevich heard these rumors through the police, but ignored them. But last night seems to have shaken him. After he learned that Tsarevich Nicholas and His Highness Grand Duke George had switched places, I suppose now anything seems possible.”
Ito nodded, his expression composed. “I understand. I will pass the matter on to Police Chief Sonoda.”
Sherlock observed that Ito was certainly a skilled politician, with an impressive poker face. But he was likely quite alarmed by what he had just heard.
Tsuda’s death had yet to be publicly announced, though naturally the information had already been disclosed to the Russians. If Tsuda really had been assassinated, it was important they investigate this Bercerosky.
“One more thing if I may, while we are here,” Chekhov said. “Last night, after Tsarevich Nicholas returned to the Laskar, Ambassador Shevich wired to Russia. It was decided…We were hoping…that Japan might keep all this a secret? We would like to keep the fact that Tsarevich Nicholas and the Grand Duke switched places, as well as the Grand Duke’s condition, a secret from the world at large.”
Ito frowned. “I am surprised the ambassador would ask you two, who are resigning soon, to carry out such negotiations.”
“No, no, of course. Please give your answer directly to the ambassador. Ms. Luzhkova and I only wished to be of further use to our country.”
“His Imperial Majesty the Emperor even expressed his desire that Japan might accept some asset from Russia on his behalf,” Anna added.
Sherlock chuckled. “You mean to say that His Majesty wishes to inform us that, like the rickshaw drivers, our silence will be handsomely rewarded.”
“Yes.” Chekhov sounded a little sheepish. “Of course, money or land would prove difficult. I hope you understand.”
But Sherlock immediately thought of one thing that wasn’t land or money. A laugh escaped his lips.
Ito seemed to be on the same page. “Indeed,” he said to Chekhov, a twinkle in his eyes, “I think I know just what to request.”
“I’m afraid it won’t do very much good to tell us,” the other man said shyly. “It would be better if you spoke to Ambassador Shevich directly…”
“No,” Ito said, with a satisfied grin. “I believe the Russian Ministry of State Property is precisely the party with whom I need to speak.”
26
Two days a later, at a little past noon, there was something of a ceremony held in the Russian Ambassador’s office: An official signing, with Lt. Colonel Kanevsky and a number of soldiers in attendance. On the Japanese side there were ten people present, including Chairman Ito, Munemitsu Mutsu (the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture), and Police Chief Sonoda. Nicholas was not there.
Sherlock watched from a corner as Ambassador Shevich and Minister Mutsu signed at a desk in the middle of the room.
Kanevsky looked at Sherlock occasionally, not without a pained expression, but made no attempt to chase him from the room. Under the circumstances, their previous agreement appeared to be moot.
Once the signing was finished, Shevich and Mutsu stood. Chekhov and Anna immediately entered, together carrying a book so large it would have been impossible for one person to handle. The volume was bound in red leather with gold leaf, and the title was embossed in Russian. It was a copy of the latest edition of The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences.
“I present this book to you as a sign of our good faith, and of the friendship between Russia and Japan,” Shevich said to Mutsu, in English.
Two Japanese officials stepped forward and received the book.
“Ambassador Shevich,” said Mutsu, obviously pleased, “you have my deepest gratitude. Our country is at a great deficit in regards to the natural sciences. This book shall provide a tremendous boost to our research.”
Shevich’s own smile was wry. “I am happy to be of use. But you should be thanking Mr. Chekhov and Ms. Luzhkova, who persuaded the Ministry of State Property to agree to the trade.”
“If you have difficulty translating any of the passages,” Chekhov said, his smile as wide as his face, “collect all the questions together and we’ll handle them. I’m delighted we were able to share this book with you.”
His emotion was understandable, considering that this was his last official act in government. And it was no small achievement, at that. Anna, too, had been moved to tears.
; Afterwards, the room hummed with relaxed conversation. Police Chief Sonoda approached. “Mr. Holmes. You must forgive my rudeness. When we met earlier at the Chairman’s house I did not realize that I was meeting the Sherlock Holmes. I heard that you had passed away.”
Sherlock looked around to see if anyone was listening, and then placed his index finger to his mouth. “Until the article erroneously reporting my death can be corrected, I hope that your police department will refrain from contacting Scotland Yard.”
“I assure you I understand. Chairman Ito was quite insistent on that point, as well.”
“Chairman Ito appears very concerned over maintaining a separation of powers and modernizing Japan, but I see that he is more than capable of influencing the police force,” Sherlock teased lightly.
“Chairman Ito is an exceptional case. His clout is evident in a multitude of areas, and across various branches of government. But he is no dictator. He respects our opinions and does not abuse his power. Chairman Ito and the head of the Supreme Court of Judicature, Judge Kojima, have each grown to appreciate the other’s importance.”
“Yes, he is a splendid man.” Sherlock gave Sonoda a sidelong glance. “Tell me, what cases have occupied the police as of late?”
“There is one very odd case. Lately there’s been a rash of burglaries over the country. But only worthless, common household items are stolen.”
“Indeed. I myself read an article detailing such thefts. Pottery, dolls, and woodblock prints, I believe.”
“Recently, the thefts have largely been of things like paper fans, kimonos, sandals. Looking at the range and frequency of the crimes, we believe they’re committed by a single man. The thief strikes a number of houses on a single day, all within walking distance, and then moves onto a different neighborhood the following day. But oddly, he only takes items of little worth.”
“Very strange, indeed. Incidentally,” Sherlock asked, glancing around carefully and then lowering his voice, “were you able to determine the cause of Sanzo Tsuda’s death?”
Sonoda was equally hushed. “The original assessment seems to hold. It was illness.”
“Has a funeral been held? I was hoping to view the body.”
“I don’t see how it could be transported to Tokyo…”
“You misunderstand. I hope to go in person.”
“To Kushiro Prison?” Sonoda was aghast. “Yourself ?”
“I should like to make a thorough inspection of the conditions under which Tsuda expired. Perhaps you might make the arrangements…”
Footsteps drew near and Sherlock broke off. Ito and Shevich approached.
Shevich’s expression was complicated and hard to decipher. “Mr. Holmes. Ambassador Fraser has certainly chosen his emissary well. No one from the British legation was invited, but as Chairman Ito’s foreign consultant you were of course free to attend this ceremony.”
“Indeed,” Sherlock bluffed boldly. “If you have any messages for Ambassador Fraser I should be pleased to convey them. And vice versa of course.”
“Vice versa?”
“I refer to Ambassador Fraser’s own wishes. Britain desires a copy of The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences as well.”
“Britain? Why would Britain wish for a copy?”
“Supplement B. What Russia receives from Japan, Britain shall receive as well.”
“That agreement is between Britain and Japan…If you have any claims to make, they should be made with Japan, not with us.”
“But your country has asked Japan to protect a secret. Unfortunately, the British royal family has suffered no similar scandal and thus had no need to ask Japan’s silence. Instead, Britain should like to request an asset of similar value.”
“That is utter sophistry!”
“Japan, of course, will keep its promise. They would never transfer or sell The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences to another country. Hence why we prefer to receive our copy from Russia, ensuring everything remain above board. Surely you could provide a second copy.”
“The presumption! Why should Russia give Britain a copy of the book?”
“Have you forgotten? Japan is not the only country that has been made aware of Tsarevich Nicholas’ curious behavior. Britain now knows, as well.”
Shevich’s face turned sour. “So you are saying if I deliver a copy, your country will also keep this information to themselves?”
“Naturally. I should prefer, however, if we avoid any official ceremonies like the one held just now. Ambassador Fraser does not wish to be publicly involved. I am afraid you must rely on my own good offices.”
“The Queen’s shrewd and slavish mongrel…You are treacherous indeed, Holmes,” Shevich spat, all attempts at politeness gone. He turned on his heel and left.
Ito leaned in close, his expression dubious. “The Complete Work? Considering the differences in your natural environments, what use would Britain have for such a book?”
“None. I wish to read it myself,” Sherlock muttered. “It includes analyses of soil and rainfall, descriptions of the variety of rocks. Until I learn to analyze natural phenomena here in an appropriately scientific manner, my powers of deduction shall all be for naught.”
27
Ito and Sonoda made arrangements for Sherlock to visit Kushiro Prison. He boarded the steam engine at Shinagawa alone, and travelled north via Nippon Railway.
He was riding first class. The carriage’s design mimicked that of a British rail car. The seats were wider than those on the train Holmes had taken from Yokohama to Shimbashi; perhaps the designers had anticipated foreigners taking this line. The carriage was brand new, and surprisingly, shook minimally during travel. The ride was much more pleasant than any currently offered by British rail.
The Japanese railway had been extended to Aomori just this month; Ito’s tenacious pursuit of modernizing the country, and in particular his fixation with rail transit, was producing results. In the only 24 years since the Meiji Restoration, a major artery already joined Tokyo to northern Japan. Such rapid development was unheard of in any other country. The speed with which the Japanese had adopted these technologies was impressive.
The journey to Aomori would be long—18 hours one way. But Sherlock did not find it at all tedious. He devoted 70 percent of his mental powers to the case before him; he used the remaining 30 percent to analyze and process the various points of visual information. The scenery from the train window was fascinating: Pine trees lined the tracks, and beyond them, sprawling farm lands. When thatched roofs gave way to tiled ones and Sherlock began to see the occasional wagon, the steam engine slowed.
They were approaching a station. The train was making a stop at Shinjuku.
A wide road stretched from the station. There were no Western buildings in sight, only rows of single-story Japanese structures. He saw signs for a blacksmith, a soba restaurant, and a goldfish vendor—with characters he had memorized when he’d been in Ginza. There were not so many people on the streets here as there were in Ginza, and the ones who were were dressed in Japanese clothing. They milled around at a relaxed pace.
Sherlock turned his eyes away from the window and observed his fellow passengers. Intriguingly, he could not form deductions about them as quickly as he might have in London. As first-class passengers, most of them were fastidious with their appearance. Sherlock in particular could not understand why one seated woman, wearing a dress, did not lean back against her chair. Instead she leaned forward, her back stiff.
When they reached Ikebukuro Station, a woman in Japanese garb boarded the train. The broad sash that this woman wore about her waist was tied at her back. At last Sherlock understood. In order to preserve the artful manner in which the sash had been arranged, she had to constantly lean forward as she sat. The women wearing the dress had developed that same habit, and Sherlock concluded that she must gene
rally wear Japanese clothing.
A vendor on the station platform was selling boxed lunches. Sherlock opened his window and called out to the vendor, who quickly approached. “This-u, is-u, bento,” the vendor said, smiling and repeating himself several times.
He remained in the vicinity of the first-class carriages. As might have been expected, the lunch Sherlock purchased was very high quality. There was steak, as well as several items Sherlock was familiar with from Ito’s table: Kyoto-style grilled fish, eel and tofu, grilled and glazed cuttlefish, kamaboko fish cakes…The items varied in shape and amount, but all had been neatly packed into the box so there was no space left to spare. It was all very Japanese. The taste, too, was delicious, as though freshly prepared. When Sherlock had been crossing the Dover Strait to attend on the French government, he had met a Parisian industrialist, who claimed the English had no appreciation for fine cuisine. Sherlock now felt he understood what that man had meant. Though he by no means wished to disparage Mrs. Hudson, he often found himself without appetite in London, and now he wondered if it wasn’t the food that might be at fault.
Thus absorbed in deduction and observation, Sherlock passed the time quickly. The sun set and it became night. The female passengers did not hesitate to sleep in their seats—testament to how safe the country had become. Nor did anyone attempt to sneak aboard the first-class carriage without buying a ticket, an inevitable occurrence on British trains. Ito had told him the fine for sneaking onboard was exorbitant, but this was true in England as well; the people of Japan seemed more naturally averse to causing trouble. Of course criminals still existed, but in general there seemed to be a deep-seated appreciation of the group and observance of the rules.
As dawn broke, Sherlock saw a grand mountain range spring into view from beyond the train window. The only signs of human activity were the occasional thatched roof or country ranch. What remained was unspoiled nature, sprawling as far as the eye could see. In contrast with Tokyo, the distance between each station stop was long. The steam engine puffed along at full speed.
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