by Ben Stevens
‘I understand, Ennin-sensei,’ returned one samurai respectfully, obviously the leader of the group. ‘We will get him to the castle dungeon immediately.’
‘Please inform the daimyo that I will visit him presently, to answer any questions he may have concerning this incident within his territory,’ continued my master. ‘But first, I have to finish my own investigations.’
‘Yes, Ennin-sensei,’ returned the same samurai, who then instructed two other warriors to tie the thief’s hands behind his back, and to hold his arms as he was escorted to the castle that was no great distance away and so captivity.
6
Trying (and yet failing entirely) to understand what had just taken place, I followed my master back down the large hill that ran from the temple area of the town towards the harbor and the sea. Soon we were again within the sprawling, winding streets full of shops, inns and other businesses, the whole area packed with people. Lanterns and signs hung everywhere, the air thick with the delicious smells of cooking food, while numerous voices spoke a variety of languages.
My master walked so quickly that it was all I could do to keep up with him. Finally we were outside the inn named ‘The Blue Dragon’. We entered inside, to a small eatery area with only one or two customers, my master saying curtly to the woman serving –
‘I am here to see Zhang Wei.’
The woman nodded, and coming out from behind the counter ushered us through a curtain that hung on one side of the room. We found ourselves being escorted along a short corridor, before the woman stopped outside a sliding door. Tapping lightly on it with her hand, she then pushed it open, and bade us enter.
A man knelt at a low table began to stand up in surprise. He was clearly a seafarer, wearing a beaten old leather jerkin, with a plaited ponytail (his hair largely shaved on top), rings in his ear and a swarthy, sunburned complexion.
‘Who are… what are you want?’ he began, in faltering Japanese.
My master returned a flurry of words in a language I had never heard him speak before. I assumed it was Chinese – obviously, this man before us was the captain of the ship that had sailed from that country. And I knew already that my master was fluent in this tongue.
As my master spoke – sternly, it seemed to me – the captain’s expression become increasingly agonized. Soon he was bowing low, repeating a word I could only assume meant ‘Sorry’.
A few further snatches of conversation, and then my master turned to me, saying –
‘He has nothing to add that I did not know already. I have informed him that he’d best set sail first thing tomorrow morning – without the statue of the gold Buddha in the hold of his ship.
‘Come, Kukai,’ said my master then. ‘You have been more than patient, and of great assistance to me. You may now return to the inn where we are staying, and have something to eat and a chance to relax while I go to see the daimyo – and the two monks who were so recently under sentence of death for a crime they did not commit.
‘When I return from the daimyo’s castle, I will answer any questions you may have, concerning this case.’
Such questions were plenty, and I would rather have accompanied my master to see the daimyo. But it was not for me to question the order given. Outside in the street, we bade each other a temporary farewell and headed off in different directions.
7
‘It really starts at a temple located in the Songshan Mountain range, in eastern central China, several hundred years ago,’ began my master a few hours later, once he had got himself comfortable with a vase of sake and something to eat in a private room of the inn where we were staying.
‘At this time a huge civil war was tearing the country apart. Ultimately, the Southern Army won; and as this temple was loyal to the Northern side, it was razed to the ground. Only a few of its martial monks – equally adept at fighting as they were praying and meditation – escaped, carrying with them the six golden statues of the Buddhas that were considered the very ‘heart’ of the temple, as it were. So long as these statues escaped destruction, another temple could at some point be built around them. If they were ruined, all was lost.
‘Anyway, many years later, four of these statues were recovered within China, and placed within the reconstructed temple and its so-called ‘Hall of the Six Buddhas’. Except, of course, there were as yet only four of them.
‘The fifth was located some time later in Korea, successfully stolen from the temple that had become its home, and transported back to China. So, it only remained to find the very last statue – which, coincidentally, was also inscribed as the ‘sixth’, as I discovered upon examining it.
‘This merely confirmed what I’d already suspected – that this statue was indeed the famous ‘last’ statue being sought. And here is where the story of what really took place within that temple mausoleum begins –
‘It is my belief that the last priest of the Chinese temple in this harbor town realized just what was contained within the mausoleum of the neighboring temple. But being too old and tired to attempt any plan at retrieving it, he merely informed his successor of its existence.
‘But this successor – Ganjin – arrived in Japan with still three years remaining before he was due to take over control of the temple. This was told to us by the two monks we saw in the cell behind the magistrate’s office.
‘Before taking over control of the temple, Ganjin was to travel around the country, visiting temples and shrines and such while also learning the tongue. This he did, though he also had a more nefarious aim. He needed to recruit someone who would assist him in stealing the gold statue of the Buddha from its place inside a mausoleum, carved out of solid rock, which purportedly had only one opening.
‘An almost impossible task, it seemed… Then Ganjin happened to chance upon the man we apprehended tonight. A natural robber and killer, equipped with a formidable intellect. He has given his name as Takashi, although I’ve no doubt that it’s not his real one. It doesn’t really matter, in any case. We’ll use it anyway.
‘Under harsh questioning – but no torture – from the daimyo here, Takashi declared that he’d met Ganjin in a town ‘somewhere up north’. They spoke several times, gradually coming to know each other as Ganjin also revealed what he needed done – for an appropriate price. Ganjin recognized that this man was a natural rogue; he realized that he had need of his services. It was Takashi who suggested he could become gardener at the temple; the perfect cover…’
My master paused, wetting his lips with a sip of sake. I sat there, listening as though spellbound to what was said next –
‘Firstly Ganjin came to this town to take over as priest, his aging predecessor gratefully returning to China aboard one of the trading boats which periodically make the perilous sea-journey here.
‘Some six months then passed before Takashi appeared, so that not the slightest ‘link’ should be made between him and Ganjin. According to Takashi, he silently broke into the previous gardener’s small hut one evening – the residence which comes with the job, being located close to the temple – and holding a knife to that young man’s throat, declared that he should leave the area immediately.
‘The young man, scared out of his wits, immediately complied. And so a few weeks later, once Takashi had proved his gardening ability to that fool of a priest, he was employed. He affected a dull, almost bovine air, so that he became the target of frequent mockery and worse by the two young monks at the temple. For this, they should have been severely disciplined by the priest; but of course, as we know, they were not.
‘Nor were they reprimanded for overcharging people for Buddhist funeral services, and the like. But still, their greed and dishonesty made them strongly disliked, here in this town, and was a good reason why they were convicted of murdering Ganjin, consequently being sentenced to death, so quickly, and on what amounted to really nothing more than circumstantial evidence. ’
My master shrugged, and then continued: ‘But back to the m
an named Takashi… In between doing an admittedly excellent job at the temple, while appearing to be so… Well, so dull-witted that no one could possibly suspect him of any wrong-doing, Takashi met with Ganjin and informed him of what he’d discovered.
‘The rock, excavated from inside the cliff-face several hundred years ago, of course needed to be deposited somewhere. The obvious place – out of sight – was within the dense bamboo grove that is at one end of the cliff-face. So a tunnel was made, leading from this grove into the rock. Only at the very end, when the ceiling, walls and floor of the mausoleum had been chiseled as straight and true as was possible, was the actual entrance for the door knocked through…
‘Takashi discovered this tunnel – a clue given by the copious amounts of rock which continue to litter the floor of the bamboo grove; something I also observed while paying a quiet visit there the other day – and, by night, set about removing the rocks which had been used to fill in the entrance.
‘You remember, when I advised you to turn your attention to a humble gardener’s hands? You would have noticed, after my remark to Takashi concerning the weal upon his face, that he raised one hand in a curiously ‘defensive’ gesture – and then I saw that it was much grazed and calloused, as would be the case for someone who spends significant amounts of time carrying large, heavy and also sharp-edged lumps of rock. For after Takashi had exposed the tunnel entrance, he then had to fill the mouth of it back in until the next time he visited, so to avoid any possible chance of his plan being discovered.
‘At the end of the tunnel he’d discovered,’ (continued my master) ‘he came across the rear surface of one of the tombs. But it didn’t take much time to knock through this cement surface – still always working late at night – remove the shelf containing the large jar of ash and crushed bones within, and then practice raising up the marble slab which serves as the ‘door’ for each tomb, passing a sharp instrument under the miniscule gap beneath it, in order to raise it up enough so that he could then get his fingers beneath it.
‘With this secret entrance into the mausoleum completed, Takashi again liaised with Ganjin, and the second part of the plan was put into operation. A ship was sent for from China, the statue to be stolen one night and carried back out through the tunnel. Really, unless someone one day happened to open the door of the tomb which led to this tunnel – extremely unlikely – it would forever seem as though this statue had just ‘vanished’.
‘The perfect crime… The statue would then be secretly loaded onto the ship, and returned to China. Takashi would be handsomely rewarded for his services – and working another year or so, so as not to excite any possible suspicion by his sudden departure soon after the statue had ‘disappeared’, would then quietly leave the temple.’
My master gave a slight, distant smile, his gaze reflective and inward looking.
‘But Takashi was greedy,’ he continued. ‘He realized that if he bargained directly with the captain of the ship, he could secure an even larger payment for his services than the one he’d been promised by Ganjin. So, luring the Chinese priest along the tunnel and into the mausoleum late one night, he then used the demon-statue’s sword to strike the fatal blow, while Ganjin’s attention was diverted.
‘As well as allowing him to demand a larger payment, this murder also served another purpose. Through it, he could avenge the ill-treatment he’d endured from the two arrogant monks, during his time at the temple. So he climbed back inside the tomb that led to the tunnel, and there waited with the door raised only slightly.
‘As soon as the monks unlocked the mausoleum door, at around six a.m., Takashi called out ‘The demon-statue has struck me with its sword! I am dying!’ – expertly imitating Ganjin’s rather high-pitched voice. Then he quietly lowered the door completely, and left the way he’d come.
‘Of course, the story of a statue coming to life was too incredible to be believed. The monks were surely lying, to claim that they’d heard Ganjin shout out such words? Which, in turn, surely meant that they’d been involved in the crime…
‘Such is how that dimwitted magistrate thought – along with many others here in this town. As such, the monks were quickly convicted and sentenced to death. Had they claimed they’d attacked Ganjin in self-defense, manufacturing some invented story around this claim, they may well have escaped the death-sentence, such is the constant, regrettable dislike and distrust shown by many in Japan towards the Chinese – something also demonstrated to us by the magistrate.’
Again my master paused, stretching his arms and yawning. It was by now very late.
‘Well,’ he resumed, ‘Takashi went to the captain of the ship directly, demanding a much larger sum for the statue. Of course, the captain had no choice but to agree to this. It was arranged that the pair would meet at the inn called ‘The Blue Dragon’, and there proceed to some secret place where the transaction could take place.
‘The ship would set sail for China early the following morning, the statue would be discovered to be missing within the mausoleum – and no one would possibly suspect a humble gardener to have been involved in its mysterious disappearance, or indeed the murder of a Chinese priest a short while before. Takashi would have his money, and a profound sense of satisfaction at having so fiendishly ‘avenged’ himself against the two young monks who were given to abusing him with words and, on occasion, blows.’
‘What will happen to Takashi now, master?’ I inquired. ‘Surely he will be executed for the crime? And once it becomes known that a Chinese priest wished to steal a statue from the mausoleum of a Japanese temple… I fear this will go badly for any Chinese living here. Relations between the two countries are strained enough as it is…’
‘Yes, Kukai,’ nodded my master. ‘That is true. So, after consulting with the daimyo – who, fortunately, is an unusually wise man, with whom I have been liaising and taking into my confidence these past few days – we decided upon the following course of action–
‘Takashi will get to save his head (although he will still have to serve a heavy period of imprisonment), by agreeing to ‘co-operate’, as it were, with the following story –
‘There never was any intention to steal the statue. For the sake of international diplomacy, or whatever you may wish to call it, that will not even be mentioned. Instead, Takashi wished only to frame the two monks he loathed for a crime that would be punishable by death. He selected his victim – the Chinese priest Ganjin – quite by chance, stunning him before carrying him inside the mausoleum, and there finishing him off with the sword. About what happened then, I have said already.’
‘But how does this explain the ‘pretend execution’ of the monks, master, which was specifically intended to make Takashi believe that this stage of his plan had been successfully completed?’ I asked.
‘Simple,’ returned my master. ‘Their execution was suspended almost at the last minute, upon the sudden discovery of ‘new evidence’. The daimyo merely neglected to send someone into town, in order to announce this suspension.’
‘It’s one explanation I suppose, master. Of sorts, anyway…’ I declared, my voice a little dubious.
‘Well,’ shrugged my master, ‘it was the best one I could think of, assisted I might say by the daimyo, in a somewhat limited amount of time. In any case, already there are those who truly believe that the demon-statue did come to life and slay the priest; doubtless in a hundred years or so, this will be the common legend. Never underestimate people’s fascination for the supernatural, and their consequent willingness to suspend basic common sense…
‘Anyway, the Chinese ship sails at dawn tomorrow, carrying a sealed message – from me, to the head priest of the reconstructed temple in the Songshan Mountain range – that never again must an attempt be made to steal this gold statue of the Buddha, so precarious are the relations between Japan and China.’
‘And the two monks, master – they are free, thanks to you,’ I declared.
‘Yes,’ mused my maste
r, ‘and hopefully much less arrogant, and more humble, for their near-death experience.’
‘You really believe this experience will change their characters for the better, master?’ I ventured, my tone again somewhat dubious.
‘There is an old and slightly caustic Chinese saying – ‘Trust a snake before a tiger, and a rat before a snake, but don’t trust a monk’,’ returned my master. ‘But still… The two monks named Matsuda and Fujioka took great pains to make me accept my standard fee for this case, once I’d gone to the daimyo’s castle, all the while giving their sincere thanks.
‘So I have some little hope that they might have learnt the error of their ways. They are still young – there is time…’
And so saying this, my master finished his sake.
The Picture of Death
1
All of Japan seemed to have been engulfed by snow and ice, fierce sleet driving in squalls across the roads and fields. My master and I sat by the stove in a room of a small inn, located on the edge of a town where my master had recently investigated another case. The affair concerning the wealthy merchant who’d appeared to have committed suicide by hanging (even leaving a note apparently explaining his reasons beneath his feet), but who had in fact been murdered by his errant teenage nephew, had taken my master a full two weeks to solve.
‘One of the cleverest – and most fiendish – criminals I have ever apprehended, for all his youth,’ my master had said grimly, once he’d finally succeeded in obtaining the evidence he needed to prove the seventeen-year-old’s guilt.
