‘The adjutant is reporting that they have already spoken to the village elder. The peasants will work as usual, without giving away our presence in any way. They’re going to hold a meeting now. There is a very convenient place.’
The ‘very convenient place’ proved to be the communal stables, permeated with the stench of dung and horse sweat. But the broad chinks in the wall provided an excellent view of the field and the hill.
The vice-intendant sat on a folding stool, the other police officers stood in a half-circle and the operational staff set about planning the operation. Suga did most of the talking. Confident, brisk, smiling – he was clearly in his element.
‘… His Excellency objects to the commissar, Mr Iwaoka, that there is no point in waiting for night to come,’ Fandorin’s interpreter babbled in his ear. ‘The weather is expected to be clear, there will be a full moon and the fields will be like a mirror, with every shadow visible from afar. Better during the day. We can creep up to the hill disguised as peasants weeding the fields.’
The police officers droned approvingly in agreement. Suga spoke again.
‘His Excellency says that there will be two assault groups, each of two men. Any more will look suspicious. The other members of the operation must remain at a distance from the hill and wait for the signal. After the signal they will run straight through the water without worrying about disguise. The important thing here is speed.’
This time everyone started droning at once, and very ardently, and Inspector Asagawa, who had not opened his mouth until this moment, stepped forward and started bowing like a clockwork doll, repeating over and over: ‘Kakka, tanomimas nodeh! Kakka, tanomimas nodeh!’
‘Everybody wants to be in an assault group,’ Shirota explained. ‘Mr Asagawa is requesting permission to atone for his guilt. He says that otherwise it be very difficult for him to live in this world.’
The vice-intendant raised his hand and silence fell immediately.
‘I wish to ask the Russian vice-consul’s opinion,’ Suga said to Fandorin in English. ‘What do you think of my plan? This is our joint operation. An operation of two “vices”.’
He smiled. Now everyone was looking at Fandorin.
‘To be quite honest, I’m surprised,’ the titular counsellor said slowly. ‘Assault g-groups, an infantry cordon – this is all very fine. But where are the measures to take the conspirators alive? After all, their contacts are really more important to us than they are.’
Shirota translated what had been said – evidently not all the policemen knew English.
The Japanese glanced at each other strangely, one even snickered, as if the gaijin had said something stupid.
The vice-intendant sighed. ‘We shall, of course, try to capture the criminals, but we are not likely to succeed. Men of this kind are almost never taken alive.’
Fandorin did not like this response, and his suspicions stirred again more strongly than ever.
‘Then I tell you what,’ he declared. ‘I must be in one of the assault groups. In that case I give you my guarantee that you will receive at least one of the c-conspirators alive and not dead.’
‘May I enquire how you intend to do this?’
The vice-consul replied evasively:
‘When I was a prisoner of the Turks, they taught me a certain trick, but I had better not tell you about it in advance, you will see for yourselves.’
His words produced a strange impression on the Japanese. The policemen started whispering and Suga asked doubtfully:
‘You were a prisoner?’
‘Yes, I was. During the recent Balkan campaign.’
The commissar with the grey moustache gazed at Erast Petrovich with clear contempt, and the way the others were looking could certainly not have been called flattering.
The vice-intendant walked over and magnanimously slapped Fandorin on the shoulder.
‘Never mind, all sorts of things happen in war. During the expedition to Formosa, Guards Lieutenant Tatibana, a most courageous officer, was also taken prisoner. He was badly wounded and unconscious, and the Chinese took him away in a hospital cart. Of course, when he came round, he strangled himself with a bandage. But there isn’t always a bandage.’
Then he repeated the same thing in Japanese for the others (Erast Petrovich made out the name ‘Tatibana’) and Shirota explained quietly:
‘In Japan it is believed that a samurai should never be taken prisoner. An absurd idea, of course. A prejudice,’ the secretary added hastily.
The titular counsellor became furious. Raising his voice, he repeated stubbornly:
‘I must be in the assault group. I insist on it. P-permit me to remind you that without me and my deputies, there would not even be any operation.’
A discussion started among the Japanese, and Fandorin was clearly the subject of it, but his interpreter expounded the essence of the argument briefly and rather apologetically.
‘It… Generally speaking… The gentlemen of the police are discussing the colour of your skin, your height, the size of your nose…’
‘May I ask you to undress to the waist?’ Suga suddenly asked, turning towards the titular counsellor.
And, to set an example, he removed his tunic and shirt first. The vice-intendant’s body was firm and compact, and although his stomach was large, it was not at all flabby. But it was not the details of the general’s anatomy which caught Erast Petrovich’s attention, but the old gold cross dangling on the convex, hairless chest. Catching Fandorin’s glance, Suga explained.
‘Three hundred years ago our family were Christians. Then, when European missionaries were expelled from the country and their faith was forbidden, my forebears renounced the alien religion, but kept the cross as a relic. It was worn by my great-great-great-grandmother, Donna Maria Suga, who preferred death to renunciation. In her memory, I have also accepted Christianity – it is not forbidden to anyone any longer. Are you undressed? Right, now look at me and at yourself.’
He stood beside Fandorin, shoulder to shoulder, and the reason why they had had to get undressed became clear.
Not only was the vice-consul an entire head taller than the other man, his skin also gleamed with a whiteness that was quite clearly not Japanese.
‘The peasants are almost naked,’ said Suga. ‘You will tower over the field and sparkle like snowy Mount Fuji.’
‘But even so,’ the titular counsellor declared firmly, ‘I must be in the assault g-group.’
They gave up trying to persuade him after that. The policemen grouped around their commander, talking in low voices. Then the one with the grey moustache shouted loudly: ‘Kuso! Umano kuso!’
The vice-intendant laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
‘What did he s-say?’
Shirota shrugged.
‘Commissar Iwaoka said: “Dung. Horse dung”.’
‘Did he mean me?’ Erast Perovich asked furiously. ‘Tell him that in that c-case he…’
‘No, no, how could you think that!’ the secretary interrupted him, while still listening to the conversation. ‘This is something else… Inspector Asagawa is asking what to do about your height. Peasants are never such ranky beanpours. Did I get that right?’
‘Yes, yes.’
Fandorin watched Commissar Iwaoka’s actions suspiciously. The commissar moved out of the group, removed his white glove and scooped up a handful of dung.
‘Mr Sasaki from the serious crimes group says you are a genuine kirin, but that is all right, because the peasants never straighten up.’
‘Who am I?’
‘A kirin – it’s a mythical animal. Like a giraffe.’
‘Aah…’
The man with the grey moustache walked up, bowed briefly and slapped the lump of dung straight on to the Russian diplomat’s chest. The vice-consul was stupefied.