The titular counsellor saw that the wooden gag was no longer protruding from between the hunchback’s teeth, but dangling on its laces. Inspector Agasawa dashed towards the prisoner, but too late – Semushi opened his mouth wide and clenched his jaws shut with a snarl. A dense red torrent gushed out of his mouth on to his bare chest.
There was a blood-curdling roar that faded into spasmodic gurgling. Suga and Asagawa prised open the suicide’s teeth and stuffed a rag into his mouth, but it was clear that the bleeding could not be stopped. Five minutes later Semushi stopped groaning and went quiet.
Asagawa was a pitiful sight. He bowed to his superior and to Fandorin, insisting that he had no idea how the prisoner could have chewed through the lace – it had evidently not been strong enough and he, Asagawa, was to blame for not checking it properly.
The general listened to all this and waved his hand dismissively. His voice sounded reassuring. Fandorin made out the familiar word ‘akunin’.
‘I was saying that it’s not possible to take a genuine villain alive, no matter how hard you try,’ said Suga, translating his own words. ‘When a man has a strong hara, there’s nothing you can do with him. But the mission is a success in any case. The minister will be delighted, he’s sick to death of sitting under lock and key. The great man has been saved, for which Japan will be grateful to Russia and to you personally, Mr Vice-Consul.’
That evening Erast Petrovich betrayed his principles and rode home in a kuruma pulled by three rikshas. After all his emotional and physical tribulations, the titular counsellor was absolutely worn out. He couldn’t tell what had undermined his strength more -the bloody spectacle of the two suicides or the hour and a half spent weeding, but the moment he got into the kuruma, he fell asleep, muttering:
‘I’m going to sleep all night, all day and all night again…’
The conveyance in which the triumphant victors rode back to the consulate presented a truly unusual sight: snoring away in the middle was the secretary Shirota, wearing a morning coat and a string tie; this respectable-looking gentleman was flanked by two semi-naked peasants, sleeping soundly with their heads resting on his shoulders, and one of them was caked all over in dried dung.
Alas, however, Erast Petrovich was not given a chance to sleep all night, all day and all night again.
At eleven in the morning, when he was sleeping like a log, the vice-consul was shaken awake by his immediate superior.
Pale and trembling, Vsevolod Vitalievich splashed cold water over Fandorin, drank the liquid remaining in the mug and read out the express message that had just arrived from the embassy:
‘Early this morning Okubo was killed on the way to the imperial palace. Six unidentified men drew concealed swords, killed the postillion, hacked at the horse’s legs and stabbed the minister to death when he jumped out of the carriage. The minister had no guards. As yet nothing is known about the killers, but eyewitnesses claim that they addressed each other in the Satsuma dialect. Please report to the embassy immediately with Vice-Consul Fandorin.’
‘How is that possible?’ the titular counsellor exclaimed. ‘The conspirators were wiped out!’
‘It is now clear that the group you have been hunting only existed in order to divert the authorities’ energy and attention. Or else the man with the withered arm and his group were given a secondary role once they had attracted the attention of the police. The main group was waiting patiently for its chance. The moment Okubo broke his cover and was left without any protection, the killers struck. Ah, Fandorin, I fear this is an irredeemable blow. And the worst disaster is still to come. The consequences for Russia will be lamentable. There is no one to tame the beast, the cage is empty, the Japanese tiger will break free.’
The zoo is empty,
All the visitors have fled.
Tiger on the loose
THE SCENT OF IRISES
Six morose-looking gentlemen were sitting in the office of the Russian ambassador: five in black frock coats and one in naval uniform, also black. The frivolous May sun was shining outside the windows of the building, but its rays were blocked out by thick curtains, and the room was as gloomy as the general mood.
The nominal chairman of the meeting was the ambassador himself, Full State Counsellor Kirill Vasilievich Korf, but His Excellency hardly even opened his mouth, maintaining a significant silence and merely nodding gravely when Bukhartsev, sitting on his right, had the floor. The seats on the left of the plenipotentiary representative of the Russian Empire were occupied by another two diplomatic colleagues, the first secretary and a youthful attachй, but they did not participate in the conversation, and in introducing themselves, they had murmured their names so quietly that Erast Petrovich could not make them out.
The consul and vice-consul were seated on the other side of the long table, which gave the impression, if not of direct confrontation, then at least of a certain opposition between Tokyoites and Yokohamans.
First they discussed the details of the assassination: the attackers had revolvers, but they fired only into the air, to cause fright and confusion; the unfortunate Okubo had tried to protect himself from the sword blades with his bare hands, so his forearms were covered in slashes; the fatal blow had split the brilliant minister’s head in half; from the scene of the killing, the conspirators had gone straight to the police to surrender and had submitted a written statement, in which the dictator was declared a usurper and enemy of the nation; all six were former samurai from Satsuma, their victim’s home region.
Fandorin was astounded.
‘They surrendered? They didn’t try to kill themselves?’
‘There’s no point now,’ the consul explained. ‘They’ve done their job. There will be a trial, they will make beautiful speeches, the public will regard them as heroes. Plays will be written about them, and prints will be made. And then, of course, they’ll chop their heads off, but they have secured themselves an honourable place in Japanese history.’
After that they moved on to the main item on the agenda – discussing the political situation and forecasting imminent changes. Two of the men – the consul and the maritime agent – argued, the others listened.
‘Japan will now inevitably be transformed from our ally into our rival and, with time, our sworn enemy,’ Vsevolod Vitalievich prophesied morosely. ‘Such, I fear, is the law of political physics. Under Okubo, an advocate of strict control over all aspects of social life, Japan was developing along the Russian path; a firm vertical structure of power, state management of the basic industrial sectors, no democratic games. But now the hour of the English party has been ushered in. The country will turn on to the British path – with a parliament and political parties, with the development of private capital on a large scale. And what is the British model of development, gentlemen? It is outward extension and expansion, a gaseous state, that is, the urge to fill all available space: a weak Korea, a decrepit China. That is the ground on which we will meet the Japanese tiger.’
Lieutenant Captain Bukhartsev was not alarmed in the least by the prospect that the Yokohama consul had outlined.
‘What tiger are you talking about, sir? This is quite absurd. It’s no tiger, it’s a pussy cat, and a scabby, mangy one at that. Japan’s annual budget is only a tenth of Russia’s. And what can I say about their military forces? The Mikado’s peacetime army is thirty-five thousand men. The Tsar’s is almost a million. And what kind of soldiers do the Japanese have? They barely come up to the chests of our brave lads. And their navy! In the line of duty, I visited a battleship they bought recently in England. I could have laughed till I cried! Tiny little Lilliputs, crawling all over Gulliver. How do they intend to manage the turret mechanism for twelve-inch guns? Are five of them going to jump up and hang on the wheel? And as for Korea and China, oh, come now, Vsevolod Vitalievich! With God’s help, the Japanese might just liberate the island of Hokkaido!’