He turned to the Don and bowed to indicate that the conversation in Russian was over.
Tsurumaki added in English:
‘Shirota-san is a genuine Japanese patriot. A man of honour who knows that duty to the Motherland comes above all other things. Go, my friend. You should not be here when the police arrive.’
With a low bow to his new master and a brief nod to Fandorin, Shirota left the room.
The titular counsellor was still being held as tightly as ever, and that could mean only one thing.
‘The police, of course, will arrive t-too late,’ Erast said to the master of the house. ‘The thief will be killed while attempting to escape or resisting capture. That is why you have sent the idealistic Shirota away. I am such a dynamic individual – not only can I not be left in Japan, I cannot even be left alive, right?’
The smile with which Tsurumaki listened to these words was full of jovial surprise, as if the millionaire had not expected to hear such a subtle and witty comment from his prisoner.
The Don turned the Herstal over in his hand and asked:
‘Self-winding? Hammerless?’
‘Yes. Simply press the trigger and all seven bullets will be fired, one after another. That is, six, one round has already been spent,’ replied Fandorin, inwardly feeling proud of his own cool composure.
Tsurumaki weighed the small revolver in his hand and the titular counsellor readied himself: now it would be very painful, then the pain would become duller, and then it would pass off altogether…
But the Herstal was sent flying to the floor. Erast Petrovich was surprised only for a moment. Then he noticed that the Don’s pocket was bulging. Of course: it would be strange if the robber were to be shot with his own revolver.
As if to confirm this guess, the master of the house lowered his hand into that pocket. Events were clearly approaching their conclusion.
Suddenly Kamata, who had been keeping his eyes fixed on the titular counsellor, turned his bony face covered with coarse wrinkles towards the door.
There were shouts and crashing sounds coming from somewhere outside.
Had the police arrived? But then why the noise?
Another Black Jacket came running into the room. He bowed to the master and Kamata and jabbered something.
‘Tsurete koi,’ [xiv]
Tsurumaki ordered, without taking his hand out of his pocket.
The servant ran out, and half a minute later Masa, looking much the worse for wear, was led in by the arms.
When he saw Fandorin, he shouted something in a desperate voice.
Only one word was comprehensible: ‘O-Yumi-san’.
‘What’s he saying? What’s he saying?’ the vice-consul asked, jerking in the arms of his guards.
To judge from the master’s face, he was astounded by the news. He asked Masa something, received an answer and suddenly started thinking very intently. He took no notice of Fandorin’s repeated questions and merely scratched at his black beard furiously. Masa kept on trying to bow to Erast Petrovich (which was not easy to do with his arms twisted behind his back) and repeating: ‘Moosiwake arimasen! Moosiwake arimasen!’
‘What is that he’s muttering?’ the titular counsellor exclaimed in helpless fury. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means: “There can be no forgiveness for me!”,’ said Tsurumaki, suddenly looking at him keenly. ‘Your servant is saying some very interesting things. He says he was sitting at the window and smoking a cigar. That he felt stuffy and he opened one windowpane. That there was a whistling sound, something stung him in the neck, and after that he remembers nothing. He woke up on the floor. There was something like a thorn sticking out of his neck. He dashed into the next room and saw that O-Yumi had disappeared. The bed was empty.’
Erast Petrovich groaned, and the master of the house asked Masa another question. When he received an answer he jerked his chin, and Fandorin’s servant was immediately released. Masa reached inside the front of his jacket and took out what looked like a wooden needle.
‘What’s that?’ asked Fandorin.
The Don examined the ‘thorn’ gloomily.
‘A fukibari. They smear this piece of rubbish with poison or some other kind of potion – to paralyse someone temporarily, for instance, or put them to sleep – and fire it out of a blowpipe. The ninja’s favourite weapon. I’m afraid, Fandorin, that your girlfriend has been abducted by the “Stealthy Ones”.’
At that very moment Erast Petrovich, who had fully prepared himself to die, suddenly felt that he wanted terribly not to. Why, one might think, should he care about anything in the world? If there are only a few seconds of life left, do unsolved puzzles, or even the abduction of the woman you love, really have any importance? But he wanted so much to live that when the Don’s hand moved in that ominous pocket, Fandorin gritted his teeth tightly – in order not to beg for a respite. They wouldn’t grant him a respite in any case, and even if they did, he couldn’t possibly ask a murderer for anything.
The vice-consul forced himself to look at the hand as it slowly pulled a black, gleaming object out of the pocket until it emerged completely.
It was a briar pipe.
After I read it -
The Latin word for ‘briar’ -
I took up a pipe
TWO HANDS TIGHTLY CLASPED
‘I like your Shirota,’ the Don said thoughtfully, striking a match and puffing out a cloud of smoke. ‘A genuine Japanese. All of a piece, intelligent, reliable. I’ve wanted an assistant like that for a long time already. All these’ – he waved his pipe round at his black army – ‘are good for fighting and other simple jobs that require no foresight. But Shirota belongs to a different breed, a far more valuable one. And what’s more, he has made an excellent study of foreigners, especially Russians. That’s very important for my plans.’
The very last thing Fandorin had been expecting was a panegyric on the virtues of the former secretary of the consulate, so he listened cautiously, not sure what Tsurumaki was driving at.
But the millionaire puffed on his pipe and carried on in the same style, as if he were thinking out loud,
‘Shirota defined you very precisely: brave, unpredictable and very lucky. That is an extremely dangerous combination, which is why this performance was required.’ He nodded at the safe with the magical radiance streaming out of it. ‘But now everything is changing. I need you. And I need you here, in Japan. There won’t be any police.’
The Don gave an order in Japanese, and suddenly no one was holding Erast Petrovich any longer. The Black Jackets released him, bowed to their master and left the room one by one.
‘Shall we have a talk?’ asked Tsurumaki, gesturing towards two armchairs by the window. ‘Tell your man not to worry. Nothing bad will happen to you.’
Fandorin waved his hand to let Masa know that everything was all right and his servant reluctantly left the room, with a suspicious glance at the master of the house.
‘You need me? Why?’ asked Fandorin, in no hurry to sit down.
‘Because you are brave, unpredictable and very lucky. But you need me even more. You want to save your woman, don’t you? Then sit down and listen.’
The vice-consul sat down at that; he didn’t need to be asked twice.
‘How do I do that?’ he asked quickly. ‘What do you know?’
The Don scratched his beard and sighed.
‘This is going to be a long story. I wasn’t intending to make any excuses to you, to deny all the nonsense that you have imagined about me. But since we shall be fighting a common cause, I shall have to. Let’s try to restore our former friendship.’
‘That won’t be easy,’ Fandorin remarked ironically, unable to resist.