The consul picked up one of the swords from the stand – the one that was somewhat longer – and flourished it carefully in his left hand, without drawing it from the scabbard.
‘Naturally, I do not know how to fence with a katana – that has to be studied from childhood. And it is preferable to study the Japanese way – that is, to devote your entire life to the subject that you are studying. But I take lessons in battojiutsu from a certain old man.’
‘Lessons in what?’
‘Battojiutsu is the art of drawing the sword from the scabbard.’
Erast Petrovich could not help laughing.
‘Merely drawing it? Is that like the true duellists of Charles the Ninth’s time? Shake the sword smartly, so that the scabbard flies off by itself?’
‘It’s not a matter of a smart shake. Do you handle a revolver well?’
‘Not too badly.’
‘And, of course, you are convinced that, with a revolver, you will have no trouble in disposing of an adversary who is armed with nothing but a sword?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Good,’ Vsevolod Vitalievich purred, and took a revolver out of a drawer. ‘Are you familiar with this device? It’s a Colt.’
‘Of course I am. But I have something better.’
Fandorin thrust his hand in under the tail of his frock coat and took a small, flat revolver out of a secret holster. It was hidden so cleverly that the guards at the ‘Rakuen’ had failed to discover it.
‘This is a Herstal Agent, seven chambers. They are p-produced to order.’
‘A lovely trinket. Now put it back. Good. And now can you take it out very, very quickly?’
Erast Petrovich threw out the hand holding the revolver with lightning speed, aiming directly at his superior’s forehead.
‘Superb! I suggest a little game. On the command of “three!” you will take out your Herstal, and I shall take out my katana, and we’ll see who wins.’
The titular counsellor smiled condescendingly, put the revolver back in the holster and folded his arms in order to give his rival a head start, but Doronin out-swanked him by raising his right hand above his head.
He gave the command:
‘One… two… three!’
It was impossible to folow the movement that the consul made. All Erast Petrovich saw was a glittering arc that was transformed into a blade, which froze into immobility before the young man could even raise the hand holding the revolver.
‘Astounding!’ he exclaimed. ‘But it’s not enough just to draw the sword, you have to cover the distance of one and a half sazhens between us. In that time I would have already taken aim and fired.’
‘You’re right. But I did warn you that I have only learned to draw the sword. I assure you that my teacher of swordsmanship would have sliced you in half before you pulled the trigger.’
Erast Petrovich did not try to argue – the trick had impressed him.
‘And have you heard anything about the art of deferred killing?’ he asked cautiously. ‘I think it is called dim-mak.’
He told the consul what he had heard from Dr Twigs.
‘I’ve never heard of anything of the sort,’ Doronin said with a shrug, admiring the flashes of light on the sword blade. ‘I think it’s a tall tale of the same genre as the fantastic stories about the ninja.’
‘About whom?’
‘During the Middle Ages there were clans of spies and hired assassins, they were called ninja. The Japanese simply love blathering all sorts of nonsense with a mystical air to it.’
‘But if we accept that this Chinese dim-mak actually does exist,’ Fandorin continued, pursuing his line of thought, ‘could the Satsuma samurai know the art?’
‘The devil only knows. From a theoretical point of view, it’s possible. Satsuma is a land of seagoers, ships from there go all over South-East Asia. And in addition, it’s a mere stone’s throw away from the Ryukyu islands, where the art of killing with bare hands has flourished since ancient times… All the more important, then, that we take measures. If Blagolepov’s three passengers are not ordinary crazies, but masters of secret skills, the danger is even more serious. Somehow this threesome don’t seem like loony fanatics. They sailed across the bay to Tokyo for some reason, and they took precautions – we must assume that they deliberately hired a foreigner in the belief that he would not understand their dialect and would not be conversant with Japanese affairs. They paid him generously and gave him an advance against the next journey. Serious gentlemen. You believe that they killed Blagolepov because he was talking too much and planned to go to the police?’
‘No. It was some old man who killed him. More likely than not, he has nothing to do with all this. But even so, I can’t get the captain’s strange death out of my mind…’
Vsevolod Vitalievich narrowed his eyes, blew a speck of dust off his sword and said thoughtfully:
‘Strange or not, perhaps the old opium addict simply croaked on his own – but it gives us an excellent pretext to set up our own investigation. Why, of course! A Russian subject has expired in suspicious circumstances. In such cases, under the status of the Settlement, the representative of the injured party – that is, the Consul of the Russian Empire – has the right to conduct an independent investigation. You, Fandorin, have served in the police and had dealings with the Third Section, so you hold all the aces. Try to pick up the trail of the passengers from that night. Not yourself, of course.’ Doronin smiled. ‘Why put your own life in danger? As the vice-consul, you will merely head up the investigation, but the practical work will be carried out by the municipal police – they are not accountable to the Japanese authorities. I’ll send an appropriate letter to Sergeant Lockston. But we’ll warn the minister today. That’s all, Fandorin. It’s after ten, time to go and see Don Tsurumaki. Do you have a dinner jacket?’
The titular counsellor nodded absentmindedly – his thoughts were occupied with the forthcoming investigation.
‘No doubt in mothballs and unironed?’
‘Unironed, but with no m-mothballs – I wore it on the ship.’
‘Excellent, I’ll tell Natsuko to iron it immediately.’
The consul said something to the maid in Japanese, but Fandorin said:
‘Thank you. I already have my own servant.’
‘Good gracious! When did you manage to arrange that?’ Doronin asked, staggered. ‘Shirota wasn’t planning to send you any candidates until tomorrow.’
‘It just happened,’ Erast Petrovich replied evasively.
‘Well, well. Honest and keen, I trust?’
‘Oh yes, very keen,’ the younger man replied with a nod, avoiding the first epithet. ‘And one other thing. I brought some new equipment with me in my luggage – a Remington typewriter with interchangeable Russian and Latin typefaces.’
‘Yes, yes, I saw the advertisement in the Japan Daily Herald. It really is a very fine device. How is it they describe it?’
‘A most convenient item for printing official documents,’ Fandorin replied enthusiastically. ‘It occupies only one corner of a room and weighs a little over four p-poods. I tried it on the ship. The result is magnificent! But…’ He lowered his eyes with a guilty expression. ‘… we need an operator.’
‘Where can we get one? And there is no provision for that position on the consulate staff.’
‘I could teach Miss Blagolepova. And I would pay her salary out of my own pocket. After all, she would make my work considerably easier.’