‘What’s g-going on here? And who are you, anyway?’ Fandorin began, but broke off, first because he realised that the native man was hardly likely to understand English and, secondly, because he was astounded by the little old man’s behaviour.
The old man smiled imperturbably, transforming his face into a radiant mass of wrinkles, slipped his hands into his broad sleeves and bowed – he was wearing a close-fitting cap on his head.
‘What’s wrong with Masa?’ Fandorin asked, unable to resist uttering further pointless words. He dashed across to his sweetly snuffling valet and leaned down over him – Masa really was asleep.
What kind of nonsense was this!
‘Hey, wait!’ the titular counsellor shouted to the old man, who was ambling towards the door.
When the little old man didn’t stop, the vice-consul overtook him in two bounds and grabbed him by the shoulder. Or rather, he tried to. Without even turning round, the Japanese swayed imperceptibly to one side, and the vice-consul’s figures clutched at empty air.
‘Dear man, I d-demand an explanation,’ said Erast Petrovich, growing angry. ‘Who are you? And what are you doing here?’
His tone of voice, and the situation in general, should have rendered these questions comprehensible without any translation.
Realising that he would not be allowed to leave, the old man turned to face the vice-consul. He wasn’t smiling any more. The black eyes, glittering like two blazing coals, observed Fandorin calmly and attentively, as if they were deciding some complicated but not particularly important problem. This cool gaze finally drove Fandorin into a fury.
This Oriental was damned suspicious! He had clearly sneaked into the building with some criminal intent!
The titular counsellor reached out his hand to grab the thief (or, perhaps, spy) by the collar. This time the old man didn’t dodge; without taking his hands out of his sleeves, he simply struck Fandorin on the wrist with his elbow.
The blow was extremely light, almost insubstantial, but the titular counsellor’s arm went completely numb and dangled uselessly at his side – the elbow must have hit some kind of nerve centre.
‘Why, damn you!’ Erast Petrovich exclaimed.
He delivered a superb left hook, which should have flattened the obnoxious old man against the wall, but his fist merely described a powerful arc through the empty air. The inertia spun Fandorin round his own axis and left him standing with his back to the Japanese.
The villainous intruder immediately took advantage of this and struck him on the neck with his other elbow, again very lightly, but the young man’s knees buckled. He collapsed flat on his back and was horrified to feel that he couldn’t move any part of his body.
It was like a nightmare!
The most terrifying thing of all was the searing, blazing gaze of the old man’s eyes; it seemed to penetrate into the prostrate vice-consul’s very brain.
The old man leaned down, and that was when the most incredible thing of all happened.
He finally took his hands out of his sleeves.
In his right hand he was clutching a greyish-brown snake with small, beady, glittering eyes. Gripped tight by the neck, it was straining its jaws open.
The prone man groaned – that was all he had the strength for.
The snake slithered smoothly out of the sleeve and fell on to Fandorin’s chest in a springy coil. He felt its touch on his skin, at the spot where his collar was unbuttoned – a cold, rough sensation.
The diamond-shaped head swayed very close, only a few inches away from his face. Erast Petrovich heard the quiet, fitful hissing, he saw the sharp little fangs, the forked tongue, but he couldn’t even stir a finger. Ice-cold sweat trickled down off his forehead.
He heard a strange clicking sound – it was made by the old man, who seemed to be urging the reptile to hurry.
The jaws swayed towards Fandorin’s throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, with the thought that nothing could possibly be more terrible than this horror. Even death would be a blessed release.
Erast Petrovich opened his eyes again – and didn’t see the snake.
But it had been here, he had felt its movements.
The reptile had apparently decided to settle down more comfortably on his chest – it curled up into a ball and its tail crept in under his shirt and slithered ticklishly across his ribs.
With a struggle, Fandorin focused his eyes on the old man – he was still gazing directly at his paralysed victim, but something in his eyes had changed. Now, if anything, they were filled with surprise. Or was it curiosity?
‘Erast Petrovich!’ a voice called from somewhere far away. ‘Fandorin! Is it all right if I come in?’
What happened after that took less than a second.
In two absolutely silent leaps the old Japanese was by the window; he jumped up, somersaulted in the air, propping one hand against the windowsill as he flew over it, and disappeared.
And then Vsevolod Vitalievich appeared in the doorway – in a panama hat and carrying a cane, ready for their pedestrian excursion.
A prickling sensation ran across Fandorin’s neck, and he discovered that he could turn his head.
He turned it, but he couldn’t see the old man any more – just the curtain swaying at the window.
‘Now, what’s this I see? An adder!’ Doronin shouted. ‘Don’t move!’
The startled snake darted off Erast Petrovich’s chest and made for the corner of the room.
The consul dashed after it and started beating it with his cane – so furiously that the stick broke in half at the third blow.
The titular counsellor raised the back of his head off the carpet – the paralysis seemed to be gradually passing off.
‘Am I asleep?’ he babbled, barely able to control his tongue. ‘I dreamed I saw a snake…’
‘It was no dream,’ said Doronin, wrapping his handkerchief round his fingers and squeamishly lifting the reptile up by its tail.
He examined it, shifting his spectacles down to the end of his nose, then carried it to the window and threw it out. He cast a disapproving glance at Masa and heaved a sigh.
Then he took a chair, sat down facing his feebly stirring assistant and fixed him with a severe stare.
‘Now then, my dear,’ the consul began sternly. ‘Let’s have no nonsense, everything out in the open. What an angel he made himself out to be yesterday! Doesn’t go to brothels, has never even heard of opium addicts…’ Doronin drew a deep breath in through his nose. ‘Not a whiff of opium here, though. So you prefer injections? Do you know what they call what has happened to you? Narcotic swoon. Don’t shake your head, I wasn’t born yesterday! Shirota told me about your heroics yesterday in the gambling den. A fine servant you’ve picked up for yourself! Did he procure the drug for you! Of course, who else! He took some himself, and obliged his master at the same time. Tell me one thing, Fandorin. Only honestly now! How long have you been addicted to drugs?’
Erast Fandorin groaned and shook his head.
‘I believe you. You’re still so young, don’t destroy yourself! I warned you: the drug is deadly dangerous if you’re not capable of keeping yourself in hand. You were very nearly killed just now – by an absurd coincidence! A mamusi crept into the room while both of you were in a narcotic trance – that is, in a completely helpless state!’
‘Who?’ the titular counsellor asked in a weak voice. ‘Who c-crept in?’
‘A mamusi. A Japanese adder. It’s a gentle-sounding name, but in May, after the winter hibernation, mamusis are extremely dangerous. If one bites you on the arm or leg, that’s not too bad, but a bite on the neck is certain death. Sometimes mamusis swim into the Settlement along the canals from the paddy fields and they get into courtyards, or even houses. Last year one of those reptiles bit the son of a Belgian businessman and they couldn’t save him. Well, why don’t you say something?’