‘A certain famous ninja had powerful enemies, who managed to kill him and cut off his head, but they weren’t absolutely certain that he was the right man. They showed their trophy to the man’s eight-year-old son and asked: “Do you recognise him?” The boy didn’t shed a single tear, because that would have shamed the memory of his father, but the answer was clear from his face in any case. The little ninja buried the head with full honours and then, overcome by his loss, slit his stomach open and died, without a single groan, like a true hero. The enemies went back home, reassured, but the head they had shown the boy actually belonged to a man he did not know, whom they had killed in error.’
‘What self-control! What heroism!’ exclaimed Erast Petrovich, astounded. ‘So much for the Spartan boy and his fox cub!’
The doctor smiled contentedly.
‘You liked the story? Then I’ll tell you another one. It’s also about self-sacrifice, but from a quite different angle. This particular plot could not very well have been used by European novelists like Sir Walter Scott or Monsieur Dumas. Do you know how the great sixteenth-century general Uesugi was killed? Then listen.
‘Uesugi knew they were trying to kill him, and he had taken precautions that prevented any killer from getting anywhere near him, but even so, the ninja accepted the commission. The task was entrusted to a dwarf – dwarf ninja were prized especially highly, they were deliberately raised using special clay jugs. This man was called Jinnai, and he was less than three feet tall. He had been trained since his childhood to act in very narrow and restricted spaces.
‘The killer entered the castle by way of a crevice that only a cat could have got through, but not even a mouse could have squeezed through into the prince’s chambers, so Jinnai was obliged to wait for a very long time. Do you know what place he chose to wait in? One that the general was bound to visit sooner or later. When the prince was away from the castle and the guards relaxed their vigilance somewhat, Jinnai slipped through to His Excellency’s latrine, jumped down into the cesspit and hid himself up to the throat in the appetising slurry. He stayed there for several days, until his victim returned. Eventually Uesugi went to relieve himself. As always, he was accompanied by his bodyguards, who walked in front of him, behind him and on both sides. They examined the privy and even glanced into the hole, but Jinnai ducked his head down under the surface. And then he screwed some canes of bamboo together to make a spear and thrust it straight into the great man’s anus. Uesugi gave a bloodcurdling howl and died. The samurai who came running in never realised what had happened to him. The most amazing thing is that the dwarf remained alive. While all the commotion was going on above him, he sat there hunched up, breathing through a tube, and the next day made his way out of the castle and informed his jonin that he had completed his task…’
‘Who d-did he inform?’
‘His jonin, that’s the general of the clan, the strategist. He accepted commissions, decided which of his chyunins, or officers, should be charged with planning an operation, while the actual killing and spying were done by the genins, or soldiers. Every genin strove to achieve perfection in some narrow sphere in which he had no equals. For instance, in soundless walking, shinobi-aruki; or in intonjutsu – moving without making a sound or casting a shadow; or in fukumi-bari – poison-spitting.’
‘Eh?’ said Lockston, pricking up his ears. ‘In what?’
‘The ninja put a hollow bamboo pipe in his mouth, with several needles smeared with poison lying in it. A master of fukumi-bari could spit them out in a volley to quite a significant distance, ten or fifteen paces. The art of changing one’s appearance rapidly was particularly prized by the shinobi. They write that when the famous Yaemon Yamada ran through a crowd, eyewitnesses later described six different men, each with his own distinguishing features. A shinobi tried not to show other people his real face in any case – it was reserved for fellow clan-members. They could change their appearance by acquiring wrinkles or losing them, changing their manner of walking, the form of their nose and mouth, even their height. If a ninja was caught in a hopeless situation and was in danger of being captured, he killed himself, but first he always mutilated his face – his enemies must not see it, even after his death. There was a renowned shinobi who was known as Sarutobi, or Monkey Jump, a name he was given because he could leap like a monkey: he slept on the branches of trees, simply leapt over spears that were aimed at him and so forth. One day, when he jumped down off the wall of the Shogun’s castle, where he had been sent to spy, Sarutobi landed in a trap and the guards came rushing towards him, brandishing their swords. Then the ninja cut off his foot, tied a tourniquet round his leg in an instant and started jumping on his other leg. But when he realised he wouldn’t get away, he turned towards his pursuers, reviled them in the foulest possible language and pierced his own throat with his sword: but first, as it says in the chronicle, “he cut off his face”.’
‘What does that mean, “cut off his face”?’ asked Fandorin.
‘It’s not clear exactly. It must be a figurative expression that means “slashed”, “mutilated”, “rendered unrecognisable”.’
‘And what was it you s-said about a snake? Mamusi-gama, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, the “Stealthy Ones” were famous for making very skilful use of animals to achieve their goals: messenger pigeons, hunting hawks, even spiders, frogs and snakes. That is the origin of the legend about them being able to transform themselves into any kind of animal. Shinobi very often used to carry adders about with them, and the snakes never bit them. A snake could come in useful for preparing a potion – the ninja would squeeze a few drops of venom out of it; or for releasing into an enemy’s bed; or even just as a deterrent. A “sickle-snake” was when a mamusi was tied to the handle of a sickle. By waving this exotic weapon about, a ninja could reduce a whole crowd of people to panic and then exploit the stampede to make his escape.’
‘It fits! It all fits!’ Erast Petrovich said excitedly, jumping to his feet. ‘The captain was killed by a ninja using his secret art. And I saw that man yesterday! Now we know who to look for! An old shinobi with links to the Satsuman samurai.’
The doctor and the inspector exchanged glances. Twigs had a slightly confused air, and the Japanese shook his head, as if in gentle reproof.
‘Mr Twigs has given us a very interesting lecture,’ Asagawa said slowly, ‘but he forgot to mention one important detail… There have not been any devious shinobi for three hundred years.’
‘It’s true,’ the doctor confirmed in a guilty voice. ‘I probably should have warned you about that at the very beginning, in order not to lead you astray.’
‘Where did they g-go to?’
There was a note of genuine disappointment in the titular counsellor’s voice.
‘Apparently I shall have to carry my “lecture”, as the inspector called it, right through to the end,’ said the doctor, setting his hands on his chest as if asking for Asagawa’s forgiveness. ‘Three hundred years ago the “Stealthy Ones” lived in two valleys divided off from each other by a mountain range. The major clan occupied the Iga valley, hence their name: iga-ninja. Fifty-three families of hereditary spies ruled this small province, surrounded on all sides by sheer cliffs. The “Stealthy Ones” had something like a republic, governed by an elected jonin. The final ruler was called Momochi Tamba, and legends circulated about him even during his lifetime. The emperor granted him an honorary crest with seven moons and an arrow. The chronicle tells of how a wicked sorceress put a curse on Kyoto in a fit of fury: seven moons lit up in the sky above the emperor’s capital, and all the people in the city trembled in terror at this unprecedented disaster. The emperor called on Tamba to help. He took one look at the sky, raised his bow and unerringly dispatched an arrow into the moon that was the sorceress’s disguise. The villainous woman was killed, and the evil apparition was dispelled. God only knows what actually happened, but the very fact that stories like that circulated about Tamba indicates that his reputation must have been truly legendary. But, to his own cost, the mighty jonin quarrelled with an even more powerful man, the great dictator Nobunaga. And this is no fairy tale, it’s history.