An exquisitely ornamented table clock announced 6:00 P.M., chiming a barrel organ version of the melody to Stenka Razin.
The room was decorated with furniture in the Russian Modern style. The décor would not have been out of place in the salon of a typical aristocratic home. But the Russian legation had different standards. The room was not a social space but a barber’s salon: there was a reclining chair, shampooing bowl, and, on the wall, a hanging mirror. The metal mesh hampers were filled with towels, and a wagon in the room held scissors, combs, and other tools of the trade.
The various tools and accouterments implied this was a place of business, but it was no public shop. Not even the legation staff came to have their hair trimmed. The room was reserved for the sole use of the imperial family.
The door opened on schedule. Tsarevich Nicholas entered.
Instead of the overly ornate military uniform he wore for ceremonial events, the Tsarevich was wearing a simple double-collared shirt. In this simple garb, he looked for once his age, a young man of 23. Though short for a Russian, he was slim and fit. His hair was cropped, and his mustache neatly trimmed. He certainly didn’t look like he needed a barber. Clearly he was visiting this room for some other purpose—just as Sherlock had expected.
Nicholas approached the reclining chair. He never once glanced in Sherlock’s direction; the Romanovs were not in the habit of exchanging pleasantries with the workers they employed. But it was also only natural that Nicholas was feeling dour, considering the unpleasant procedure to come.
He sat down before the mirror and asked a question in Russian. There was a slight tremble in his voice. Most likely he was asking something to the effect of: Will it hurt? How long will this take?
Ito had been watching silently, but now slowly approached until he stood directly behind Nicholas. Nicholas did not immediately notice his presence. Ito stared at Nicholas’ reflection in the mirror, speaking softly in English.
“Good evening, Your Highness.”
Nicholas’ expression became startled. He spun around, staring upward at Ito. “Who are you? You’re not the tradesman I was expecting.”
Sherlock, who had been standing against the wall, walked towards the chair as well. “Please forgive the imposition, Your Highness. This is the Chairman of the Privy Council, Hirobumi Ito.”
Nicholas’ eyes widened. His eyes ran up and down Ito’s clothing.
It was no surprise he had a hard time believing them, Ito thought, considering he was dressed in the same rickshaw driver’s uniform as previously, with the livery coat and apron, workman’s trousers and tabi. He had no idea what the Nagasaki tradesmen usually wore, but Sherlock had insisted the Russians would never know the difference. The English detective himself had gained entry wearing his usual frock coat, claiming to be Ito’s translator.
Getting inside had been that simple. They had kept watch on the legation through binoculars, and confirmed that Ambassador Shevich and Lt. Colonel Kanevsky were confined to a meeting room somewhere else.
Nicholas leapt to his feet and rushed toward the door, shouting something in Russian. Sherlock spun around, blocking Nicholas’ path. “A moment, Your Highness. Before your guards throw us out, ask yourself, are you entirely in the right in this situation?”
“What do you mean?” Nicholas stared at him.
“You have entered the country without permission, and without the knowledge of the Japanese government. Inside the legation you are protected by extraterritorial privilege, but in order to return home, at some point you will need to step outside the building. If anyone should spot you, it would provoke an international incident.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Trying to say? Rather, let me ask what you planned to do here today. Why should you come here if you have no need of a barber—which clearly you do not? You were informed, I believe, that the tattooist from Nagasaki had arrived two days early. Your appointment was undoubtedly with him.”
Nicholas’ face betrayed that he was dumbfounded. He finally glanced around the room and realized the three of them were not alone.
His confusion was instantly replaced with anger. “Chekov! And even Miss Luzhkova! What is the meaning of this!”
In the corner of the barber’s room, Chekhov and Anna cowered. “Please forgive us, Your Highness,” Chekhov said falteringly. “We lied when we said that the tattooist had arrived early. Only…”
“Your Highness!” Anna’s voice was shrill and panicked. “We are prepared for arrest, if it comes to that. But I beg you, please understand. Mr. Holmes already knew everything.”
Nicholas turned toward Sherlock in astonishment.
“Would you do us the honor of rolling up your right sleeve?” Sherlock requested quietly. “As you yourself must know, that in itself will be more than ample proof.”
Silence descended on the room. Nicholas gave Sherlock a stubborn look, but soon gave in. He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve.
Ito swallowed hard. He could not believe his eyes.
Nicholas’ tattoo—the dragon tattoo he had received in early May—was not there!
Of course, Ito had never actually seen the tattoo for himself. When he and the Emperor had visited the Tsarevich in Kyoto, Nicholas had been wearing long sleeves.
Nicholas rolled his sleeve back down with an air of apprehension. “Mr. Holmes, is it? Are you related to the famous Sherlock Holmes?”
“No. I am the famous Sherlock Holmes.”
“But I heard you were dead.”
“Those reports are false,” Ito answered. “As a result Ambassador Shevich believes that Mr. Holmes is a spy. On my honor, however, I swear to you that Mr. Holmes and I have come to help you.”
Nicholas glanced at Chekhov. “You’ve betrayed our confidence?” Chekhov and Anna shrunk into the corner, shaking their heads back and forth frantically.
“Your Highness,” Sherlock said softly. “I arrived at the truth quite on my own, I assure you. You did not in fact visit Japan from April to May of this year. It was your brother, Grand Duke George, who visited in your stead.”
Ito reeled. “His brother? That cannot be!”
“But it can,” Sherlock said implacably. “Grand Duke George was attacked by Sanzo Tsuda, and still remains in critical condition.”
Ito could not make sense of it. It was absurd—Grand Duke George was in Paris, resting after an extended campaign of public service. When Nicholas had visited Japan, he’d met with Prince Takehito Arisugawa, interpreter Naohide Madenokoji, Governor Takeaki Nakano of Nagasaki, and even Duke Tadayoshi Shimazu. And above all, he had even met His Grace the Emperor.
In the past, His Grace had met Nicholas during official functions. And Ito had been present with His Grace at the hotel in Kyoto. Surely they should have noticed if Nicholas and his brother had traded places.
Nicholas sighed. “You are an Englishman. I suppose that means the entire world now knows the truth?”
“Hardly. I have yet to inform a soul. I have deduced these facts based on your dealings with Siam and Japan, but I would now like to hear your own account of events, if you might do me that kindness. Though I am capable of discerning how events unfolded, only you may say what your state of mind was at the time.”
Nicholas paced in the silence, his expression disconsolate. Then his feet came to a stop. “George is three years younger than me, but he was always tall, unlike me. He is handsome and lively. Mother always fussed over me, so he would cause mischief to get her attention.”
“The English newspapers often run stories concerning the Romanov family,” Sherlock said. “Perhaps other countries’ papers do as well. The papers say that your father is very strict, and has instituted English education for his children. He kept your chambers Spartan, made you sleep in military beds, woke you up at six in the morning, and forced you to take cold baths.”
Nicholas frowned with one corner of his mouth. “Mother ran us hot baths from time to time. She was kind. Mother taught us the importance of family.”
“And Grand Duke George…”
His voice turned soft. “George was the smartest of us all. Like Mother, he liked society. He and I were very close. We had all the same tutors, we grew up in nurseries next to each other. We both began English lessons at age six, but he improved much more swiftly than I. And we advanced to the program at the Academy of the Russian General Staff together. By then we were fluent in French, and passable at German and Danish. We often went sporting and fishing together as well.”
“But your brother’s health deteriorated?”
“It did.” A shadow crossed over Nicholas’ face. “I believe the symptoms were first discovered shortly before he came of age. Tuberculosis. He has struggled ever since.”
“Your brother caught cold during your tour of the East and was sent home, out of caution. It was for health reasons.”
“Yes. The entire trip was on our parents’ suggestion—demand, rather. They wanted us to travel from October of last year to August of this, through all those small regions where the British squabble with us for influence. I had never wanted to go but George was looking forward to the trip. So I decided to make the most of it; at least I’d have him.”
“I gather you were not particularly interested in visiting Japan, then, either?”
Nicholas nodded. “None of it suited me. Culture bores me. I detest reading, and find theater and art tedious. The only part I enjoyed was seeing the dancing girls as we travelled down the Nile. I know you are an Englishman, but I found the sight of the British red coats in India to be completely dismaying. And naturally I had no interest in China or Japan. I had heard how barbaric they are.”
Ito had a question. “While you were in Egypt and India, did you not say you were looking forward to your visit to Japan?”
But Sherlock only had to gesture at Chekhov and Anna. The two lowered their heads in chagrin.
Of course. That had also been a lie—designed to conceal the fact that Nicholas and George had traded places.
Nicholas snorted. “My brother was the one who wished to visit Japan. He was constantly telling me everything he wanted to see, but I found it impossible to relate. Japan is an uncivilized place. I knew it would be dangerous to visit, I knew it all along!”
Nicholas is remarkably childish for his age, thought Ito. He had all the entitlement one would expect of aristocracy. He highly doubted their father really had been as strict as the rumors said, looking at the result. Besides, it was easy to imagine how much the mother probably doted on him. Nicholas was selfish and ignorant of the ways of the world—unbecoming traits in a crown prince. He was stubborn in his preferences, and chose to run away, rather than change, when faced with anything that displeased him. What he’d said about not even wanting to look at the British officers in India was a perfect case in point—England was Russia’s greatest rival, after all.
“When did your brother fall ill?” Sherlock inquired.
“He developed bronchitis around when we got to Bombay. We hoped that the warmer climates would help him, but they had the opposite effect. George left the ship and returned to the Caucasus region with Chekhov and the others. It was a real blow. I had never wanted to go on the trip to begin with. Now there was even less reason to look forward to it.”
“Your brother joined you again later, though.”
“He did.” Nicholas lowered himself to sit on the reclining chair. “He recovered nicely when I was in Singapore. He expressed interest in continuing the trip. Only…”
He glanced at Chekhov. Chekhov nodded and picked up the story. “His Highness Grand Duke George wished to rejoin the envoy, but His Imperial Majesty the Emperor sent a letter instructing him to instead recuperate in the Maldives. His Highness the Grand Duke consulted with Tsarevich Nicholas at this point…”
“Yes, he did.” A small smile flickered across Nicholas’ face. “When I got George’s letter in Singapore, I was overjoyed. I told him to join me and we would keep it a secret from our parents together. George was back aboard the Pamiat Azova before we set sail for Siam.”
“Naturally I assume you travelled with the Grand Duke?” Sherlock directed to Chekhov and Anna.
“We did,” Anna replied. “We were aboard the ship from then on, seeing to His Highness Grand Duke George’s health along with the doctor.”
“One of the many annoyances during our time in Egypt and India,” Nicholas said, “is that wherever we travelled, people constantly confused George and I. He is taller and more sociable, and so many assumed he was the elder brother. This isn’t the first time this has happened; people have been confusing us for one another since we were children. So before we arrived in Siam, George and I concocted a plan. I was not enjoying myself at all, whereas my brother very much looked forward to the trip. Why not disembark in my place, and pass himself off as crown prince?”
Ito couldn’t believe his ears. “Ridiculous! The Tsarevich and Grand Duke may have some small resemblances in their faces, but they are hardly twins. The difference must be obvious!”
Nicholas turned toward Ito. “Chairman Ito, do you have any brothers?”
“No.”
“Of course. Brothers may not look or think alike, but to have a brother is to have a natural conspirator. Siam is a closed country, not a British or Dutch colony. We had no intention of ever returning to Siam, so what was the harm? We had help from my cousin, King George of Greece, as well.”
“It isn’t the first time they have done this,” Chekhov ventured tremulously. “Even in Russia, when visiting the smaller country villages, His Highness Grand Duke George often went in His Tsarevich’s place.”
Nicholas’ face creased in displeasure. “Do not say he ‘went in my place.’ That reflects poorly on me. George enjoys travelling, but there were few official duties to take him from home. Our interests simply aligned.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Chekhov submitted humbly. “If I could be forgiven for saying so, however, while such behavior may have been overlooked in your youth, now that you are an adult…And in recent years, they have made stunning breakthroughs in photographic technology. There is even the Kinetoscope.”
It was an unfamiliar term. “The Kinetoscope?” Ito asked.
Anna explained. “It is a moving picture machine invented by Edison. The Tsarevich and his brother resemble each other somewhat in facial features, but it would be as easy to distinguish them through a Kinetoscope, with gestures and facial expressions, as it would be to distinguish them in person.”
“We already discussed this at length,” Nicholas said impatiently. “With his health as poor as it is, George would never have this opportunity again. He was so looking forward to visiting the Far East. He deserved to go. Besides, it’s hardly as if the Kinetoscope has made it over to these backwaters.”
“Are you saying that Grand Duke George was sent to attend on the King of Siam in your place?” Ito snapped, exasperated.
“We told Tsarevich Nicholas it would be most disrespectful.” Chekhov’s voice cracked. “But Grand Duke George was doing much better, and they promised this would be the last time…We agreed to allow them to swap, but only in Siam and Japan.”
“What’s that?” Ito was obviously taken aback. “Only Siam and Japan?”
“Those are the only two countries from their trip that are independent nations,” Sherlock said quietly, “free from colonial rule.”
“And also we assumed they were less advanced,” Nicholas added completely indifferently. “For instance, we knew that the Siamese royal family prohibited newspaper correspondents from entering the country.”
Ito was beginning to find Nicholas’ attitude very provoking. “I imagine Your Highness’ opinion had begun to change after seeing our country for yourself.”
“True, it is much more modern than I had expected. But we had no way of knowing that before.” Nicholas sounded surprisingly contrite. “We did not bring the military photographer ashore in Siam to make sure there wasn’t any evidence.”
Chekhov sighed. “The entire crew was operating in the utmost secrecy, including the captain. Naturally, not even the palace was informed.”
Sherlock stared at the young man. “So you thought if you did not take photographs you would be safe?”
Nicholas’ face clouded over. “Unfortunately, we learned later that the Siamese had taken shorthand notes. Things George said contradicted with what I had said earlier in other countries.”
“So officially you said you wanted to compare records, but in fact you were hoping to revise the Siamese records to better match your own official views.”
“My brother’s statements were not the only problem. Some newspaper correspondents had paid local Siamese press to do some reporting for them. George had even been photographed in secret, from afar.”
“Luckily for you, the photographs were all unclear,” Sherlock filled in. “None of the newspapers realized they actually depicted Grand Duke George. The Russian court has offered a large sum to purchase those negatives, the goal being to remove them from circulation.”
“Since the photographs were developed using rudimentary technology, they will likely deteriorate in a number of years. The negatives, however, are a different story. If someone enlarged them they might realize it was George.”
Sherlock nodded. “You worried the same situation might occur in Japan, so you didn’t inform the reporters of your itinerary. Instead, the Grand Duke snuck out in secret.”
“Yes. Of course I’d met the Emperor before all this, so the plan was that I would go in person for only the Tokyo portion of the trip. At any rate, Japan agreed with George greatly, and he showed little reserve in his travels. He even visited the homes of commoners. And of course, everyone he met were people he’d never met before. I’m sure he assumed that no one in Asia would be able to tell the difference between him and I. And even the dignitaries were fooled. There were no reporters, everyone bowed their heads on the street, and cameras are not popular here with the public. Photographs were prohibited. I wrote my diary entries based on George’s letters, just as I had in Siam.”
Ito didn’t understand. “But there were photographs taken during your visit, I am sure of it. I saw them myself at the newspaper offices. It was clearly you in those photographs, sitting in a rickshaw.”
Sherlock held up a hand to stop Ito. “Your Highness, you must have been very shocked when you heard of what occurred in Otsu.”
Nicholas groaned. “Shocked! I could hardly believe it. The entire Pamiat Azova was in a panic. I was desperate to know if my brother was safe. I could not rest.”
“Were you worried for your brother?” Sherlock asked coldly. “Or were you more worried that the Emperor of Japan was on his way to see him? You received notice that he wished to check on your brother’s well-being, I believe.”
Nicholas closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “And my heart nearly fell out of my chest. I consulted with the officers and other attendants. We decided I should switch with George before the Emperor arrived. He had been sent to Tokiwa Hotel—if we had admitted him to a hospital there would have been records. We snuck ashore in secret, and travelled to the hotel by carriage.”
“Were you able to observe your brother’s condition when you arrived?”
“Yes…He was in serious condition, and remained senseless. He still does, today.”
The entire conversation had left Ito reeling. They had been notified at first that the injury was serious, and included damage to the skull. During His Grace’s visit, however, they were told the injury was quite minor. As confusing as that discrepancy had been, Ito never imagined that the truth would be as strange as this.
Nicholas stared off into space. “I was uninjured, of course, but we wrapped my head in bandages. We arranged our story with the court physician in advance, before the Emperor arrived. George was transferred to the Pamiat Azova, then later to another ship, and then to a hospital in Vladivostok.”
And this explained why Prince Takehito Arisugawa and the interpreter, Naohide Madenokoji, had not been admitted into the room. Naturally they could not be allowed inside. They still believed Nicholas was the younger brother.
“After the incident,” Sherlock said, “the Emperor was not the only person you needed to deceive. There were reporters, as well.”
“Yes, precisely. Originally we planned that I would go to Tokyo, and we could take photographs then. It would have looked strange if the military photographers had not taken any photos before the Otsu incident. After Siam, they might have been punished for forgetting their duties again.”
Sherlock snorted. “Your Highness is very kind to worry.”
Nicholas was offended. “We didn’t mean any harm. We assumed the whole matter would remain secret.”
“You summoned the two rickshaw drivers to the warship in order to falsify some photographs. That is why you asked them to wear their rickshaw uniforms.”
“You have worked it all out, I see. Yes. We paid the drivers a great sum, and awarded them with medals to keep them quiet after. We thought if we had given them a one-time reward they might have had second thoughts afterward. But a lifetime pension meant we could cut off their funds if they should ever let the secret slip.”
“Very effective. I suspect your father had a hand in devising such a threat.”
“Yes. I had hoped to keep the whole affair a secret from Father, but George was still senseless when we sent him to Vladivostok. We had no choice but to lay the whole thing bare. I had the captain send a wire to ask for Father’s orders.”
“The medal ceremony was not held until the evening. You invited the drivers aboard at noon. That was so you could sneak them from the ship and take your photographs.”
“We lowered the boat from the starboard side in order to avoid detection. Disguising ourselves as commoners, we docked at a small fishing port where we took the photographs using a rickshaw we’d arranged for. I wore the same bowler and blazer that George had when he was in Otsu. We continued taking pictures until the sun dipped and began to set, at which point the photographer said it was too dark to take any more. We returned to the warship by boat, and held the medal ceremony then.”
Now it finally makes sense, Ito thought. That must have been when the rickshaw drivers saw Mt. Fuji.
“After spending so much time taking fake photographs, I should think you would have more to show for it,” Sherlock said in some astonishment. “You provided only two photographs to the newspapers.”
“But if even a single passerby was in frame, someone might work out that the photographs were not taken when we said they were. We had to be sure nothing was behind us that could give away our location, and that the lighting generally matched my brother George’s travels. So from all the pictures we took, we were left with only two photographs.”
“You expressed gratitude to the Emperor for his visit. Before returning to Russia you also released a similar message in the newspapers, thanking the Japanese people.”
“I was nearly moved to tears when I learned of the faith George had inspired in the people of Japan. My brother had truly loved this country. I had to continue expressing those same sentiments to some degree, in his place.”
“I assume your true feelings were much less generous.”
“Much less,” Nicholas replied stiffly.
“Afterward,” Sherlock prompted softly, “when the court released your diary…”
“It was Father’s idea, to better establish the narrative of my travels in Japan.”
“In your diary, however, you stated that none of the Japanese people came to your aid. The statement resulted in controversy.”
“That’s what my cousin Prince George of Greece said in his report. He insisted quite vehemently that it was he who saved my brother. It was also Prince George who told me that people along the road did not intervene.”
“The people standing along the road had their heads bowed,” Ito said. “Most of them didn’t even see the attack when it happened. Once the commotion had begun and they had finally raised their heads, all they would have seen was a policeman—an officer of the law—running down the street. Of course they only watched. What else would you expect them to do?”
Nicholas raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You mean to tell me that the people did not recognize George because he was wearing ordinary clothes, whereas the familiar policeman projected an air of authority? Is that how the mind of a peasant works? I find that rather unpersuasive.”
Sherlock didn’t turn his gaze away from the Tsarevich. “The Japanese had hurt your brother. You hated them now more than ever. Correct?”
“Of course I hated them.” Nicholas stared at Sherlock defiantly. “Perhaps it is wrong to say this in front of Chairman Ito, but you wanted me to be honest. I knew the Japanese were uncivilized barbarians before we even got here, just like the people in Siam and China. After the Otsu attack, I was still hopeful. I thought George would regain his senses before long. But his condition has grown worse! The doctors say they are unsure how to treat him, and there is no telling if he will ever recover…”
“You referred to the Japanese as monkeys?”
“They are damned monkeys, not even people. How many foreigners were slaughtered in this country, mere decades ago? They are savage yellow monkeys and I will never forgive them.”
The hairs on the back of Ito’s neck bristled. “Then you take no responsibility for sending your brother in your place? Of making a mockery of our country?”
Nicholas stood up, his eyes flashing with anger. “If my brother hadn’t taken my place it would have been me who was attacked. The chauvinism of the Japanese, to protect the man who attacked my brother when you know he should be executed! I detest it!”
“We are not chauvinists! We are a country of laws!”
“Those are empty excuses. Tell me, what were you doing before the Meiji Restoration? Are you going to say you never supported joui, not even once? That you never spilled Western blood?”
Ito was silent. Not for lack of a counterargument, however. He knew Nicholas was only trying to change the subject, and he would not allow himself to be provoked. Westerners were quick to bring up joui when they wanted to portray themselves as victims and justify their aggression against Japan. However much Japan attempted to develop and progress, their reputation was still shackled to the Bakufu. Was it truly Japan, though, that had been high-handed? No. Rather, wasn’t it the Western powers who had resorted to force to interfere in Asia?
Sherlock interceded, raising both hands. “Our only interest now is the truth. Tsarevich Nicholas, you were preoccupied by hatred of the Japanese, and a desire for revenge. The international community, however, has applauded you for your magnanimity. This only caused you further rage.”
Nicholas looked down and sighed. “It was galling. And Father would not understand at all. He counseled me to be patient. Can you believe it? The ministers and generals all insisted that I abide. They are insane. Russia has been laying the groundwork to crush Japan for ages. Why else would we build the Siberian railway, or Vladivostok port?”
Chekhov shifted in discomfort. “Your Highness, with all due respect, I am afraid you have misunderstood His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s intentions. His Imperial Majesty, the ministers, the generals—all they wish for is peace. They would never pursue any actions they thought would lead to war.”
“I don’t believe you! I am not the only one who realizes the Japanese are damned monkeys. Important people—in the military, in the government—agree with me. Ever since I was a child, everyone I know has looked down on Japan. The only reason we do not act now is because they have the British backing them. Japan is ours for the taking, if only Father would not fear the Brits. You see, Chairman Ito even came here today with a British lapdog!”
Nicholas’ angry voice reverberated. The quiet that ensued almost seemed itself like a sound. The more silent it was, the louder the pulsing in everyone’s ears.
“So you demanded revenge against the Japanese,” Sherlock said coolly, “but your father refused to lend you an ear. Instead, he ordered that you negotiate with the Siamese. You saw this as an opportunity to take action on your own. You anchored in Japan rather than Siam, and goaded Ambassador Shevich into reigniting disagreement over Tsuda’s verdict. You hoped that you could pressure Japan until it broke.”
“I wasn’t acting alone. The captain of the ship sympathized with me.”
“And your father probably predicted what you would do. This explains why he did not allow you to take your imperial flagship. But you requested the largest escort you could, and then led your string of cruisers about like they were toys. You remind me of a boy who has run away from home dreaming of military glory.”
Nicholas stepped forward and shouted in Sherlock’s face. “You dog! You insolent English dog!”
“Am I as insolent as you were when you deceived the Emperor and King Rama V?” Sherlock said sharply. “Your behavior is not fitting of a crown prince. Protest all you like, but after such behavior I am afraid there are few foreign dignitaries who will find value in your opinion. Even now you flinch at shadows, and you are terrified that unless you get this tattoo upon your arm you will be undone. Your behavior in all this is beneath Japan’s dignity.”
Nicholas’ face turned bright red. He raised his arms in the air, but made no attempt to swing at Sherlock—who towered over the Tsarevich. Instead Nicholas sat down again and cradled his head in his hands.
They heard a commotion from the hallway. Many footsteps approached and the door flew open with enough force to nearly tear it off its hinges.
Lt. Colonel Kanevsky rushed inside, accompanied by three guards. Ambassador Shevich came last.
Shevich glanced first at Ito, and then at Sherlock. Unbridled rage spread across his face. “It is the Queen’s mongrel!” he shouted. “How dare you show yourself again! You have broken our agreement. I hope you are prepared now for the consequences!”
Kanevsky and his guards rushed to Nicholas’ side. Nicholas remained slumped over in the chair. They seemed to be urging him to escape.
“A moment,” Ito said to the ambassador. “You misunderstand.”
“Chairman Ito, what on earth are you wearing?”
“Tsarevich Nicholas has confessed everything. Once you learn what he has done, you will realize your own behavior toward our country has been greatly in the wrong.”
The Russians paused in confusion. Kanevsky cast a questioning look at Nicholas.
Nicholas rose solemnly to his feet. “I have no idea what they are referring to.”
The guards stood at attention, though clearly confused. Nicholas walked past them, and headed for the door.
Shevich turned toward Ito again. “How can you claim Japan is a nation of laws when the Chairman of the Privy Council himself intrudes upon our private property? This is the Russian legation! What could possibly drive you to—”
“Stop!” Chekhov shouted.
Everyone fell silent. All eyes had turned toward Chekhov. There were rivulets of sweat running down his face.
Chekhov stared at Shevich, his face grave. “I heard it all. Unlike in May, it was not His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s will that we come here to call again for Sanzo Tsuda’s execution. Tsarevich Nicholas has acted alone. Mr. Holmes laid out the facts just now, and His Highness the Tsarevich admitted they were true.”
Shevich’s eyes widened. Nicholas was already on his way out of the room, but he stopped, no doubt feeling the stares of disbelief from behind him. He stood motionless, his back turned.
Chekhov continued. “I believe…It seems His Highness the Tsarevich has misunderstood some of Russian policy. The Siberian railway, for instance. Russia has given Japan permission to use it for trade. It was not built to facilitate an invasion.”
Anna began to speak as well, her voice high and flustered. “Grand Duke George is still senseless and incapacitated. In his grief, His Highness Tsarevich Nicholas has grown to resent Japan.”
“What are you saying?” Shevich was stupefied. “I don’t understand. What has happened to Grand Duke George?”
Ito’s jaw dropped in amazement. The ambassador didn’t know? Was he entirely unaware that Grand Duke George had posed as Nicholas to visit Japan?
It was possible, of course. Tokyo had been the only place Nicholas actually visited in person. He probably only met Ambassador Shevich during that portion of the trip.
And though Shevich undoubtedly rushed to Kyoto as soon as the Otsu incident occurred, by the time he arrived, Nicholas must have already taken George’s place in the sickbed.
Chekhov sighed. “The entire crew of the Pamiat Azova—the captain, the attendants, even the sailors—were in on this. We were forbidden from telling you the truth, Ambassador. That we travelled with His Highness Grand Duke George on official business for the past four months, that he is resting in Paris…It was all a lie.”
The color drained from Shevich’s face. “You expect me to believe this?! By the time of the attack His Highness Grand Duke George had already returned home. I was told so by the Emperor himself!”
“We were following His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s orders! And His Highness the Tsarevich’s, as well!” Chekhov’s voice rose, and his red hair seemed increasingly disordered. “But we were wrong. We shouldn’t have!”
The room fell silent again. This time no one broke it. Everyone stared at Nicholas with bated breath.
Finally, Kanevsky drew himself up. He spoke in Russian, but his voice sounded tentative. He seemed to be asking Nicholas a question.
Nicholas continued to face away. His reply was clipped. The guards glanced at each other as he exited to the hallway.
Chekhov turned to Ito with a haggard look. “His Highness asked that they see the guests outside.”
Shevich and Kanevsky stared at each other, clearly at a loss.
Sherlock remained calm. “I called at the legation today to help correct your misunderstanding. You are of course welcome to reinstate our previous arrangement until such a time as reports of my death can be confirmed as false. I wish you a good day.”
He left the room smoothly.
“Ambassador,” Ito addressed Shevich. “My apologies for our sudden visit. I will take my leave now as well. Let us meet again in the coming days.”
The other man remained stunned. Chekhov and Anna seemed exhausted, but also clearly relieved. The two had shown true courage. Ito bowed deeply, before turning and walking out the door.