Chapter 59

Tears escaped from my eyes as I examined Tamarind. She awoke with a start, her fists flailing.

“It’s only me,” I said, stumbling away from her fists.

“Oh, God,” she said. “Who died?”

“I don’t think he’s dead.” I glanced at the prone body of the professor.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I thought you were dead.” I looked at the blood spreading across her coat.

She gasped. “Help me up. The bastard sliced my arm…Oh…I don’t feel so good.”

I was relieved the blood was coming from her arm rather than her chest, but there was a lot of it. Too much.

“I didn’t get to see you knock him out,” she said, her eyelids fluttering closed. “Bummer. But don’t worry. All is right with the world. We got him. The princesses saved themselves.”

She slipped out of consciousness.

Tamarind was bleeding far too much. Professor Nakamura was unconscious, but I had no idea how long that would last. I glared down at him and saw he was wearing a belt. I could use it either to secure him or tie Tamarind’s injured arm. Not both. I opted to save my friend. I used the belt as a tourniquet on her arm so the blood loss wouldn’t spread.

I looked between the two unconscious figures. Professor Nakamura had made us leave our phones behind, so there was no way to get help. And no way to know how soon the professor would wake up.

I picked up his sword. I couldn’t kill an unconscious man, but I could hide his sword. I stashed it behind an especially chubby statue, then leaned over his unconscious body and searched his pockets until I found his phone. I felt a small glimmer of relief—until I realized it was password protected.

“No,” I whispered to the statues, falling to my knees. The people who’d carved these thousands of statues hadn’t given up after the temple was destroyed by natural disasters. Out of destruction came a far more breathtaking result.

I wasn’t giving up either.

My jiu-jitsu training kicked in. I squatted next to Tamarind and used my leg muscles to lift her onto my back. I couldn’t get more than a few steps, though. Carrying someone twice my size down an uneven stone path in the dark was far more difficult than flipping and lifting a person. I placed her back on the ground as gently as I could, and sank down beside her.

I didn’t want to leave Tamarind, but what else could I do? But first I needed to find a way to tie up Professor Nakamura. I was wearing a blouse and sweater under my coat. I scrambled out of my clothes, taking off my blouse before hastily putting my sweater back on. I’d seen movie characters rip their shirts to create strips of fabric. I yanked on the silk black blouse. A six-inch square of fabric tore off in my hand. Perhaps the whole shirt would work. Except silk fabric probably wasn’t the most secure material to bind wrists.

A clank sounded behind me. The world stopped as I turned and saw Professor Nakamura standing over me with the samurai sword.

So this was what it was like to see your life flash before your eyes. I thought of my big brother holding my hand as we ran along the beaches of Goa, colorful boats along the water and our parents smiling in the distance. The teachers who’d inspired me, both in the classroom and on my travels. The first time I met Sanjay, when he’d pulled a flower out of his hat for me the day I was unpacking my roadster in front of Nadia’s house. The feeling of Lane’s fingers intertwined with mine on a coastal trail in the Scottish Highlands the first moment I realized I might love him.

Time slowed down. I became aware of my own breathing on a more primitive level than I’d ever been before. Sanjay and Lane both joked I was a bad Indian, for reasons including the fact that I hated both yoga and meditation. Who could sit still for so long? But now I understood the feeling of being fully attuned to your own breath.

No, this wasn’t right. Time couldn’t have slowed down this much. Especially not for someone who’d never been able to meditate for more than two minutes. Time hadn’t slowed down. It was Professor Nakamura who was standing still.

“Why?” he whispered. “Why are you making me do this?”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“It’s different when it’s not an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“I know,” I lied as calmly as I could. Could he hear how loudly my heart was beating?

“You don’t believe me. But it’s true. It wasn’t supposed to come to this.”

“I do,” I said, surprising myself for believing the words. He looked so distraught, and he wasn’t plunging the sword into me, even though with me defenseless on the ground he could have easily done so.

“The evening you and I had dinner, I told you I had something else to look up. I went through our online library archives that night. I found more information about our ship, and a name. The one you later came to me with. Casper Van Asch. The Dutchman from the magic show was real. The diary Akira claimed was genuine wasn’t only a prop. It was authentic history. I knew my students would love it.” His face lit up as he spoke of his students, but the emotion was short-lived.

“I called Akira’s publicist to schedule a meeting,” he continued, “but she told me since I wasn’t a reporter, I wouldn’t be able to talk with him. Since you knew him, I planned to ask you about it when we met the following day. But I hardly slept that night. I continued my research through the night, including calling a Scottish scholar.”

That’s why he’d called Professor Lamont.

“He gave me more details about Van Asch before he reached Japan,” he continued. “Sleep was impossible. I knew from my students that Akira had a habit of being alone first thing in the day, to prepare for his miracles on the site where they would take place. I knew where the show was to take place, so I went there at dawn and waited, hoping to speak with him. I only wished to see the diary…but he laughed at me.” Professor Nakamura’s face filled with rage, and he gripped the sword.

“I only wanted a few minutes with the historical diary, but he said it belonged to him, he’d never show it to me. I grabbed his arm as he walked away. When he pulled away, he fell. But he wasn’t dead. He’d knocked his head on the rock, but he stood up and began yelling at me. He screamed that both the magician diary thief and I would pay. I ran away, hoping he wouldn’t remember my name. When I reached my home, I saw the news.” He took a step back, but kept the sword solidly in his hand.

“He’d died from his head wound,” he said softly. “It was my fault. I was a coward and didn’t get him medical care. Once I learned he was dead, there was nothing I could do. I knew the police would catch up to me. I was again a coward. I couldn’t bring myself to come forward. I began packing to leave. I didn’t have enough money to be a fugitive. But I knew someone who did.”

“Casper Van Asch,” I whispered.

Professor Nakamura nodded. His hands were shaking now. “I needed to find the gold pagodas so I would have enough money to escape. I thought back to when Akira was shouting at me. He said I would regret what I’d done, and so would the magician diary thief. That’s why he wouldn’t show me the diary. Because he didn’t have it. A magician had already stolen it from him. I believed it was Houdini-san, the opening performer in the show. I followed him and crept into his room through an open window when he left, but he didn’t have it. Neither did Akira’s assistant. I followed you to the home of the failed magician. He was the one who had the diary. A diary that tells, in Dutch, where Van Asch hid his riches. He left part of it in Dejima. But the family of pawnbrokers in Dejima wouldn’t give it to me. They—”

He broke off and looked around. I’d heard the sound too. But we were alone. It must have been Tamarind, starting to come around.

“It’s Tamarind,” I said softly. “My friend. She needs medical attention. You didn’t mean to kill Akira. I can see that. You regretted not getting him medical attention. Please…Please don’t make the same mistake again.”

I wasn’t sure he’d told me the complete truth. Akira’s injuries had looked too serious for him to be walking around before passing out. But even if the professor had shoved or hit Akira purposefully, I believed he hadn’t meant to kill him.

“Why did he have to laugh at me? I couldn’t take his mocking laugh. I’ve never been respected.”

“That’s not true. Your students must love you. I can tell what a great teacher you are.” I was speaking the truth. His desire to bring history to life is what had gotten him into this mess.

“I told you the truth when I first got in touch with you. That I wanted to engage my students using the magic show. But that wasn’t the entire truth. I also wanted to make a significant discovery to get respect. My whole life, many people have only seen me as a foreigner. But this is my home. I was born and raised here. Japanese history means so much to me. But it doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I do,” I said. I understood better than he knew. “I also understand you enough to know you’re not going to hurt me with that sword.”

I held my breath, hoping my instincts were right.

“You’re right.” His shoulders sagged, but instead of releasing the sword, he gripped it with both hands. It was only once he lifted the sword that I realized what he was doing.

“I’m a dishonorable coward, but I can do one honorable thing.”

“No!” I cried as he turned the tip of the sword on himself.

He sliced the blade across his belly. The historian was committing seppuku, the honorable ritual suicide from medieval Japan.