“Good morning. Would you care to take the morning paper?”
“Thank you.” Sherlock took the paper from her, but found himself perplexed on the front page. It was written entirely in Japanese. “While I possess considerable powers of deduction, I suspect it will take several months until I am able to read the language. I know, of course, that kanji are a type of pictograph.”
Asako leaned over him. “Here, look at this character. This is ki. It means tree.”
“Ah, I can see how it would mean that.” The character did look somewhat like a simplified tree.
“And now look at this one.” She pointed to a character that looked like two ki side by side, and then to another character that looked like three ki in a bunch. “This means forest. And that one is mori. It means woods.”
Sherlock smiled. “Quite straightforward. There are more and more trees.”
“And this character is hi. It means fire. It sort of looks like it is burning, doesn’t it? Two hi lined up vertically makes the character for honou. It’s like a bigger, hotter fire. A blaze. And you can even use the two characters together to spell kaen. The more hi you use, the hotter it looks.”
“Undoubtedly. This article, then, is about an arson case that occurred near a station in Tokyo?”
Surprise flashed on his tutor’s face. “Can you read it already?”
“No, but considering the frequency with which the character for fire is used, and the placement of the article, I assumed it must be a fairly serious incident. And yesterday I became quite familiar with the characters for Tokyo and station.”
“So that’s what it is! You are very perceptive.”
“The article on this page must be about some accident or crime. The headline is very large. What does it say?”
“Hmm… Thefts of miscellaneous articles continue. A string of cat burglaries have struck homes throughout Kanto, targeting items such as pottery, dolls, and woodblock prints. Over 100 cases have already been reported, and police are in a heightened state of alert.”
“Pottery, dolls, and woodblock prints. Are these items of value?”
“No. They were all hina and ichimatsu dolls, which are worth almost nothing. The rest were amateur prints and things like common flower vases used to decorate the alcoves in people’s homes. It’s all pretty worthless. A pawnshop probably wouldn’t even take them.”
“Most interesting. None of the items were rare, then?”
“You can find them in almost any home. The kind of junk that gets left over in open-air markets.”
The sliding door opened once more. This time Ikuko bowed, sitting in strict seiza. She wore an even finer dress than Asako, and a glossy ornament in her hair. Her makeup had been carefully applied.
Upon raising her head, Ikuko seemed to notice Asako’s presence for the first time. “What are you doing in here?” she said in English, her expression severe. “You shouldn’t bother our guest.”
Asako stood up. “Well, what about you? Why are you bothering Mr. Holmes?”
Before Sherlock could stop them, the two began arguing in Japanese. Then their mother, Umeko, appeared. Like the two younger girls, her dress was fit for high tea. Her hair was tied up neatly, and her makeup was meticulous. By London standards her attire would have been slightly behind season, but here in Japan, Sherlock recognized, it represented a level of sophistication only available to the most privileged classes.
Umeko furrowed her brow. “Why are you both here? Your father is ready to go. Outside now, hurry.”
Asako, who had been putting on ladylike airs earlier for Sherlock’s sake, made a face at her sister. Ikuko immediately retreated to the hallway, her own expression unamused. Asako ran after her. Umeko gave an embarrassed smile and lowered her head. Sherlock stood as well. It seemed he had missed his chance to take breakfast.
Approaching the front entrance, he saw that the servants had lined up in the garden. Umeko was waiting as well, along with Ikuko and a fidgeting Asako. In all their finery, it looked almost as if they were preparing to leave for a ball.
Ito appeared next, dressed dapperly in a frock coat and bow tie. Sherlock donned his shoes, which had been laid out for him, and joined him in the garden. A bellows camera had been set up on a tripod on the lawn. The lens was pointed toward them. Behind it, the photographer was busy making preparations.
Sherlock glanced at Ito uneasily. “What is all this?”
“I hoped you might take a commemorative photo with us.”
“That is a problem. I am supposed to be dead.”
“Believe me, I had my own misgivings on the matter, but my daughters were quite insistent.”
Asako had sidled up close to Sherlock at some point while he was talking to Ito, and was now staring up into his face. Her expression broke into one of pleasure. Though less obvious than her sister, Ikuko also glanced at him several times out of the corners of her eyes, while fussing over her bangs.
“I will take care that the photographs do not leave this house,” Ito whispered into Sherlock’s ear. “It is rare that I have the family together like this. It would be a great favor to me.”
Sherlock was taken aback. “You are not regularly together?”
“We live under the same roof, of course, but I’m afraid that since Asako’s arrival Umeko has grown cold.”
“That is understandable.”
“And Asako is rebellious. She has been a handful for the servants. I cannot remember the last time I saw her so well-behaved. We seem like a family today.”
“If your eldest son also lived with you I imagine the situation would be even more challenging. He is around five, I believe? I should congratulate you on having a son, but as the boy is not Umeko’s the situation must be complicated. Your second son is not Umeko’s, either, but as he is still a babe perhaps you have not yet reconciled yourself to his presence.”
“How do you know about Bunkichi and Shinichi?”
“Last night you referred to your children—brothers and sisters. And I noticed a photograph in your study in passing. Both of the boys resembled you. As neither bore a particular resemblance to Umeko, however, I assume that their mother…”
“Enough, I understand. But please, will you take the photo? For the sake of our domestic peace?”
At the photographer’s request they formed a line in front of the entrance to the house. Umeko inclined her head to Sherlock, her lips curving upward gently. She seemed quite agreeable to the prospect of the photograph, too. Perhaps she also was pleased to see her family together like this.
Then Asako fastened onto Sherlock’s arm, and Umeko reproached her. She released him, her face momentarily twisted in dissatisfaction, but then stood by his side instead. Ikuko stood close on his other side. Each time he turned his attention her way she dropped her eyes in confused embarrassment.
After all the fussing, the family was finally in position. Sherlock stood up straight, posing. At the photographer’s word, Sherlock Holmes and the Ito family were immortalized in photographic record.
It was just as they finished that a carriage pulled up in front of the gate. The servants bowed their heads. Sherlock and Ito boarded the carriage together; Asako watched them go, smiling broadly and waving her hand. Ito looked pleased, but Sherlock was left feeling discombobulated. Pleasantries did not come easily or naturally to him.
The carriage took them to the Emperor’s palace. The area—a sprawling tract of green surrounded by a moat—had once been known as Edo Castle. The building itself, which lay beyond a double-arched bridge, had been completely refurbished, although its exterior was an exact double of the Kyoto Imperial Palace which Sherlock had once seen in a photograph. It was a Japanese-style structure, made of wood, with a tiled roof.