Sherlock was unmoved. “Were you aware of Grand Duke George’s public service?”
“Public service? Why bring that up?”
“I asked whether or not you were aware of it.”
The young man began pacing the room nervously. “If you are speaking of his visits to the coal mines, then yes, I was aware of them. Labor disputes, or some such, are on the rise.”
“Russia’s rapid industrialization has made its working environments inhospitable. The peasants sent to the mines and factories suffer, while the Russian government levies heavy taxes against them and pushes to raise foreign currency by exporting crops. The peasants are being exploited to the point of starvation. Your brother was concerned for them.”
“That is very much like him.”
“Yes. But are you at all interested to know why the working conditions of the peasants were so poor?”
“Not in the slightest. My brother’s duties and my own are—”
“Pollution. Sickness caused by pollution.”
Nicholas froze. He was perhaps overcome by a sense of foreboding. “Pollution…?”
“The peasants suffer from pollution-related diseases. Just as Grand Duke George suffered from them, after having visited coal mines throughout the country.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. George has been sick ever since he was a child.”
“I had Ambassador Shevich telegraph the palace. The court physician denied it at first, but in the end he admitted that pollution was the main cause of the Grand Duke’s illness. That is why he developed tuberculosis symptoms last year, and then bronchitis in Bombay. His weak constitution simply made him more perceptible to the polluted air of the coal mines.”
Nicholas took a step backward. He staggered against the wall and then collapsed, holding on to the closet to support his weight.
“You have always thought of Grand Duke George as a friend, someone sociable and cheerful. He is the brother who fished and hunted with you. But your brother was aware of his responsibilities to society, as well. You loved your brother for your own sentimental reasons. You never appreciated him for his true worth.”
“My brother’s public service has nothing to do with this. A complete stranger could never understand the affection we shared. Especially not a stranger such as yourself…”
“You are the one who does not understand,” Sherlock insisted. “The pollution now hurting the health of the miners is an issue that should have been dealt with by your father, and as the crown prince, by you as well. Your brother listened to the peasants because you and your father refused to. You are the ones responsible for his illness.”
“You’re lying.” Nicholas’ eyes grew wide and bloodshot. Tears began to trickle down his face. His voice was shaky. “You’re lying. My brother. George…”
“How many times did he try to talk to you about this issue? You remember him broaching the subject, I’m sure. But you were uninterested. You preferred to have fun, not to discuss public nuisances.”
“What else could I have done?”
“As his brother, you ought to have shared his burden. You said your brother is your other self. That he is your closest companion in this world. I imagine your brother, however, looked to you not only as a playfellow but also as his best confidante. You would have been stronger together than alone…”
Sherlock trailed off. Nicholas was sobbing. Sherlock had realized several moments ago that the Tsarevich was no longer listening. For whose benefit, then, was he speaking?
The answer, of course, was obvious. For his own. He finally realized the truth. Superficial fellowship was meaningless. It had no worth. The bonds that held brothers together were located elsewhere, at a deeper, more spiritual level.
Nicholas collapsed against the wall. He slid to the floor, cradled his head, and continued to sob.
Perhaps this would motivate a change in the prince. One could only hope.
The Russian palace had informed Shevich that George was not expected to live very long. Perhaps he would never regain consciousness, and his death would be announced in a few years’ time. The cause, of course, would be kept secret. How would Nicholas grapple with the truth if and when that time came? What sort of emperor would he become?
But as of now, there was nothing left for Sherlock to say. He opened the door slowly, and left the room.
37
A cool breeze glided over the ocean, creating ripples of shadow and light. The water’s gentle blue surface reflected the brittle autumn sunlight, a sparkling and clear deluge.
An enormous, brand-new ship pulled into the harbor at Yokohama Port. Sherlock bent his neck back to see the soaring mast. A far cry from the ship in which he had travelled to Japan, this was a first-class luxury liner headed for Hong Kong. On board, a special-class cabin had been reserved for him.
The night before, Sherlock had asked Ito if there would be any problems with his travel arrangements. Ito had answered with an enigmatic smile. “Leave it all to me,” he had said.
The sky, endlessly clear and high, was streaked with feathery white clouds. It was invigorating, but also dizzying. Sherlock lowered his eyes and placed his head in his hands.
“Mr. Holmes,” Umeko asked, “is something wrong?”
Sherlock lifted his head. Hirobumi Ito’s family had assembled along the pier. Ito was dressed formally in a frock coat. Umeko wore a kimono, and Ikuko and Asako wore dresses. They looked concerned at the possibility he might be sick.
He smiled wryly. “It’s nothing. I must still be feeling some of last night’s saké.”
A look of relief spread across their faces. “Shall I bring another bottle for you to take along?” Ito asked.
“No, I believe I’ve had enough. You are fortunate to prefer beer. This saké is so easy to drink, that it is easy to overindulge. Particularly when the celebrations last for days.”
“One should never stand on ceremony when there is drink available.”
“Unacceptable for someone in my position. It is necessary that I keep my intellect sharp.”
“Indeed, last night you made a rare error, though you seemed to handle it well.”
“That may be the case, but my inebriation is no excuse. What I said was dreadfully rude. Considering how thin and pale he was, coupled with that flamboyant military jacket he wore, I assumed he was just an over-decorated, bureaucratic general.”
“His Grace found it amusing.”
“It was inexcusable. I have learned my lesson and will henceforth abstain from all drink.”
“Truly? That seems to be overdoing things.”
“No,” Sherlock said exuberantly, “I have drunk enough for a lifetime. From now on, I shall preserve my mind in its natural state, so that my faculties shall be ever ready to serve. If I may be so abstract for a moment, I feel as if I have entered a new stage in my career. I have you and your family to thank for this.”
Ito smiled. “As unsentimental as ever, Mr. Holmes, even during farewells. You are a paragon of reason.”
“Sentiment?” Sherlock surveyed his surroundings.
The simple, well-apportioned streets around the harbor were quiet—not that he could see them. From a distance, a great number of policemen surrounded the port. Police Chief Sonoda and his men had come out en masse, escorting Ito in uniformed formation. Ordinary passengers glanced over their shoulders uneasily as they approached the wharf.
“Being sent off by someone of your stature leads to too much extravagance. It limits the emotion.”
“Mr. Holmes,” Ikuko said, drooping her head. “I am sad to see you go.”