Monta understood English too. He glanced at Sherlock sharply, and stepped in close. “Even a child should know when to hold his tongue…”
Ito interceded, speaking in Japanese. “Calmly! You think that was just childish impudence? Ask those adults over there, then. This is what all English people believe. They view us as a tiny Eastern country, impulsive and barbaric.”
“But the only reason we’ve embraced joui is so we can undermine the foolish Bakufu, to weaken it and overthrow it.”
“That’s not how it is seen overseas. They make no distinction between us and the Satsuma Clan, who carried out the Namamugi Incident. To them we are all Japanese, and all violent by nature.”
Monta fell silent, anger brewing in his face. He sighed deeply, and then spoke more quietly. “I won’t allow Japan to follow this path toward destruction. I will return to Choshu and convince them that this is a war that cannot be won.”
Despite his initial shock, Ito immediately found his own resolve. “I will go as well.”
“Don’t be foolish. My presence alone will be adequate. Don’t forget, Lord Mori only agreed to send us here with the promise that we’d study this country’s technology and bring it back with us when we return. Yozo, Yakichi, and Endo will all stay behind in London as well. I hardly like going myself.”
Ito raised his voice. “What good will learning technology do us if Japan is destroyed?” Silence descended. Ito stared at Monta. Monta stared back wordlessly.
“We should go quickly, then,” he relented finally. His tone was subdued.
“Yes.” Ito nodded. “We had better.”
Monta turned on his heel, his face serious, and walked toward the door. Ito followed after.
In response, Sherlock ran after Ito, stepping in front of him and blocking his path. “Wait. You’re making a mistake.”
Though half-annoyed, Ito paused. “You don’t even know what we were talking about.”
“That’s not true. I was able to discern enough based on the article and your expressions. You’re going to return to your country, aren’t you? You can’t do anything about the madness happening there. Please, consider your own safety.”
“It’s not madness. It’s joui.”
“Joi? Who is Joi?”
“It’s not a person, it’s a philosophy. You wouldn’t understand. Now get out of my way.”
A look of distress crossed Sherlock’s face. “You said that the moment you left Japan it was a capital offense. If you return to Japan, you’ll be killed!”
The entire restaurant fell silent. Young Sherlock stared at Ito, his face pleading. He seemed so mature for his age, but here, at last, was an expression on his face that a child might make.
He certainly is an intelligent boy, Ito thought. No one could deny that his observations, no matter how unasked for or even unwelcome, were correct. Behind that intelligence, however, he possessed a sensitivity that surpassed the norm. Ito was happy to catch a glimpse of the boy behind the mask, even if only for a moment.
He sighed once, and then spoke quietly. “Listen, Sherlock. I’ve been prepared for death ever since I slipped out in the middle of the night and boarded that ship to England. Even at sea, or while here in London, I knew that the Bakufu’s men might catch up with me at any moment.”
“You were never at your ease.”
“Not so. The five of us slept soundly every night, because we were busy with our studies during the day. What more could we ask, than to give our lives for our country? We were too busy with that mission to worry about small things.”
“But what good will that be if you’re killed?”
“Nothing is certain. I will try to persuade them. I may not look it, but when I was younger my sensei used to tell me I was a natural politician.”
Monta interrupted, speaking in Japanese. “What Shoin-sensei said, I believe, was that you were a hopeless student.”
Ito checked Monta with a glance, and then turned back toward Sherlock. “I will tell the daimyo how advanced England is. I am sure he will understand.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” said Sherlock, a desperate expression on his face.
“Hoy,” said Mycroft, startled. “Enough silly talk.”
Sherlock, however, didn’t even glance in his brother’s direction. “I could demonstrate the British Empire’s superiority through analytical reasoning,” he continued, pleading with Ito.
Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the arm. “Every time you run off you manage to get a little farther, but I’m sure Japan is a sight farther than any train ticket will take you. If you want to get a dig at Master Partridge so badly, you had better find another way.”
“That isn’t my motive,” said Sherlock, flatly. “We owe Shunsuke our lives. It’s my duty to repay him.”
“If you believe you owe Mr. Ito your life, then isn’t there something you ought to say to him?”
Sherlock seemed suddenly reluctant. He stammered sheepishly, his eyes wet. “Shunsuke…. I mean to say, thank you.”
Mycroft sighed. “My brother is horrendous at apologies and thank yous,” he said to Ito.
“I understand.” Ito flashed a smile. “You are both much more observant and knowledgeable than one might expect from children. You also show deductive powers beyond your years. Adults must sometimes seem very foolish to you. But please, turn those exceptional talents to the good of your own country. Don’t let those minds go to waste by throwing them away now.”
Mycroft nodded in response. “I plan to enter public service.”
“That is excellent.”
Sherlock sulked in response. “My brother only dislikes taking exercise. His main concern is the prospect of deskwork and a stable income.”
As an only child, Ito was poorly equipped to intercede in sibling rivalry. He couldn’t help but feel slightly envious, though. It must take a mutual awareness of their similarities to vent one’s disappointments so openly to the other.
He nevertheless tried to intervene between the brothers. “You see? The two of you are fighting, when you should be friends. That is exactly the sort of thing I am going back to Japan to stop. Do you understand now?”
Sherlock and Mycroft glanced at each other uncomfortably, and then collapsed into shamefaced silence.
“Shunsuke…?” offered Sherlock, hesitantly. “How did you manage to lay out those three men even though they were so much bigger than you?”
“Bujutsu. The martial arts. I used jujitsu, karate, and kenjutsu.”
“If I went with you could I learn too?”
The waitress, Enola, snorted through her nose. “Are you still on about that? I wager the only way to learn that kind of stuff is by doing it. But I fancy they’d crack you in half like a walnut if you tried.”
Ito shook his head, grimacing. “No warrior would strike unprovoked at a defenseless boy. Listen, Sherlock. If we meet again, I will teach you some of the basics, but you must not neglect your physical training. Please, take care.”
Ito turned to leave with Monta. Before he could, Sherlock reached for his hand.
“Be safe,” he said softly, gripping Ito’s hand in a strong handshake.
His eyes, though glistening, were bright and unclouded. This was, without doubt, the pure expression of a ten-year-old boy. Sherlock was an enigmatic child, thought Ito. Governed entirely by reason, and yet possessing a depth of sensitivity that was greater than that of the common man.
Ito nodded to him, turned his back, and began walking toward the door, following Monta outside. The stench that hung over the Thames had drifted even this far on the wind. The rows of stonework buildings, cloaked in fog, spread out before them. Soon, he would be saying farewell to all of it.