The Collected Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in Japan (25 page)

‘You say ‘the other night’,’ said Holmes shortly. ‘Do you mean two nights ago, when the dragon was stolen from the top of the temple roof?’

‘Yes, two nights ago – and it was
not
stolen. It came to life, and it
flew
…’

‘Really…’ I began, but again waving his hand Holmes silenced me.

‘I’ve heard of you,’ continued this Takayama. ‘They say that you investigate all that is strange and unusual. But, believe me, you have never encountered anything like
this
, Holmes-
san
!’

‘So what did you see, exactly?’

Takayama shuddered, and looked longingly at the flask of
sake
on our table.

‘It makes me so nervous to remember what happened, to tell you my story…’ he declared, his brittle voice becoming an irritating whine. ‘I wonder if I might have just… just a…’

With a sigh, Holmes said to me –

‘Pour him a little
sake
, Yoshida-
sensei
, if you’d be so kind…’

‘Thank you, thank you,’ said the wretched, already-inebriated farmer. He raised the cup to his lips, and in one draft almost drained it.

‘Your
story
,’ said Holmes pointedly.

‘I was returning home from this inn, late one evening. I live outside this small town, my hut among the fields that are to be found at the foot of the mountains, the other side of which is the harbor.’

‘Thank you, but I am already familiar with the approximate geographical layout of this area,’ said Holmes. ‘You said you saw this dragon, shooting flames as it said something to you.

‘What, exactly, did it say?’

I barely repressed a sigh, scarcely believing that Sherlock Holmes (the man justly famous for his intellect) could waste his time listening to such nonsense.

‘It said – ‘
Look out, fool!
’’ declared Takayama, and both his voice, as well as the hand holding the cup of
sake
, shook as he uttered these three words.

‘The voice, Holmes-
san
! It was a terrible voice, raspy and… and
evil
… The voice you might imagine a dragon having… Then, a second later, it spat fire above me, so that I could see it, or rather just its head – for there was little or no moonlight that night, so that I could barely see my hand in front of my face as I made my way home. It is only because I have done the journey so often, from this inn to my little hut, that I know the way so precisely.’

‘Indeed,’ said Holmes dryly; but there was suddenly that
intense
look to his eyes, the one which I knew so well.

He had realized –
something
…

‘Yes, it breathed fire, a moment after it spoke to me… I saw its golden head, and a little of its body, rising above me… Up into the night sky it flew, that golden statue come to life, and then it stopped breathing fire, and so I could see no more…’

‘Have you told anyone else this story?’

‘What is the point?’ sighed Takayama. ‘Everyone in this town mocks me, calling me a ‘drunken old fool’ and such. But then I heard that
you
were staying at this inn, and that the priest of the temple had also heard you were staying in the area, and so requested you to go to the temple to see the missing golden dragon for yourself…’

The old man shrugged, drained his cup of
sake
, and finished –

‘Well, I knew I could tell my story to
you
, at least, Holmes-
san
, and so perhaps have a chance of being believed – if still only by a foreigner.’

Completely ignoring this very last comment, Holmes was quiet for a while; and sensing that he was deep in thought, Takayama did not disturb him. He instead wrapped his dirty hands around his empty cup, and gave me a series of pleading looks – but not another drop of alcohol did I pour him.

‘This place where you say you saw this dragon – take me there,’ said Holmes abruptly.

‘As… as you say, Holmes-
san
,’ replied Takayama uncertainly, as the three of us then arose from our table.   

3

We walked through the narrow streets of the town, and into the fields that were before the mountains, the other side of which was the harbor and the sea. The farmer named Takayama tripped several times as he walked, so that I realized that drunk as he was, his eyesight was also failing him. Both these factors – the weakness for alcohol, together with his poor eyesight – made me realize more than ever that his story of seeing the missing gold statue of a dragon flying above his head, spouting fire, was absolute nonsense. And that he should claim that it had
spoken
to him!

And yet here was Sherlock Holmes, dragging us out into this rural area, where squalid huts were dotted here and there among the fields, and the aging men and women laboring to get in the crops stooped and watched us pass with rheumy, disappointed eyes… 

‘It was
here
,’ said Takayama at once, pointing at the ground dead in front of him. ‘
Here
is where I saw the flying statue.’

Then he seemed to reconsider, and instead jabbed his soil-blackened finger up at the cloudy sky.

‘I mean, up
there
– I looked up, just as it spoke to me – and then it spat fire…’

‘It was low above you, then,’ questioned Holmes, and secretly I rolled my eyes at this farce. 

‘Oh, very low, Holmes-
san
,’ returned Takayama earnestly. ‘I mean, scarcely ten or twenty feet.’

‘Which way was it coming from?’

‘I… I’m not sure… Just the flames, coming from the mouth and illuminating its head, just after it spoke… Then the flames stopped, and it disappeared – though I saw that it had risen slightly higher in the air…’

Holmes at once commenced walking in circles around Takayama and me; circles which got ever wider, so that he left the narrow path we were stood upon and trespassed upon the fields either side. Then he gave a slight yell, so that I hurried over to see what had caught his attention –

A groove in the ground, a couple of feet deep and several feet long, like that made by a plough. It had dragged up a number of carrots, which was what this strip of land was principally being used to grow…

‘Holmes-
san…
?’ I said quizzically.

‘The dragon flew low, Yoshida-
sensei
… So low that we can see here how its tail dug into the ground,’ returned the Englishman, that intense light again shining in his eyes.

Takayama had followed me over, so that he also heard Holmes’s words.

‘You believe me then, Holmes-
san
?’ he cried, almost with delight. ‘You admit that I am telling the
truth
about what I saw?’

‘Oh yes,’ returned Holmes, his voice a little distant. I realized just how fast his mind was turning, assimilating this strange new information which seemed entirely nonsensical to me.

  ‘The dragon flew over these fields, from the direction of the temple, and soaring so low that its tail dug into the earth, then managed to pull itself up and cross over one of those mountains ahead,’ continued Holmes, looking at the rocky crags covered by sparse vegetation.

  ‘And looking at this cloudy sky, which may later result in another moonless night, the male dragon which remains upon the temple roof could possibly decide to spread its wings this very evening…’

  I glanced incredulously at Holmes. We had shared a number of strange, indeed at times devilish adventures, but this was still ridiculously farfetched. Flying dragons? No – flying gold dragon
statues
? The whole thing was ridiculous beyond words!

  ‘If so, then I’ll be ready and waiting for it right here!’ cried Takayama – and to my great alarm he suddenly produced (from out of two inside pockets, located either side of his
kimono
) two pistols, of the type previously introduced to Japan by the
gaijin
.   

  At once, Holmes moved in on Takayama and snatched the pistols from out of his very hands.

‘For pity’s sake, give me those things before you do yourself or someone else an injury!’ he said.

‘However did you get these?’ he then demanded.

‘Won them, from some
gaijin
sailors in an inn by the harbor a few years back,’ answered Takayama indignantly. ‘We were playing cards, and I bet money and they bet them. And I won. They work, too; I got the
gaijin
to show me how to use them…’

‘Six bullets apiece?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes – then you have to reload.’

‘Give me whatever ammunition you have for them,’ demanded Holmes; and with a sour expression, Takayama obliged, handing over a small, greasy sack, the mouth of which was drawn closed with string.

‘Thank you,’ said Holmes. ‘Please accept this, by way of recompense.’

And to my surprise – to say nothing of Takayama’s – Holmes handed over a pouch of coins, which would certainly have covered the cost of the guns and, dare I say it, have been of far more use to the aging, impoverished farmer than the actual weapons.

‘Come, Yoshida-
sensei
,’ said Holmes then. ‘We have to return to the temple, and speak with the priest again as soon as possible. For we have to obtain his permission, if we are to be able to instigate the first part of my plan...’

‘Which is, Holmes-
san
?’ I asked hesitantly.

‘To climb inside the remaining golden dragon on top of the temple roof – the male of the pair – and there wait until such time as it takes flight…’

4

The priest had said that one man could ‘comfortably’ climb inside the statue. Now both Holmes and I were crammed inside, with barely room to move. We crouched, the struts of the statue’s internal wooden frame jabbing uncomfortably into our sides. We had a small lamp, for otherwise we should have been sat in pitch-darkness. We had the key for the closed and locked hatch beneath our feet, so we were not imprisoned, at least.

‘As soon as we hear any noise outside, Yoshida-
sensei
, we must extinguish the lamp,’ whispered Holmes. ‘There are a number of small gaps in the exterior of this statue – the reason we can breathe inside here, although the air remains somewhat stuffy – and so any light may be seen.’

‘The priest seemed to consider us mad, Holmes-
san
, once you told him how we wished to hide inside here,’ I declared.

‘He took out the gold and silks that have been stored inside here, as ‘offerings’, for approximately one hundred years, anyway – so he’ll have some compensation if he never sees this statue or the other one again,’ returned Holmes. ‘It’s as well I told him to ensure that he and the other monks remain well inside the temple, just in case there should be any –

‘But hush! Extinguish that lamp!’

So finished Holmes urgently, as at once I heard the slightest patter of footsteps upon the tiles of the roof outside. In immediate, pitch darkness, I strained to hear other noises. The slither of what I thought might be a rope being dragged towards the statue… Whispering between several men… A slight, metallic sound like bolts being turned…

Then the hoarse croak –

‘
Get back up here
.’

The voice chilled me. Was this the same voice Takayama had believed belonged to the dragon? In this darkness, scarcely able to move, virtually imprisoned and defenseless save for one of those pistols I now had on my person (Holmes had the other), it seemed a lot less easier to scoff at such a fanciful tale.

Suddenly I could not help but gasp, although immediately Holmes’s hand moved to cover my mouth.

‘The dragon begins to fly,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘But, rest assured, I believe he will not fly for too long – just as far as those mountains we saw earlier today…’

I
felt
us rising up and up… Was I going mad? What force had caused this gold statue to rise up into the air, after its bolts had undoubtedly been removed by whoever had managed to get up onto the temple roof?

How long we traveled through the air for, I cannot say. I don’t think it was more than twenty minutes, though it felt like hours. Then, all of a sudden, the base of the dragon statue hit what I assumed was the ground with a hard jolt. Then I heard something
else
land beside the statue; something which sounded a lot larger.

‘Untie the ropes from around the head and tail, cover that statue with a sack and let’s get it carried down to the boat, quickly,’ said the same voice that had spoken before, although now it sounded just a little less evil. It remained a particularly sinister and fear-inducing voice, however.