Boris Akunin - Murder on the Leviathan

The preparations for sailing were interrupted.

Breakfast began as usual, but Lieutenant Renier was late. Everyone spoke of nothing but the captain’s strange behaviour and tried to guess what could

have been in the telegram. Renier-san called into the saloon as the meal was coming to an end. The

first mate appeared distraught. He informed us that Cliff-san’s only daughter (1 have mentioned earlier that the captain doted on her) had been badly burned in a fire at her boarding school. The doctors feared for her life. The lieutenant said that Mr Cliff was beside himself. He had decided to leave the Leviathan and return to England on the first available packet boat. He kept saying that he must be with his little daughter. The lieutenant repeated over and over again: ‘What is going to happen now? What an unlucky voyage!’ We tried our best to comfort him.

I must admit that I strongly disapproved of the captain’s decision. I could understand his grief, but a man who has been entrusted with a task has no right to allow personal feelings to govern his actions.

Especially if he is a captain in charge of a ship. What would become of society if the emperor or the president or the prime minister were to set personal concerns above their duty? There would be chaos. The very meaning and purpose of authority is to fight against chaos and maintain harmony.

I went back out on deck to see Mr Cliff leave the ship that had been entrusted to him. And the Most High taught me a new lesson, the lesson of compassion.

Stooping low, the captain half-walked and half-ran across the gangway. He was carrying a travelling bag in one hand and there was a sailor following him with a single suitcase. When the captain halted on the quayside and turned to face the Leviathan, I saw that his broad face was wet with tears. The next moment he began to sway and collapsed forward onto his face.

I rushed across to him. From his fitful breathing and the convulsive twitching of his limbs, I deduced that he had suffered a severe haemorrhagic stroke.

When Dr Truffo arrived he confirmed my diagnosis.

It often happens that the strident discord between the voice of the heart and the call of duty is too much for a man’s brain to bear. I had wronged Captain Cliff.

After the sick man was taken away to hospital the Leviathan was detained at its mooring for a long time. Renier-san, ashen-faced with shock, drove to the telegraph office to conduct negotiations with the shipping company in London. It was dusk before he returned. He brought the news that Cliff-san had not recovered consciousness; Renier-san was to assume temporary command of the ship and a new captain would come aboard in Calcutta.

We sailed from Bombay after a delay often hours.

For days now I do not walk, I fly. I am delighted by the sunshine and the landscapes of the Indian coastline and the leisurely regularity of life on this great ship. Even the Windsor saloon, which I used to enter with such a heavy heart, has now become almost like home to me. My companions at table behave quite differently with me now - the antagonism and suspicion have disappeared. Everyone is very kind and considerate now, and I also feel differently about them. Even Kleber-san, whom I was prepared to throttle with my bare hands (the poor woman!) no longer seems repulsive. She is just a young woman preparing to become a mother for the first time and entirely absorbed in the naive egotism of her new condition. Having learned that I am a doctor, she plagues me with medical questions about all manner of minor complaints. Formerly her only victim was Dr Truffo, but now we share the strain. And almost unbelievably, I do not find it oppressive. On the contrary, I now possess a higher status than when I was taken for a military officer. It is astounding!

I hold a privileged position in the Windsor saloon.

Not only am I a doctor and an ‘innocent martyr’, as Mrs Truffo puts it, of police brutality. I am - more importantly - definitely not the murderer. It has been proved and officially confirmed. In this way I have been elevated to Windsor’s highest caste - together with the commissioner of police and our new captain (whom we almost never see - he is very busy and a steward takes his food up to the bridge on a tray). We three are above suspicion and no one casts stealthy, frightened glances in our direction.

I feel sorry for the Windsor group, I really do.

With my recently acquired spiritual vision I can see clearly what none of them can see, even the sagacious Fandorin-san.

There is no murderer among my companions. None of them is suited for the role of a scoundrel. When I examine these people closely, I see that they have faults and weaknesses, but there is no black-hearted villain who could have killed n innocent victims, including two children, in cold blood. I would have detected the vile odour of their breath. I do not know whose hand felled Sweetchild-sensei, but I am sure it must have been someone else. The commissioner’s assumptions are not entirely correct: the criminal is on board the steamship, but not in the Windsor saloon. Perhaps he was listening at the door when the professor began telling us about his discovery.

If Gauche-san were not so stubborn and took a more impartial view of the Windsor group, he would realize that he is wasting his time.

Let me run through all the members of our company.

Fandorin-san.

It is obvious that he is innocent.

Otherwise why would he have diverted suspicion from me when no one doubted that I was guilty?

Mr and Mrs Truffo. The doctor is rather comical, but he is a very kind man. He would not harm a grasshopper. His wife is the very embodiment of English propriety. She could not have killed anyone, because it would simply be indecent.

M.-S.-san. He is a strange man, always muttering to himself, and his manner can be sharp, but there is profound and genuine suffering in his eyes. People with eyes like that do not commit cold-blooded murders.

Kleber-san. Nothing could be clearer. Firstly, it would be inhuman for a woman preparing to bring a new life into the world to extinguish other lives so casually. Pregnancy is a mystery that teaches us to cherish human life. Secondly, at the time of the murder Kleber-san was with the police commissioner.

And finally, Stamp-san. She has no alibi, but it is impossible to imagine her creeping up behind someone she knows, covering his mouth with one slim, weak hand and raising my scalpel in the other …

The idea is utter nonsense. Quite impossible.

Open your eyes, Commissioner-san. This path is a dead end.

Suddenly I find it hard to catch my breath. Could there be a storm approaching?

No, it wasn’t his heart. It was someone pounding on the door.

‘Commissioner! (Bang-bang-bang) Commissioner! (Bang-bang bang-bang) Open up! Quick!’

Whose voice was that? It couldn’t be Fandorin!

‘Who’s there? What do you want?’ cried Gauche, pressing his hand to the left side of his chest. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

‘Open up, damn you!’

Oho! What kind of a way was that for a diplomat to talk?

Something really serious must have happened.

‘Just a moment!’

Gauche pulled off his nightcap with the tassel (his old Blanche had knitted it for him), stuck his arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown and slipped on his bedroom slippers.

When he peeped through the crack of the half-open door he saw it really was Fandorin. In a frock coat and tie, holding a walking cane with an ivory knob. His eyes were blazing.

‘What is it?’ Gauche asked suspiciously, certain his nocturnal visitor could only have brought bad news.

The diplomat began speaking in an untypical jerky manner, but without stammering.

‘Get dressed. Bring a gun. We have to arrest Captain Renier.