Boris Akunin - Murder on the Leviathan

Urgently. He’s steering the ship onto the rocks.’

Gauche shook his head - maybe it was just another of those awful dreams he’d been having.

‘Monsieur le russe, have you been smoking hashish?’

‘I am not here alone,’ replied Fandorin.

The commissioner stuck his head out into the corridor and saw two other men standing beside the Russian. One was the half-crazy baronet. But who was the other? The senior navigator, that’s right. What was his name now? … Fox.

‘Pull yourself together!’ said the diplomat, launching a new staccato assault. ‘There’s not much time. I was reading in my cabin. There was a knock. Sir Reginald. He measured our position at one in the morning. With his sextant. The course was wrong. We should go left of the Isle of Mannar. We’re going to the right. I woke the navigator. Fox. Tell him.’

The navigator stepped forward. He looked badly shaken.

‘There are shoals there, monsieur,’ he said in broken French.

‘And rocks. Sixteen thousand tonnes, monsieur. If it runs aground it will break in half like a French loaf. A baguette, you understand? Another half-hour on this course and it will be too late to turn back!’

Wonderful news! Now old Gustave had to be a master mariner and lift the curse of the Isle of Mannar!

‘Why don’t you just tell the captain that … that he’s following the wrong course?’

The navigator glanced at the Russian.

‘Mr Fandorin says we shouldn’t.’

‘Renier must have decided to go for broke.’ The Russian began jabbering away again. ‘He’s capable of anything. He could have the navigator arrested. For disobeying orders. He could even use a gun. He’s the captain. His word is law on board the ship. Only the three of us know what is happening. We need a representative of authority. You, Commissioner. Let’s get up there!’

‘Wait, wait!’ Gauche pressed his hands to his forehead.

‘You’re making my head spin. Has Renier gone insane, then?’

‘No. But he’s determined to destroy the ship. And everyone on board.’

‘What for? What’s the point?’

No, no, this couldn’t really be happening. It was all a nightmare.

Realizing that the commissioner wasn’t going to be lured out of his lair that easily, Fandorin began speaking more slowly and clearly.

‘I have only a hunch to go on. An appalling suspicion. Renier wants to destroy the ship and everyone on it to conceal his crime and cover his tracks. Hide all the evidence at the bottom of the ocean. If you find it hard to believe that anyone could snuff out thousands of lives so callously, then think of the rue de Grenelle and remember Sweetchild. In the hunt for the Brahmapur treasure human life is cheap.’

Gauche gulped.

‘In the hunt for the treasure?’

‘Yes,’ said Fandorin, controlling himself with an effort.

‘Renier is Rajah Bagdassar’s son. I’d guessed, but I wasn’t sure.

Now there can be no doubt.’

‘What do you mean, his son? Rubbish! The rajah was Indian, and Renier is a pure-blooded Frenchman.’

‘Have you noticed that he doesn’t eat beef or pork? Do you realize why? It’s a habit from his childhood. In India the cow is regarded as a sacred animal, and Moslems do not eat pork. The rajah was an Indian, but he was a Moslem by religion.’

‘That proves nothing!’ Gauche said with a shrug. ‘Renier said he was on a diet.’

‘What about his dark complexion?’

‘A suntan from sailing the southern seas.’

‘Renier has spent the last two years sailing the London-New York and London-Stockholm routes. Renier is half-Indian, Gauche. Think! Rajah Bagdassar’s wife was French and at the time of the Sepoy Mutiny their son was being educated in Europe. Most probably in France, his mother’s homeland.

Have you ever been in Renier’s cabin?’

‘Yes, he invited me in. He invited everybody.’

‘Did you see the photograph on the table? “Seven feet under the keel. Francoise B.”?’

‘Yes, I saw it. It’s his mother.’

‘If it’s his mother, then why B instead of R? A son and his mother should have the same surname.’

‘Perhaps she married a second time.’

‘Possibly. I haven’t had time to check that. But what if Francoise B. means Francoise Bagdassar? In the European manner, since Indian rajahs don’t have surnames.’

‘Then where did the name Renier come from?’

‘I don’t know. Let’s suppose he took his mother’s maiden name when he was naturalized.’

‘Conjecture,’ Gauche retorted. ‘Not a single hard fact. Nothing but “what if?” and “let’s suppose”.’

‘I agree. But surely Renier’s behaviour at the time of Sweetchild’s murder was suspicious? Remember how the lieutenant offered to fetch Mme Kleber’s shawl? And he asked the professor not to start without him. I think the few minutes Renier was away were long enough for him to set fire to the litter bin and pick up the scalpel from his cabin.’

‘And why do you think it was he who had the scalpel?’

‘I told you the negro’s bundle disappeared from the boat after the search. And who was in charge of the search? Renier!’

Gauche shook his head sceptically. The steamer swung over hard and he struck his shoulder painfully against the doorpost, which didn’t help to improve his mood.

‘Do you remember how Sweetchild began?’ Fandorin continued.

He took a watch out of his pocket, glanced at it and began speaking faster. ‘ “Suddenly it hit me! Everything fell into place - about the shawl, and about the son! It’s a simple piece of clerical work. Dig around in the registers at the Ecole Maritime and you’ll find him!” Not only had he guessed the secret of the shawl, he had discovered something about the rajah’s son as well. For instance, that he studied at the Ecole Maritime in Marseille. A training school for sailors. Which our Renier also happens to have attended. Sweetchild mentioned a telegram he sent to an acquaintance of his in the French Ministry of the Interior. Perhaps he was trying to find out what became of the child. And he obviously did find out something, but he didn’t guess that Renier is the rajah’s son, otherwise he would have been more careful.’

‘And what did he dig up about the shawl?’ Gauche asked eagerly.

‘I think I can answer that question as well. But not now, later. We’re running out of time!’

‘So you think Renier himself set the fire and took advantage of the panic to shut the professor’s mouth?’ Gauche mused.

‘Yes, damn it! Use your brains! I know there’s not much hard evidence, but we have only twenty minutes left before Leviathan enters the strait!’

But the commissioner still wasn’t convinced.

‘The arrest of a ship’s captain on the high seas is mutiny. Why did you believe what this gentleman told you?’ He jerked his chin in the direction of the crazy baronet. ‘He’s always talking all sorts of nonsense.’

The redheaded Englishman laughed disdainfully and looked at Gauche as if he were some kind of woodlouse or flea. He didn’t dignify his comment with a reply.

‘Because I have suspected Renier for a long time,’ the Russian said rapidly. ‘And because I thought what happened to Captain Cliff was strange. Why did the lieutenant need to negotiate for so long with the shipping company over the telegraph? It means they did not know that Cliffs daughter had been involved in a fire. Then who sent the telegram to Bombay? The governors of the boarding school? How would they know the Leviathan’s route in such detail? Perhaps it was Renier himself who sent the message? My guidebook says that Bombay has at least a dozen telegraph offices. Sending a telegram from one office to another would be very simple.’