Boris Akunin - The Diamond Chariot

He thrust his hand under the low table, pressed something, and a dark square opened up in the ceiling above Fandorin’s head.

The jonin gave a brief order and the vice-consul’s Herstal dropped on to the rice mats in front of him with a dull thud.

‘Take your revenge on me,’ said the shinobi . ‘But do not hold any grievance against Midori. She is not guilty of offending you in any way.’

Erast Petrovich slowly picked up the weapon and flicked open the cylinder. He saw one spent cartridge and six fresh ones. Could the old man really be serious?

He raised the revolver and aimed it at Tamba’s forehead. The old man didn’t look away, he merely closed his eyelids. ‘He could probably mesmerise me, or hypnotise me, or whatever they call it, but he doesn’t want to,’ Fandorin realised.

Midori looked at him briefly, and he thought he saw entreaty in her eyes. Or did he imagine it? A woman like that wouldn’t plead with anyone for anything, not even to save her father.

As if in confirmation of this thought, she lowered her head again.

The titular counsellor forced himself to remember the faces of his dead friends; Lockston, as true and dependable as steel; Asagawa, the knight of justice; Dr Twigs, the father of two girls with a heart defect.

It is impossible to shoot at a man who is not trying to protect himself, but the pain that had welled up in Fandorin’s soul demanded an outlet – he had cramp in his finger from the irresistible desire to press the trigger

There are things that cannot be forgiven, or the balance of the world will be shattered, Erast Petrovich told himself.

He jerked his wrist slightly to one side and fired.

The thunderous crash deafened him.

Midori threw her hands up to her temples, but she didn’t raise her face.

Tamba himself didn’t move a single muscle. There was a crimson stripe burned across his temple.

‘There now,’ he said peaceably. ‘Your enemy Tamba is dead. Only your friend Tamba is left.’

Today we rejoice,

Our enemies are destroyed.

Such great loneliness!

THE LOVE OF TWO MOLES

There was a dull rumbling sound from somewhere above them.

Erast Petrovich raised his head. A thunderstorm?

Another peal, but this time the rumbling was accompanied by a crackling sound.

‘What is it?’ asked Fandorin, jumping to his feet.

‘It is Kamata starting to fire his cannon,’ said Tamba, also getting up, but without hurrying. ‘He didn’t wait until dawn. He must have realised that you and your servant are here with us.’

So the jonin knew all about Kamata’s plan!

‘You know everything? How?’

‘These are my mountains. Every tree has ears and every blade of grass has eyes. Let us go, before these stupid people hit one of the houses by accident.’

Tamba stood under the hatch, squatted down on his haunches and then sprang up into the air – so high that he landed sitting on the edge of the opening. There was a flash of white socks and the old man was already upstairs.

Fandorin looked round for Midori and started – the next room was empty. When had she managed to disappear?

Tamba leaned down out of the opening in the ceiling.

‘Give me your hand!’

But the titular counsellor didn’t give him his hand – it would have been humiliating. He pulled himself up clumsily, banging his elbow against a plank in the process. The jonin was wearing black trousers and a loose black shirt. Darting out on to the veranda, he put on black leather stockings, pulled a mask over his face, and became almost invisible. In the darkness a pillar of fire soared up into the air and stones and clods of earth went flying in all directions.

Tamba was no longer anywhere close, he had dissolved into the darkness. A black shadow jumped down from somewhere (was it off the roof?), touched the ground silently with its feet, performed a forward roll, tumbled aside, got up weightlessly and a second later disappeared. The titular counsellor noticed the air trembling in several other places as well and caught a few brief glimpses of dark silhouettes.

Shells were exploding as often as if an entire artillery battery was bombarding the forest. The rapid-firing Krupps gun had a rate of three shots a minute, recalled Fandorin, a veteran of the Turkish War. Judging from the sound, the Black Jackets must have taken up a position on the summit of the mountain. Watching the intervals closely, the vice-consul understood Kamata’s tactics. His gunner was laying down the shells in a chessboard pattern, at intervals of two or three sazhens . He obviously intended to plough up the entire forest island. Sooner or later he would hit the houses too. And one of the pines had already caught fire – a bright crimson flower blossomed in the darkness.

What should he do, where should he run?

One of the shadows stopped beside the titular counsellor, grabbed his hand and dragged him after it.

They had already run to the middle of the wood when a shell struck a tree close by. The trunk gave a crack, splinters went flying and they both fell to the ground. Following the pattern, the next explosion tore up the ground ten steps away, and the eyes in the ninja’s black face flared up – long and moist, full of light.

It was her!

Midori half-rose and took Erast Petrovich’s hand again, in order to run on, but he didn’t yield – he pulled her back to him.

The next explosion roared on the other side of them and Fandorin saw her eyes again, very close – so beautiful and full of life.

‘Do you really love me?’ he asked.

A thunderous rush drowned out his words.

‘Do you love me?’ Erast Petrovich roared.

Instead of answering, she pulled off her mask, took his face between her hands and kissed him.

And he forgot about the rapid-firing cannon, about death’s whistling and rumbling, about everything in the world.

The pine tree blazed brighter and brighter, red shadows flickered across the trunks of trees and the ground. Panting, the titular counsellor tore the clothes from his beloved’s shoulders and her body changed from black to white.

Midori made no attempt at all to stop him. Her breathing was as fast as his, her hands were tearing off his shirt.

Around them the flames blazed, the earth split open, the trees groaned and Fandorin felt as if Night itself, wild and hot, were making love to him.

Pine needles pricked his back and his elbows by turns – the grappling lovers were rolling across the ground. Once a piece of shrapnel buried itself in the earth where their bodies had been just a second earlier, but neither of them noticed it.

It all ended suddenly. Midori pushed her beloved off with a jerk and darted in the opposite direction.

‘What are you doing?’ he exclaimed indignantly – and saw a burning branch falling between them, showering out sparks.

Only then did Erast Petrovich come to his senses.

There was no more artillery fire, just blazing trees crackling in two or three places.

‘What is this called in your jojutsu ?’ he asked hoarsely, gesturing round at the forest.

Midori was tying her tangled hair in a knot.

‘There’s never been anything like this in jojutsu . But there will be now. I’ll call it “Fire and Thunder”.’

She was already pulling on her black costume, turning from white to black.

‘Where is everybody?’ asked Fandorin, hastily putting his own clothing in order. ‘Why is it quiet?’

‘Let’s go!’ she called, and ran on in front.

Half a minute later they were at the fissure – in the very spot where the vice-consul and his servant had thrown the lasso across. The dead tree was still there, but Erast Petrovich couldn’t see any sign of the rope.