Ronin in a Rusted World: IV - The Strange Case of the Kyoto Cat-Mask

After locking the door once more, van der Molen led the others back through the dining car. The detective scanned the faces of the patrons as they passed, accounting for anybody who hadn't been there before. Satisfied that there were no new faces, he led them through the back door.

He paused in the chamber between the cars. His attention was fixated on something outside the window. “Doctor?” he said.

Dr. Lan stepped beside him. She adjusted her tortoiseshell glasses and looked out the window. Something was rippling in the wind, caught on the handrails on the outside of the train. She nodded before pulling out her sketchbook again. She made a quick study of the ersatz flag. Satisfied with her drawing, van der Molen opened the window and tried to grab at it, but it was just outside of his reach. He stepped back from the window, his hand over his tricorn, pressing it to his head. Then he looked at Kenichi. “Do you think you could fetch that for me?”

“My colleague has a fear of falling off of a train,” Dr. Lan said.

“Sure,” Kenichi said. He handed the cat mask to the detective before stepping over to the window. He leaned out and tried to grasp the waving strip of fabric, but it too was out of his reach. He climbed out through the window, feet first, stepping on a footboard and grabbing onto a handrail. The air shot past him like a roaring wind. The sounds of the train were deafening, and a careless look back showed him nothing but water, rocks, and bits of sparse foliage, none of which seemed pleasant on which to land after falling off of a moving train. Scooting himself toward the bit of fabric, he unstuck it from the jagged corner on which it had clung. Then he carefully walked himself back to the window. He climbed in head first, and once his feet were inside, van der Molen shut the window.

“Excellent work,” the detective said. Kenichi handed him the bit of fabric. It looked like it was part of a sleeve, embroidered with decorative fans. Van der Molen rubbed the fabric between his fingertips. “I believe we can narrow down the suspects further,” he said. “We know that the murderer left the caboose disguised as an automaton, then after the procession returned, he murdered Taketori. Once that was done, he stashed his kabuki costume under the bench, then climbed out through the window of Taketori's private suite. He climbed across the edge of the train, and got snagged right here. He must have continued on, wanting to find a more opportune place to climb back in, perhaps near the caboose. It was then simply a matter of blending back into the crowd, however, he'd need to change his clothes, or otherwise have to respond to questions pertaining to his sleeve.”

Kenichi looked from one end of the small chamber between train cars to the other. “Wouldn't people have seen him climbing along the edge of the train?”

Van der Molen shook his head. “The side of the dining car he climbed across did not have any windows. I presume that our suspect crouched down below the windows of the passenger car and continued on that way.”

Kenichi frowned, hoping at least he could have an excuse to talk to Marumi once more.

“There will be plenty of time for trying to woo the cafe owner once we solve the murder,” the detective said, reading Kenichi's expression.

The three entered the passenger car, and Detective van der Molen scanned the crowd with his keen eyes. Kenichi saw Percy playing Whist with the mechanical rabbit vendor, a woman with a metal mask, and the child who was playing the flute for the automatons.

“We must be careful with the questions we ask,” whispered van der Molen, “as we do not want to alarm the passengers. However, one of the people within this room has just committed murder, and it's our duty to find him out.”

“Are we sure it's a man?” Kenichi said.

Both van der Molen and Dr. Lan gave Kenichi the same look they had given him before.

“My colleague is never wrong about these sort of things,” Dr. Lan said.

“I can go over the reasoning behind it if you'd like,” van der Molen said in a way that felt to Kenichi like he was being talked down to, like a child.

“It's okay,” he said.

“Good,” said the Dutch detective. “Then let's root out our murderer.”

The three walked past the rows of passengers. Percy saw Kenichi. “Say, Kenichi,” he said. “Care for a round of Whist?” He nodded his head to the child, then said in English, “The boy plays a mean game, but is terrible with numbers. It's lucky the cards only go up to ten, as I don't think he can count past that.”

Kenichi shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I don't think I'd be much better. I'm only good at Solitaire.”

Percy shook his head. “Since I only have one deck of cards, Whist it shall be. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Kenichi, the detective, and the doctor all made their way to the back of the car. “There's one person missing,” van der Molen whispered. “I believe there should be an American fellow on board. Clayton Boone.”

“Do you think he was the murderer?” asked Kenichi, trying to imagine the cowboy dressed like a kabuki performer, dancing down the aisles of a passenger train.

“I would like to rule him out as a suspect,” said van der Molen.

“My colleague does not readily jump to conclusions,” Dr. Lan said.

“He should be in the back,” Kenichi said.

The detective nodded. They went through the door to the luggage car. Bags and cases sat on the shelves along the walls, as well as the cage containing the clockwork rabbits. They hopped about in the cage, sniffing realistic noses. They had a sort of realistic motion about them that reminded Kenichi of the mechanical koi.

After the luggage car was the caboose, and there Clay was, leaning against Percy's crate. “Has it been eight hours already?” he said, noticing Kenichi.

“Have you been here the entire time since I left?” Kenichi asked.

“Of course,” said the cowboy.

Van der Molen looked at the still kabuki carnival performers. “Did you notice anything unusual when these automatons left?” he asked.

“Who're your friends?” asked Clay.

“Hendrick van der Molen,” said the detective. “Former merchant. And this is my associate, Dr. Yu Lan.” He held out his hand.

Clay gave it a firm shake. “Clayton Boone. I solve problems, mostly my own.” Done shaking hands with van der Molen, he tipped his hat to the doctor. “Ma'am,” he said. Then he looked at the automatons lined up against the wall. “Nothing unusual,” he said. “Some kid came by with a flute, started playing it, then they all started following after him, dancing and twirling, and such. Not my cup of tea, if you know what I mean, and I drink coffee.”

The detective nodded. “Did you by any chance count how many there were?”

Clay let out a low long whistle. “I'm gonna be honest with you, those things creep me out. The less I see of them the better. I've been looking the other way most of the time.

Van der Molen smiled. “Thank you for your time, my good sir,” he said. “Doctor, Kenichi,” he said, heading to the door.

“I'll come get you later,” Kenichi said. The cowboy nodded.

Van der Molen led them through to the luggage car. “Well, he's absolved,” the detective said.

“How do you know?” said Kenichi.

“He's left-handed,” said the detective. “Our suspect is right-handed. I could tell as much when I shook his hand. Also, he smells of tobacco, bay rum, and witch hazel. If he were to have put on this mask,” he said, holding the cat mask up, “then it too would have the same smell.”

“Plus,” said Dr. Lan, “could you imagine that man prancing around like a kabuki performer?” She hid a laugh behind her hand.

“Exactly,” said van der Molen. “Our suspect is in the passenger car. But first,” he said as he turned to the rows of luggage. He studied them with his eyes before pulling one off the shelf, nestled behind some others. It was a furoshiki placed behind the other bags just enough such that it seemed inconspicuous. He opened the bag and pulled out a shirt. The color and pattern matched the sleeve they had found stuck to the outside of the train. The detective held the sleeve up to the shirt, matching up the tears. “We have a match,” he said. He looked at the bag, basically a large square of fabric tied into a bundle. “This bag is from Kyoto,” he said. “And so is our suspect.” He looked up, as if reading something that wasn't there. “And there is exactly one passenger in the next car who is from Kyoto.”