"Make the short story of Sherlock Holmes meeting Dracula in Japan to play a game of poker using Nintendo playing cards"
Sherlock Holmes and the Meiji Jiangshi
1
Holmes, artful as he was, eschewed the political spotlight. He had politely declined ambassadorships and envoy titles, always insisting that his true passion remained in the laboratory and doggerel port pubs, sniffing out a scrap of evidence against the ne'er-do-wells of the seedy London underbelly. It was for that reason that he was surprised to find himself leaving the carriage and being led through the grand Kenreimon gate of the Kyoto Imperial Palace.
It was an investigative mission, he had convinced himself. There were rumors. Emperor Meiji had gathered many important dignitaries and rulers to his royal residence to negotiate the burgeoning trade and industry of his growing island nation. Holmes, of course, was well acquainted with the history and culture of Japan. On more than one occasion he had used this insight – and a clever change of wardrobe - to pass himself off as a Japanese laborer to wheedle his way into the opium dens of his home. And for this reason the Queen had asked him to go as a representative of the Commonwealth. But that was not the reason he had accepted.
There was a shadowy man, as often Holmes had found himself up against. But this particular man had eluded him for quite some time. At first it was just talk of a vague Eastern European madman. A bloodthirsty ruler with an arm around the throat of even the toughest criminal. Slowly there coalesced some scattered facts: he was a Hungarian nobleman, a prince or a count, an alchemist of high intellect who confined himself to his ancestral castle in the Carpathian Mountains. But there emerged more and more clues, more and more frequent evidence of his handiwork in the criminal machinations of London. This man was clever, Holmes did not doubt that. For years this mysterious mastermind had sown his seeds of infamy in British soil. He had bought several old abbeys, and set up many criminal enterprises in England all, seemingly, without ever leaving his mountain estate.
But there were rumors. It seemed as though this enigmatic foe had accepted an invitation to the Emperor's conference. There were other, more fantastic rumors about this man, but Holmes refused to believe such fairytales. He could not miss the opportunity, as slim as it might be, to finally meet the man behind the whispers and murmurs. He could not miss his chance to meet this man they called Count Dracula.
2
"ごちそうさまでした", Holmes said, bowing his head to the wait staff.
"Why Mr. Holmes, you do amaze," began the bejeweled woman approaching him through the doorway, "it seems you are as adept at languages as you are at the natural philosophies!"
"My dear Princess Svetlana," Holmes began, kissing her ringed hand, "I am but a student of the criminal mind. An entity which knows no borders. It is imperative to my profession that I acclimate myself with all cultures," Holmes smirked. "And I can see from your magnificent English that your womanly pulchritude belies a keen intellect of speeches as well."
The Princess turned her cheek with a smile. "Such is the price of being a diplomat. On that subject, I was delightfully surprised to see arrive. Forgive me, but you always seemed to have a more private demeanor. I expected you to be more at home on the dark streets of London than in the Imperial Palace."
"Quite right, Princess. Though my presence here isn't completely diplomatic. I was hoping to meet a very curious individual. I am sure you have heard of the Hungarian royal, Count Dracula."
The princess seemed startled. She darted her eyes around the emptying room, then responded in a hushed tone. "Oh my, yes. A dreadful man from what I have been told. The things they say about him! I have seen him here, in passing. But I dare not approach him."
"Indeed. Well I have no fear of such a man. Have you any idea of his whereabouts? He was not at the tea service."
"He has not shown himself at any of the meals. And I have heard he even refuses to stay in the palace. But there are rumors of him hosting nightly card games in the South Hall."
"How fortuitous. I am quite an adept card sharp myself. I shall have to visit our mysterious acquaintance."
"Oh do be careful, Mr. Holmes. I have heard he practices occult magic. Hypnosis and somnolence. Some say he is a warlock of the dark arts."
"We cannot be lead to believe such hysteria, my dear Princess. I am sure I have dealt with worse. And to that point, I am afraid I must retire for the evening if I am to have my wits about me tonight. Take care, and I am sure I will see you on the morrow," Holmes again bent down and kissed her ring.
"Oh, I do hope so, Mr. Holmes. Do not underestimate that man. Take care of yourself."
Holmes bowed to her and, turning, bowed again to the Japanese diplomats, then marched briskly to his bedroom.
3
Holmes was deep in thought, reading from one of his numerous books on Eastern Europe occultism, when he was disturbed by a loud knocking on his chamber door. He roughly removed himself from his cushion, unlatched and then threw open his door. The long empty corridor was silent. However, his shrewd eyes quickly spotted the envelope lying on the floor immediately in front of him. He stole back into his room and returned a few seconds later with a pair of surgical tweezers and a silver tray. Carefully, he picked the envelope up with the tweezers, set it on the tray, and removed it, and himself back into his room, shutting and locking the door behind him.
Inside the room he turned his examining lamp on full, filling his room with a sterile white glow. He scanned over the envelope with his pocket glass, noting the short fibers of the paper, indicative of a common business parchment. He noted that there was no seal or clasp holding it closed as he slowly unfolded it and removed the note inside.
The note was written with an old but careful hand. It used an expensive Indian ink, written with a worn pen. The writer was an accomplished doctor. Someone who wrote many correspondences. Who had no time for formality. A highly intelligent man who had gained fame through his use of intellect. A man who was wealthy but not luxurious. A man not unlike Holmes himself. As to the contents of the letter, they were quite straightforward:
SOGHU OFR SBL
Holmes narrowed his eyes. Then, a minute later, wrote down the decrypted message. He glanced at the clock. It was five minutes of nine. He had one hour. He pulled the note up to his nose. It smelled very faintly of garlic.
4
The East Garden was covered with lotus petals. Holmes could hear the faint lapping of water in the koi pond. The light sand adumbrated faint depressions leading behind one of the many monumental rocks. "If you intend to conceal yourself, Doctor," he began, addressing and approaching the granite stone, "you must make an effort to cover your tracks." With one quick step he rounded the rock. There was nothing there.
"Good advice, Mr. Holmes," came a voice behind him, "I take measures to ensure just that."
Holmes turned around quickly. Standing a few feet behind him was a rather cheerful looking man. There was a twinkle in his eye that produced a feeling of deep wisdom, a spark only magnified by the delicate glasses perched on his nose. He stood akimbo, his right fingers absent-mindedly tapping his gold watch fob.
"I do not take kindly to being made a fool," started Holmes, sternly.
"Nor do I suffer fools gladly," finished the Doctor, "but my intention was not to humiliate you. I was merely observing. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Holmes. Allow me to introduce myself," the man extended his hand, "I am Dr. Abraham van Helsing."
Holmes glanced at him, retaining his moue as he reluctantly accepted the introduction. "Sherlock Holmes", said Sherlock Holmes.
"I do hope you forgive me for my little game, Mr. Holmes. I have heard quite a lot of your skills of deduction. I myself am a student of very similar investigative principals. And to that end I will get right to the point. I believe we have a common enemy. This so-called Count Dracula, yes?"
Holmes pondered for a second. "I have heard stories of a Dutch doctor of occult research. Judging by your accent and your interest in this mysterious individual I take it you are the very same man?"
"I see my reputation has spread to some degree as well. I am a doctor of many things, the supranatural being a particular interest of steady, yes."
"You appear to be quite an educated man, Dr. van Helsing, and so I am puzzled as to how you can believe in such fantastical hokum. We are men of science. We cannot take liberties with the evidence presented. We cannot delude ourselves into considering fairytales as fact."
"Let us sit," van Helsing offered. They started walking to the simple wooden bench overlooking the pond. "You and I are more similar that you care to admit. I, too, base my conclusions on evidence. And what is more I have used these findings to cure people with real physical ailments. The supranatural disappears when it is explained by nature."
Holmes and van Helsing sat down. "And what of this Dracula? What is your diagnosis for him?" asked Holmes.
"Count Dracula suffers from a severe case of vampirism," replied van Helsing.
"There was a Countess Bathory said to suffer the very same disease. It supposedly results in an unquenchable lust for blood in exchange for eternal youth," Holmes elaborated, "the Countess did indeed murder many people, but there is no proof of any so-called vampirism manifesting itself in her, or any other person for that matter."
"Vampirism is quite real, I assure you," van Helsing continued, unperturbed, "it afflicts a former patient of mine, a man by the name of Renfield. He was cursed with this disease by none other than Dracula himself!"
"Allow me to humor your diagnosis for the moment," Holmes responded, "what exactly do you have to offer? My intention is to have Count Dracula arrested for his crimes. And to that end I must meet him and learn his secrets. I am led to believe he is a fan of card games. And that he has hosted several games at the palace at night. Is that correct?"
"Quite correct. And what is more, I would also have you meet him tonight for a card game. As to that, I offer some things that will help you defeat him."
"You don't mean at cards, do you. Justice shall be served, but I will not deny the hangman his right."
"You may not have a choice, Mr. Holmes. Count Dracula is very clever, but he is given to fits of rage. Moments of murderous apopleptia. Any attempt by you to destroy him will be met with deadly force. You must be vigilant. Steel your mind and bolster your will. And take these items I offer you."
5
Holmes' footsteps echoed down the empty corridor to the South Hall. He glanced at his watch. It was almost one. Despite the magnificence of the building around him, he felt the same apprehension as he did when entering the illicit port taverns in England. He rapped strongly on the door.
The man that opened the door swayed uncontrollably from side to side. His mouth seemed inadequate to contain all of his teeth. He had deep sunken eyes which revealed an expression of madness he was trying to hide just below the surface.
"May I help you," he asked in a pained voice.
"I am told a man may find some entertainment here tonight," responded Holmes.
"And who are you?" asked the man.
"Arthur Wellesly, the Duke of Wellington" replied Holmes.
The man stared at him blankly. "I am sorry. The Count is not expecting you."
"I am an old friend of The Count. I thought perhaps I would stop by and give him a gift."
"The Count is not to be disturbed. I must ask you to leave," the man said, starting to close the door.
"Then perhaps you can give him this," said Holmes, quickly presenting the man with a small killing jar filled with three dead moths. "He is particularly fond of this species: Acherontia atropo."
The man immediately opened the door and leaned far out, snatching at the jar just out of reach. Tantalizingly slowly Holmes handed the jar to the man who instantly pulled it to his face, licking his lips. He fumbled aggressively at the cap, finally unscrewing it and pouring the jar over his mouth. The moths fell onto his face, followed by the cotton wool, covering his mouth. He inhaled deeply in shock.
"Now now," said Holmes calmly, removing a small vile and pouring it onto his handkerchief "you must be careful with the fumes."
The man's eyes began to flutter. He fell to the side, leaning on the doorway for support.
"Let me help you," offered Holmes, grabbing the man by the neck and shoving the ether-soaked cloth in his face. The man struggled, surprising Holmes with such strength, and tossing him back and forth, but Holmes stayed fast. Finally, after a valiant struggle, the man slumped down on the ground.
All in a clinical, unhurried fashion, Holmes picked up the jar, inserted the handkerchief and shut the lid tightly. He approached the man and placed his ear on his chest. He could hear faint labored breathing. He removed a set of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed the man's wrists behind his back. He opened the door fully and began to walk in. Holmes paused after a few steps, looked back at the unconscious man, and approached him again. He unscrewed the jar, placed a moth on the ground in front of the man, and re-secured the lid. With that, he fully entered the doorway and shut and locked the door behind him.
6
The South Hall has been cordoned off with heavy carmine curtains. These had the effect of muffling the sound of Holmes' careful footsteps. They absorbed any stray light bouncing off the floor and walls, reflected from small braziers and sconces which lined the path through the tomb-like entranceway.
Holmes approached the opening into the hall proper; he sidled up to the edge of the curtain, careful to obscure his form in the ruffles of the fabric. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and removed the small silver mirror, making sure to keep it away from the light. With expert care he angled it so that, in its reflection, he could see the entire expanse of the room. There was indeed a large ebony table with seven chairs arranged around its perimeter. Its high polish seemed to accentuate its color and, conversely, rather than reflect the illumination of the charnel chandelier which hung heavy above it, trapped the light, making it appear instead like a void in the geography of the room itself. There was a large sarcophagus-style cellaret on the wall, also of ebony, and a pockholz serving tray resting on top. Oddly, the decanter was absent. Holmes put away the mirror and straightened his jacket. Then, with the mien of a man determined not to lose, stepped quietly around the curtain and into the room.
"It is the great Sherlock Holmes, is it not?" inquired the Count. He was standing at the head of the table, directly in front of Holmes. Holmes stood frozen on his feet. "Forgive my manners, I'm afraid I was not expecting the pleasant surprise of your company. Come in, sit down."
Dracula stared into Holmes' eyes. Holmes could feel his mind begin to cloud. Some invisible energy suffused his senses. He had faced hypnotists before, but nothing as powerful as this. He focused intently and strengthened his mental barrier. The iron vice of his mind hardened. He walked over to the table, but of his own volition. "Count Dracula," began Holmes, "I am deeply embarrassed for such an intrusion. I was handed this letter earlier this afternoon. I was told you had requested my company at one of your soirees." Holmes reached into his pocket and offered an olid letter to the count. Dracula inched backwards and almost imperceptible degree. His smile widened.
"No matter, it is quite common for my guests to invite others. It is most welcome. I so rarely have an chance to meet such men of your caliber. A great thanks goes to the Emperor for giving occasion for such an opportunity."
"Indeed. I must admit, I have wished to meet with you for quite some time. I was hoping you could indulge me in one of your card games."
"By all means, my dear Mr. Holmes," replied Dracula, a deck of card appearing suddenly in his hands. "Are you familiar with oicho-kabu?"
"Quite familiar, Count Dracula. But should we not wait for the other guests?
"Let us not stand on ceremony. I would not spoil the chance of a tête-à-tête with the great Sherlock Holmes," Count Dracula said. He flourished the deck across the table, spreading them perfectly in a line. His bloodstone cabochon seemed to erupt with fire as it moved with his hand.
"It is rare to see karuta of such quality. I was unaware of your interest in cards."
"I have many interests. These cards were given to me by Fusajiro Yamauchi himself, quite an accomplished man in card trade, though his business isn't strictly legal. With such artistry, I must condone certain, minor, transgressions of the stringent gambling regulations. "
"I have no qualms with friendly card games between gentlemen, Count Dracula," explained Holmes, "but what is the Emperor's opinion of your little soirees?"
"He is quite accommodating, I assure you. We make quite good company. In fact, he has leased this very hall to me sine die, sub rosa. I may come and go and do as I please. It is quite nice to have a place of respite away from the Carpathians."
"How generous of him."
"It behooves one to acquire business in high places."
"And what exactly is your business, Count Dracula. I am led to believe you have some interest in some London real estate."
"I have interests in many enterprises. My real estate ventures are but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business," Dracula's smile broadened. "Now, as to the cards, what shall we wager?"
"Let us start with, oh, ten guineas a hand?" Holmes offered, extending his hand. Dracula's eyes glanced at the silver ring on his index finger.
"Ten guineas? Yes, very well," Dracula accepted the handshake. He gripped Holmes' hand forcefully and just barely winced. Holmes felt his ring begin to warm, and then become uncomfortably hot. Finally, after an almost unbearably long time, Dracula relinquished his hand. Both men quickly pulled their hands away. Holmes noticed a red welt quickly fade on the Count's palm. He glanced at his own hand and noticed the faint outline of a similar mark disappear.
Never losing his composure, Dracula stacked the cards in front of the detective. "Would you do the honor of cutting the deck?"
7
Holmes did not believe in luck. Card games, like any competition between men, was a battle of mental fortitude. Holmes had fancied himself a good card player. Very good, in fact. He was among the elite of Europe. His skills as a detective had given him a natural talent at card counting and reading people's faces. But he avoided the gambling halls of London. It was exhausting to focus his skills on such a trivial game. Still, it seemed as though his performance against the Count was suffering from some meddling beyond that which is measureable.
They had been playing for hours. Holmes composure was straining, though he did not allow it show. Holmes could only hope the same was true for the Count.
"It seems Lady Fortuna is not with you this evening, Mr. Holmes," announced Count Dracula, collecting the cards. "Perhaps we should end our little game."
"I do seem to be a bit dull this morning," confessed Holmes, "let us have one more game, so that I may try and settle my debt. I have a proposition."
Dracula fingered the orbicular stone of Babylon on hand. "And what do you propose?"
"You say you have interests in London property. I possess a nice Georgian terrace near the Royal Botanical Gardens. I shall wager the property, in addition to my accrued debts to you."
"And what shall be my counter?"
"Your lease on this South Hall from the Emperor."
Dracula's eyes burned into Holmes face. Holmes could feel him try and penetrate his mind while he weighed the offer. But Holmes was resilient.
"An interesting propoundment," began Dracula, finally, "very well. I accept."
"Excellent," exclaimed Homes. He took a flask from his pocket and unscrewed the cap, taking it apart and revealing two small silver cups, in tandem. He proffered one to the Count, "I propose a toast, to the better man, whoever Fate reveals him to be!"
Dracula remained, unmoving. "I never drink, sake."
"Forgive me, I was unaware you were a teetotaler."
"On the contrary. I do imbibe spirits on occasion."
"I see. Well perhaps Fate will look more kindly on me, then" chuckled Holmes. He withdrew his hand, allowing the small cap of liquid to roll off of his fingers and crash onto the back of Dracula's hands. In one swift motion he took out a damp cloth from his pocket and pressed it fully onto Dracula's quickly reddening wrists. "I am terribly sorry. Let me help you with that."
Count Dracula appeared to crumple inwardly for a moment, and then pushed back away from the table, standing up glaring at Holmes. "Enough," he shouted, then, regaining his composure somewhat, "I think it would be best if you leave now, Mr. Holmes."
"Am I to understand that you forfeit the game?" asked Holmes, his smirk betraying the innocence of his question.
Dracula, now in control of himself again, but making no effort to hide his anger, responded, "We shall finish this game and then you shall leave and I will take what I have won."
"Assuming you do win, of course," retorted Holmes.
Dracula shuffled the cards like a man-possessed. There was intense anger in the way he roughly cut the deck. There were no flourishes this time. The cards hit the table hard, stacking into columns like a flank of soldiers.
Holmes stared at his cards exposed on the table. A three, a four, and a ten. Seven points. Beside them were his opponent's. An eight and a nine. Seven points. The Count had one more card to turn over. It would all come down to this. Count Dracula forcefully tore the top card off the pile and inverted it on the table. Holmes grinned as he glanced at the three.
"ヤクザ", murmured Holmes. Count Dracula stood up, his eyes piercing Holmes.
"You should have accepted my offer to leave, Mr. Holmes. I am afraid your cleverness cannot hope to defeat the powers I possess," Dracula drew closer, flashing his pointed teeth, "you shall be my slave. And I am quite sure your status will help me curry favor with your Queen."
"You forget, I have won the bet, this is now my Hall," responded Holmes, coolly.
"A minor trifle. When I have turned you into my servant, when I have possessed your soul, I will own all that you have," growled Dracula.
"Perhaps, but as for now this is my room," Holmes looked puzzled, "I have read about the occult. About vampirism. It seems that those afflicted suffer some rather silly handicaps. No silver, no sunlight. They are also forbidden from entering a residence without the owner's permission."
Dracula paused. Holmes continued, standing up and approaching the Count. "I own this place, and I do not recall giving you permission to enter."
Dracula's eyes darted around the room. It suddenly looked unfamiliar to him. His strength was quickly leaving him. With a final lunge he pounced at Holmes, who carefully stepped out of the way. Dracula tumbled across the floor, crashing into the brazier, drenching himself in oil which immediately caught flame. He screamed in pain and fell onto the curtain which came to light. It fell on top, tangling him in the folds. Sunlight poured in through the now open window. Holmes could see the thick black smoke billowing from the corpse. "Mors tua, vita mea", he said.
8
Dr. van Helsing sat next to Holmes at the ebony table, flipping through the cards one by one. "I must say, you are quite a marvel," he said, "your history of defeating criminals is renowned. But to defeat a supranatural being, that is quite a greater matter."
"I thank you, my dear doctor, but there was nothing other worldly about the former Count."
Van Helsing collected the cards in a stack and looked at Holmes, "But even you must admit he had powers beyond what may be explained by modern medicine. Will you admit that he was indeed a vampire?"
"In a way, yes," Holmes paused, preparing his thought. "I do no disservice to your profession, Doctor, but it is possible your belief in the supernatural has clouded your judgment. I force myself to see the world as it is. The mind is like a stone arch. Place more weight upon it and it becomes stronger, but also more fragile. He believed he was a vampire so strongly that he manifested these seemingly extra-ordinary powers, but when those same beliefs were turned against him, he was victim to his own beliefs."
"Come come, Mr. Holmes, a mental obsession may explain the poor Renfield, but Count Dracula had physical manifestations! How do you propose to explain his control of the Emperor, or his aversion to that tincture of yours?"
"Do not underestimate the power of mesmerism. It is a powerful tool used by criminals to control both their underlings and their victims. I have spent years guarding myself against such tricks of hypnotism. As for my serum," Holmes removed the flask from his jacket, "it is a mixture of silver nitrate and a strong concentration of allium sativum. It is mildly corrosive and would have caused burns on anyone. The fact that Dracula believed himself to be weak to its effects only heightened its efficacy."
"Then how was it not able to burn your hands?"
"Elementary," responded Holmes. He reached into his pocket and withdrew several British pence. They were stained dark grey, "Japan may enjoy their gold and silver coins. But simple copper was able to neutralize the vitriol quite effectively."
"Quite remarkable in your foresight."
"The criminal mind is quite easy to defeat when you have cracked the surface."
"Quite true. But how exactly were you so sure that you would win the final game?"
Holmes took the cards and began shuffling them, fancifully riffling them from hand to hand. "I have become quite proficient with basic legerdemain," he squared the deck and turned over ten cards in sequential order. "It was a simple matter of forcing his hand, so to speak."
"So you were never in real danger of losing?"
"I needed to lose! I had to accrue enough debt to make my last bet tenable. I had to bolster his hubris so that he would accept it."
"But what if he refused it? Or what if he saw your cheating? Or what if he attacked you regardless?"
"I brought a contingency," replied Holmes, pulling the derringer from his pocket. "Though I try to avoid such circumstances. It does no good to have the British chargé d'affaires going around shooting other diplomats like some sort of preposterous secret agent man. And anyway, it strains credulity to believe her Majesty's government would send a spy to defeat an adversary by playing a few games of cards!" Holmes paused, both men looked at each other. "No, it is much better to apprehend these sorts of criminals if at all possible, and let justice be served," Holmes concluded.
Van Helsing looked at Holmes, his eyes twinkling somewhat brighter. "One cannot deny the hangman his right." he retorted.
"You yourself told me to bolster my will."
Van Helsing walked over to the remains of the Count. It was all ash and large pieces of singed red velvet. Nothing remained except for a few small pieces of scorched bone and a large black gemstone set in a gold ring, now cracked."
"I wonder if you would be interested in another case, Mr. Holmes," asked van Helsing, "I have just heard of a strange case of lycanthropy that would benefit from your unique examination."
"I must decline, Doctor. I am not the sort to run around chasing ghosts. Tonight has been quite enough excitement. I am eager to return home to my own country."
"But that is precisely my offer! The creature has been spotted in England!" Holmes looked up, more interested now. "It appears," continued van Helsing, "that there is a werewolf of London."
Holmes smiled. "In that case, perhaps I should look into the matter more directly. If nothing else I will assuage your silly superstitions," he glanced down at the ashes, "but first let us put an end to this vampire business. Draft a letter to the Hungarian ambassador. Tell them their Count was masquerading as a vampire to abet his criminal underpinnings. But that's over with,"
Holmes picked up the gold ring, turning it over in his hand. He concluded:
"The lich is dead now."