Chapter One Japan had been freezing, the wind that sliced through its famous cherry trees scattering flakes of ice in place of spring blossoms. We had set down there for nearly three weeks, after a peremptory telegram from its emperor had reached us in Hong Kong; people kept insisting that the countryside would be lovely in May. The greatest benefit of those three weeks had been the cessation of the dreams that had plagued me on the voyage from Bombay. I slept well--warily at first, then with the slow relaxation of defences. Whatever their cause, the dreams had gone. But twelve hours after raising anchor in Tokyo, I was jerked from a deep sleep by flying objects in my mind. Three days out from the island nation, the rain stopped and a weak sun broke intermittently through the grey. The cold meant that most of the passengers, after venturing out for a brief turn on the decks, settled in along the windows on the ship's exposed side like so many somnolent cats. I, however, begged a travelling-rug from the purser and found a deck-chair out of the wind. There, wrapped to my chin with a hat tugged down over my close-cropped hair, I dozed. Halfway through the afternoon, Holmes appeared with a cup of hot coffee. Actually, it was little more than tepid and half the liquid resided in the saucer; nonetheless, I sat up and disentangled one arm to receive it, then freed the other arm so that I could pour the saucer's contents back into the cup. Holmes perched on a nearby chair, taking out his pipe and tobacco pouch. "The Captain tells me that we are making good time," he commented. "I'm glad the storm blew itself out," I replied. "I might actually be able to face the dinner table tonight." Something about the angle of the wind the past days had made the perpetual pitch and toss of the boat even more quease-inducing than usual. "You haven't eaten anything in three days." Holmes disapproved of my weak stomach. "Rice," I objected. "And tea." "Or slept," he added, snapping his wind-proof lighter into life and holding it over the bowl of his pipe. That accusation I did not answer. After a moment, as if to acknowledge that his comment had not required a response, he went on. "Had you thought any more about pausing in Hawaii?" I stifled a yawn and put my empty cup onto the chair's wide arm, nestling back into the warmth of the rug. "It's up to you, Holmes. I'm happy to stop there if you like. How many days would it be before the next ship?" "Normally three, but it seems that the following ship has turned back to Tokyo for repairs, which means we could be marooned there for a week." I opened one eye, unable to tell from his voice, still less his smoke-girt expression, which way his desires leant. "A week is quite a long diversion," I ventured. "Particularly if Hawaii has embraced the austerities of Prohibition." "A half-day would mean a long walk and sit at a table where I don't have to aim a moving soup spoon at my mouth. Both would be quite nice." "Then another four days to San Francisco." The pointless, unnecessary observation was unlike Holmes. Indeed, this entire conversation was unlike him, I reflected, squinting at him against the glare. He had his pipe between his teeth, and was concentrating on rolling up the pouch, so I shut my eyes again. " Terra firma ," I said. "A week in California, tying up business, and then we can turn for home. By train." I don't get seasick on trains. "A week will be sufficient, you believe?" "To draw up the papers for selling the house and business? More than enough." "And that is what you have decided to do." This noncommittal, pseudo-Socratic dialogue was Excerpted from Locked Rooms by Laurie R. King All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
