Page 11 of The Lost Future of Pepperharrow

Six frowned. ‘But some of the boys used to come in and out nearly every day. For school.’

‘With receipts.’ He gave her some rice. ‘The octopus fed yours to the koi.’

‘Oh,’ she said, and seemed satisfied.

Thaniel felt wry. It had never been a secret that Mori had the comprehensive Six instruction manual, although it was annoying not to have deduced more than a quarter of it without him.

She interrogated Mori about France and, having decided it was a generally unworthwhile place, she said in her upright Japanese that dinner had been a real feast, and looked solemnly approving when Mori gave her the octopus cake. She turned to go without saying anything else. Thaniel poked her.

‘Hey. Show me an uppercut, soldier.’

She did, and smiled when he pretended that catching it in his palm had hurt.

‘That’s good.’

‘I know,’ she said, ‘but I can’t play with you now, it’s cake time.’

‘Fair enough.’

Thaniel watched her go, trying to tell if she was all right or not. She wouldn’t sulk if she was unhappy or angry. She would behave normally, but then she would change all the door handles.

‘I’ll get it in the neck later,’ Mori said. ‘But she’s got a perfect right to that.’

‘No, she hasn’t. She can’t keep you in the house forever,’ said Thaniel.

Mori studied him for a while, heedful and unhurried. ‘And how are you?’

He still didn’t know how to say it, so fast and all in one go seemed best. ‘Francis Fanshaw wants me to go to Japan. There’s some trouble at the legation in Tokyo. I’m supposed to sort it out. I don’t know what your plans are, but …’ His throat had gone dry again. ‘I suppose we need to decide where Six goes, here or there.’

‘No, we’ll all go. Friend of mine’s just got himself elected Prime Minister over there. He wants me to come home.’

Thaniel stared at him. ‘Sorry?’

‘There’s a liner going out on Thursday. It only takes twelve days now, so we’ll be there for Christmas.’ Mori smiled a little. ‘That’s why I’m here. If you’d – like to go together, that is.’

‘I’d like to,’ Thaniel said, and couldn’t summon up anything else at first. He had to clench his hands under the table, ludicrously close to crying with relief. ‘You never said?’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure any of this was happening until a few weeks ago, and then I got stuck in Paris. Flu or something. I’m sorry.’

‘You might have given me a bit of warning, before it was a certain thing? Steepleton, look sharp, you might be moving to Japan?’

Mori looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t … want to think about it too much. I know that’s stupid, but it’s always odd. Going home.’ His black eyes came up again, full of awkward apology. By odd, he meant deeply unnerving.

‘How do you mean?’ Thaniel said, annoyed with himself.

Mori inclined his head unwillingly. ‘Well; my house is haunted in bad weather.’

Thaniel hadn’t known that Mori believed in ghosts, but he was never surprised anymore when they hit little pockets of difference like that. It would have been much stranger if they’d grown up six thousand miles apart and agreed about everything. Besides, at this precise moment, Mori could have announced he often had high tea with a talking fox and Thaniel would have gone along with it. ‘No wonder it’s not your favourite place.’

Mori smiled and shook his head once. ‘It’s nice, though. An estate in Yokohama. That’s the posh residential bit on the edge of Tokyo. Good air, by the sea.’ He twisted back to take something from the drawer of post he never bothered to open. It was a postcard. ‘This is it.’

When Mori had said house, Thaniel had imagined one of those tall neat places in Belgravia, but maybe with rickshaws going to and fro outside instead of hansom cabs. On the postcard, though, was a photograph of a sprawling ramble of beautiful traditional buildings among lush gardens and pools that steamed, and cherry trees that snowed their petals onto the curved rooftops. The name was printed in Japanese in the corner on the other side of the card. Yoruji: it meant The Evening Temple. And then, in small sepia print, Yokohama residence of House Mori.

‘Christ,’ said Thaniel, who had gone straight from impressed to uneasy. That kind of money was like a bright light. It showed every single rough edge in horrible detail. Even just sitting and holding an image of the place, he was acutely aware of being made of rough edges. ‘Sure they’ll let me in? I’m not – really your sort.’

Mori’s shoulders flickered with something like incredulity. When he spoke, his voice was full of smoke. ‘What? You’re exactly my sort.’

Thaniel had to laugh. Whatever nerves he might have about high society, it was hardly a bad problem to have. Going together was better than anything he’d thought of, or even hoped. ‘So – Japan, then.’