"Oh, so? Ing'erish and French warred hav?"

Tyrer laughed. "Dozens of times over the centuries, and allies in other wars--we were allies in the last conflict." He told him briefly about the Crimea, then about Napoleon Bonaparte, the French revolution, and the present Emperor Louis Napoleon. "He's Bonaparte's nephew, an absolute buffoon.

Bonaparte wasn't, but one of the most evil men ever born, he was responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths. But for Wellington and Nelson and our troops he would have ruled the world. Are you understanding all this?"

Hiraga nodded, "No o'rr word, but un'erstand." But he had caught the gist and this turned his head upside down, though he could not fathom why a great general should be considered evil.

"P'rease go on, Taira-san."

For a little while Tyrer did, then stopped the history lesson and gave him a lead: "Now to your problem. When you left the Yoshiwara those guards gave you no trouble?"

"No, pretend take vegitab'res."

"That's good, oh by the way, did you see Raiko-san?"

"Yes. Fujiko not possib're tomorrow."

"Oh. Well never mind." Tyrer shrugged, dying inside.

But Hiraga saw the vast disappointment and savored it. Sonno-joi, he thought grimly.

He had had to buy Fujiko's services himself but he did not mind. Raiko had said: "Since you pay well, though not gai-jin prices, I agree. But he should bed her the day after. I wouldn't want him to find another..."

Tyrer was saying, "Nakama-san, the only real way you can be safe here is to never go out. I won't send you to the Yoshiwara anymore. You must stay here, inside the Legation."

"Better, Taira-san, I stay in vi'rrage, find safe house. Inside fence safer. Each day I come at sunup, or when you want, teach and to 'rearn. You very good Sensei.

This so'rve prob'rem, yes?"

Tyrer hesitated, not wanting him off the leash but no longer caring to have him too close. "Yes, if first you show me where exactly and do not move without telling me."

In a moment Hiraga nodded and said, "I agree. P'rease, you say so'diers good me stay here and in vi'rrage?"

"Yes, I'll do that. I'm sure Sir William will agree."

"Thank you, Taira-san. Say so'diers also, if attack again I get katana."

"You will do no such thing! I forbid it, Sir William has forbidden it! No weapons, no swords!"

"P'rease you say so'dier, no attack p'rease."

"Yes, I'll do that but if you wear swords here you will be killed, they'll shoot you!"

Hiraga shrugged. "P'rease, no attack.

Wakatta?"

Tyrer did not reply. Wakatta was the imperious form of wakarimasu ka: Do you understand?

"Domo." With a contained violence that Tyrer could almost smell, Nakama thanked him again and said that he would return at dawn to guide him to the safe house, and would be ready then to answer any questions that he wanted to ask. He bowed stiffly.

Tyrer did the same. He walked out. It was only then that Tyrer saw the extent of the bruises over all his back and legs.

That night the wind became changeable, the sea choppy.

Out in the roads the fleet was snug at anchor and ready for sleep, the first night watch that came on duty at 8:00 P.m. already at their stations. Upwards of fifty men were in various cells for various offenses and with varying degrees of fear six were diligently making their own cat-o'-nine-tails for the fifty lashes they were due at dawn for conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline: one for threatening to break the neck of a sodomite Bosun, three for fighting, one for stealing a rum ration, and another for swearing at an officer.

Nine sea burials were scheduled for sunup.

All ship's sick bays were overloaded with sufferers of dysentery, diarrhea, the croup, whooping cough, scarlet fever, measles, venereal diseases, broken limbs, hernias and the like, routine except for a dangerous fourteen with smallpox aboard the flagship. Bleeding and violent purges were the recommended cures for most illnesses--the majority of doctors also being barbers--except for the lucky few patients who were given Dr. Collis's Tincture, one he had invented during the Crimea that cut dysentery deaths by three quarters: six drops of the dark, opium-based liquid and your bowels began to quieten.

Throughout the Settlement everyone was preparing for dinner and the most eagerly anticipated part of the day: after-dinner conversation, discussing the day's rumors or news--thank God the mail ship's due tomorrow--enjoying the warm camaraderie and laughter over spicy scandals, the ball, tension over business problems and if war would begin, or about the latest book someone had read, a new funny story or poem another had thought up, or telling tales of storms or ice lands or desert, or journeys made to strange places throughout the Empire--New Zealand, Africa and Australia hardly explored but for coastal areas --or the Wild West of America and Canada, stories of the California gold rush of '48, or visits to Spanish or French or Russian America--Dmitri had once sailed the mostly uncharted western seaboard from San Francisco north to Russian Alaska --each man telling of strange sights he had seen, girls sampled or wars witnessed.

Good wine and drinks and pipes and tobacco from Virginia, a few nightcaps at the Club, then prayers and bed.

A normal night in the Empire.

Some hosts specialized in chorals or poetry readings or excerpts from a coveted novel, and tonight at Norbert Greyforth's extremely private party, all guests sworn to secrecy, a special reading of the last chapter from the bootlegged copy he had had produced in his allotted hour by putting all his fifty clerks on to it. "If this leaks, the whole lot of you are dismissed," he had threatened.

In the Club they were still discussing the previous night's ball and trying to work out how to have another.

"Why not make it a bloody weekly bash, eh?

Angel Tits can kick up her heels and show her knickers for me every day of the week along with Naughty Nellie Fortheringill--"

"Stop calling her Angel Tits for chrissake or else!"

"Angel tits she has, and Angel Tits she is!"

To jeers and catcalls the fight started, bets were taken and the two contenders, Lunkchurch and Grimm, another trader, toed the line and tried to smash each other senseless.

Almost directly across the road, on the sea side, was the large brick bungalow of the British Legation, flagpole in the courtyard, gardens, and surrounded like most important dwellings with a defendable fence. Sir William was already dressed for dinner and so was his main guest, the Admiral, both were furious.

"The bloody bastards!" the Admiral said, his flushed face more flushed than usual, going to the sideboard to pour another large whisky.

"They're beyond comprehension."

"Totally." Sir William tossed the scroll aside and glared at Johann and Tyrer who stood in front of him. An hour ago the scroll had arrived by messenger from the Japanese Governor who had sent it on behalf of the Bakufu, "Very urgent so sorry." Instead of being in Dutch as was normal, it was in characters. With Seratard's agreement, Johann had co-opted one of the visiting French Jesuit missionaries and had produced a rough copy that Tyrer at once put into correct English. The message was from the Council of Elders, and signed by Anjo: I communicate with you by dispatch. By orders of the Shogun, received from Kyoto, the provisional date of the meeting in nineteen days with the roju, and meeting the same day with the Shogun, is to be postponed for three months as His Majesty will not return until then. I therefore send you this first, before holding a Conference as to the details. The second installment of the gift is to be delayed for thirty days. Respectful and humble communication.

"Johann," Sir William said, his voice icy, "would you say this is unusually rude, impolite and altogether vile?"