To the Grenadier Sergeant he added, "Please give Sar'nt Crimp the help he needs, where to billet his men, etc. Your name please?"

"Towery, sir."

"Thank you, Sar'nt Towery."

Babcott said, "Perhaps you'd both follow me?

A cup of tea?"

"Thank you, no," she said, trying to be polite but consumed with impatience, disliking the way the English brewed tea and offered it at the slightest provocation. "But I would like to see Mr. Struan and Mr. Tyrer."

"Of course, right away." The doctor had already judged that she was near to tears at any moment, decided she really did need a cup of tea, perhaps laced with a little brandy, a sedative and then to bed. "Young Phillip, poor chap had quite a shock I'm afraid--must have been dreadful for you too."

"Is he all right?"

"Yes, quite all right," he repeated patiently. "Come along, see for yourself." He led the way through the courtyard. The clatter of hooves and harness stopped them. To their surprise they saw a Dragoon patrol arriving. "Good God, it's Pallidar," Marlowe said.

"What's he doing here?"

They watched the Dragoon officer return the salutes of the marines and grenadiers and dismount.

"Carry on," Pallidar said, not noticing Marlowe, Babcott and Angelique.

"Bloody bastard Japanners tried to bloody bar the road against us, by God!

Unfortunately the sons of whores changed their bloody, God-cursed minds or they'd be pushing up bloody daisies and..." He saw Angelique and stopped, appalled. "Jesus Christ! Oh, I say, I am... I am most terrible sorry, Mademoiselle, I, er, I didn't realize there were any ladies... er, hello John, Doctor."

Marlowe said, "Hello Settry.

Mademoiselle Angelique, may I introduce plainspoken Captain Settry Pallidar, of Her Majesty's Eighth Dragoons. Mademoiselle Angelique Richaud."

She nodded coolly and he bowed stiffly.

"I'm, er, most awfully sorry, Mademoiselle. Doc, I was sent to secure the Legation, in case of an evacuation."

"The Admiral already sent us here to do that,"

Marlowe said crisply. "With marines."

"You can dismiss them, we're here now."

"Get... I suggest you ask for new orders. Tomorrow. Meanwhile I'm senior officer and in command. Senior service. Doctor, perhaps you'd take the lady to see Mr. Struan."

Babcott had watched the two young men square up to one another with concern, liking them both.

Friendly on the surface, deadly underneath. These two young bulls will have at each other one day-- God help them if it's over a woman. "See you both later." Taking her arm he walked off.

The two men watched them go. Then Pallidar's chin jutted. "This isn't a ship's quarterdeck," he hissed, "it's a job for the army, by God."

"Bullshit."

"Are your brains lost with your manners? Why the hell bring a woman here when Christ knows what may happen?"

"Because the important Mr. Struan asked to see her, medically it's a good idea, she persuaded the Admiral to allow her to come tonight against my advice, he ordered me to escort her here and send her back safely. Sar'nt Towery!"

"Yessir!"

"I'm in overall command until further orders --show the dragoons to quarters and make them comfortable. Can you stable their horses? Do you have enough rations?"

"Yessir, we've plenty of room.

Grub's a bit short."

"Has it ever been plentiful in this godforsaken place?" Marlowe beckoned him closer.

"Spread the word," he said dangerously. "No fighting and if there is, it's a hundred lashes for any bastard involved--whoever he is!"

The bar of the Yokohama Club, the biggest room in the Settlement and thus the meeting place, was in uproar and packed with almost the entire, acceptable population of the Settlement-- only those too drunk to stand or the very sick were missing--all shouting in various languages, many armed, many waving their fists and cursing the small group of well-dressed men who sat at a raised table at the far end, most of whom were shouting back, the Admiral and General beside them apoplectic.

"Say that again, by God, and I'll call you outside..."

"Go to hell you bastard..."

"It's war, Wullem's got to..."

"Turn out the bloody army an' navy and bombard Yedo..."

"Flatten the f'ing capital, by God..."

"Canterbury's gotta be revenged, Wullum's got to..."

"Right! Willum's responsible, John the Cant's me mate..."

"Listen you lot..." One of the seated men began pounding the table top with a gavel for silence.

This only incensed the crowd further--merchants, tradesmen, innkeepers, gamblers, horse handlers, butchers, jockeys, seamen, remittance men, sail makers, and port riffraff. Top hats, multicolored waistcoats, woolen clothes and underwear, leather boots, from rich to poor, the air hot, stale, smoky and heavy with the odor of unwashed bodies, stale beer, whisky, gin, rum and spilt wine.

"Quiet for Christ's sake, let Wullum speak...."

The man with the gavel shouted, "It's William, for God's sake! William, not Wullum or Willum or Willam!

William Aylesbury, how many times do I have to tell you? William!"

"That's right, let Willum speak, for Christ's sake!"

The three barmen serving drinks behind the vast counter laughed. "Proper thirsty bloody work this 'ere meeting, i'nit, guv?" one called out breezily, wiping the counter with a filthy rag.

The bar was the pride of the Settlement, deliberately a foot bigger than the one in the Shanghai Jockey Club, previously the biggest in Asia, and twice as big as the Hong Kong Club's. The wall was lined with bottles of spirits, wine and beer kegs. "Let the bugger speak, for crissake!"

Sir William Aylesbury, the man with the gavel, sighed. He was British Minister in Japan, senior member of the Diplomatic Corps. The other men represented France, Russia, Prussia, and America. His temper snapped and he motioned to a young officer standing behind the table. At once, clearly prepared--as were those at the table--the officer took out a revolver and fired into the ceiling. Plaster speckled down in the sudden silence.

"Thank you. Now," Sir William began, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "if you gentlemen will all be quiet for a moment we can proceed." He was a tall, well-covered man in his late forties, with a bent face and prominent ears. "I repeat, as you will all be affected by what we decide, my colleagues and I wish to discuss how to respond to this incident--in public. If you lot don't want to listen, or if you're asked for an opinion and don't give it with the minimum of expletives--we will ponder the matter in private and then, when we've decided what WILL HAPPEN, we will be glad to inform you."

A muttering resentment, but no open hostility.

"Good. Mr. McFay, you were saying?"

Jamie McFay was near the front, Dmitri beside him--because he was head of Struan's, the largest house in Asia, he was the usual spokesman for the merchant-traders, the most important of whom had their own fleets of armed clippers and merchantmen. "Well, sir, we know the Satsumas are bedding down at Hodogaya in easy reach north and that their king's with them," he said, greatly concerned over Malcolm Struan.

"His name's Sajirro, some name like that, and I think we sh--"

Someone shouted, "I vote we surround the bastards tonight and string the bugger up!" A roar of applause that soon trickled away amidst a few muffled curses and, "For God's sake get on with it..."

"Please carry on Mr. McFay," Sir William said wearily.

"The attack was unprovoked as usual, John Canterbury foully brutalized, God only knows how long it will take Mr. Struan to recover. But this is the first time we can identify the murderers--or at least the king can and as sure as God made little apples he has the power to catch the buggers and hand them over and pay damages..." More applause. "They're within reach, andwiththe troops we have we can peg them."