"Gorgeous." Malcolm smiled, aches momentarily forgotten, the Witch forgotten. She had looked spectacular in bed, fresh though wan, happy and attentive and so pleased to see him. "She said by tomorrow evening she'll be fine, Jamie. Why don't we arrange a grand dinner, here, eh? Us, and say Dmitri, Babcott, Marlowe if he's free, and Pallidar, they're both good sorts though they fawn on her like puppies."

"What about Phillip and Sir William?"

"Phillip yes but not Sir William... no, best leave them both out. How about Count Zergeyev, he's always good for a laugh or two?"

"If you invite him you should really include all the Ministers--can't very well leave Sir William out then."

"You're right. Make it simple, them another night."

"I'll make the arrangements," Jamie said, glad that they were on friendly terms again. Together they walked into his suite. All damage from the fire had been repaired though there was still the slight smell of smoke. "What about Ketterer?"

"He has to guard our interests or he's out."

Malcolm sat at his desk, began to stack the mail he wanted to send. "Mother will have already seen the Governor and sorted him out."

"Yes."

Malcolm looked up sharply, hearing a strangeness under the voice. After a moment he said, "Curious how confident we are she'll do that, and not at all confident I can persuade her to approve my marriage."

"Don't quite know how to answer that, Tai-pan,"

McFay said sadly, "if it's a question."

Malcolm nodded slowly, seeing the strong, well-used face and strong tough body and wondered if he would be as strong when he was thirty-nine-- in nineteen years. "You got another letter from her?"

"Yes. 'fraid no good news at all from Ocean Witch."

"Oh? Sit down, Jamie. What did she say?"

"Sorry, but, well she reiterated her order I assist Dr. Hoag to see you back to Hong Kong at once, confirming I'm sacked at the end of the month."

"You can forget that. You wrote her, as I told you, that you're under the tai-pan's orders, my orders, not hers?"

"Yes."

"Good, so did I and that's the end of it. Your letter and mine must have crossed hers." Malcolm lit a cheroot and noticed his fingers were shaking.

"You've never smoked?"

"No, tried once and didn't like it."

"Forget the sacking nonsense. What other bad news?"

"I've got all the correspondence and cuttings for you when you're ready. Business is rotten all over. We've lost Racing Cloud--she's too long overdue San Francisco."

"Bloody hell!" Racing Cloud was one of their clipper fleet, twenty-two ships.

Clippers, three-masted queens of the sea, were much faster on long ocean runs than cumbersome steamers that had to carry and conserve coal. Her cargo was tea, silk and spices, all highly prized goods and now, because of the American war, astronomically valuable--particularly if diverted to the South. "Insurance won't cover us, will it?"

"'fraid not. Never does, even Lloyd's.

They may even claim an Act of War. It is a war zone."

"Ayeeyah! That'll cost a pretty penny.

Damned shame about the crew. Her Captain was Caradoc, wasn't he?"

"Yes. They must have run into a hurricane-- several were reported off Hawaii though they're late this year. Her Second Mate was my cousin, Duncan McGregor."

"Oh, sorry about that." Even more depressed, Struan glanced at his bureau where the elixir waited. I wonder if the same storms swallowed Savannah Lady, along with young Pedrito Vargas and our order for five thousand rifles, he thought absently. That reminded him. "Those cannon at Mirs Bay-- they weren't sold through us were they?"

"Not to my knowledge," Jamie said, the normal response to such a question. Both were aware of major arms sales to Chinese traders who always represented the Manchu government. What happened on delivery at Canton or Shanghai was another matter.

Malcolm was thinking, I'll bet fifty Mex to a dollar they were from us, one way or another. He was party to one of Struan's inner secrets: a tenuous friend-enemy relationship existed between the Noble House and the seaborne White Lotus Wu Chois, begun by his grandfather and continued by his father. What about me? What do I do about them, he asked himself, suddenly sick to death of Yokohama and violently anxious to assume all the mantle and secrets of his grandfather--and to confront his mother. "In a week or so," he muttered.

"Tai-pan?"

"Nothing. What else, Jamie?"

Jamie went through a litany about the falling price of goods they sold and escalating price of goods they had to buy, of demands for increased danger wages for their seamen, many of whom were of English-American heritage and were being forcibly pressed aboard roving, marauding warships of both North and South. "I could go on forever, Tai-pan. Russia and France are spoiling for a fight, so Europe's a tinderbox. All over India, Moslems and Hindus are killing, murdering each other, burning crops. Whole world's crazy." He hesitated. "More urgent, the Victoria Bank wrote again about the paper they carry on us here. The notes are due..."

"I know all about that and they can rot. The Bank's Brock-controlled, they've dropped us in the sewer financing Brock's takeover of Hawaiian sugar and they're out to bankrupt us.

They can all rot, by God." Malcolm's voice had thickened. Pain was shafting from his belly. "Think I'll finish all this paperwork in case the Witch sails on the tide. Why should she turn around so fast?"

After a moment Jamie shrugged. "Don't know, but I agree: any news to do with Brock's is bad news."

The Club meeting had quickly gravitated into the usual shouting, cursing, angry mass of men, increasingly heated, with plenty of drinking, talking and no one listening, with a single theme locking them all together: "God curse all governments, all bleeding tax collectors, all fat-arsed Admirals and Generals wot don't know their poxy place, wot don't do wot they're supposed to do which is listen to the business community, do wot we bloody say and Bob's your bloody Uncle!"

"Good on yer, Lunkchurch. I proposes ..."

Whatever the man proposed was drowned in the uproar as several shouted, "Let's impeach Wee Willie...."

Exasperated, Norbert Greyforth pushed his way through the crowd from the corner of the bar where he had begun the meeting and headed for Malcolm Struan who sat beside the door, Jamie nearby.

Dmitri called out, "No conclusion, Norbert?"

"What do you expect, Dmitri? It's up to tai-pans as ever was. Come along. Jamie, would you and..." Norbert was going to needle Malcolm by calling him young Struan but he remembered Sir William's very blunt and sour threat not to provoke him in public or else.

Even more he could feel Tyler Brock's letter burning in his pocket. He looked down at Malcolm and said politely, "Would you two please join me--a private chat, eh?

Dmitri you too?"

Malcolm had expected Norbert just to pass by with a curt nod. "Certainly. Where?

Outside?"

"In my office, if it pleases you."

The three men followed him. All on guard.

"Is Ocean Witch leaving on the tide?"

Malcolm asked.

"Yes."

Dmitri said, "Why the fast turnaround, Norbert?"

"Tyler's orders." Norbert noticed the sudden shadow cross Struan's face and he smiled to himself.

His temporary office was on the ground floor while repairs were being done to the fire-ravaged upstairs. The central staircase was blackened, the roof off in places but covered temporarily with sail canvas. "Proper bugger, the fire, but there you are, happens to everyone sometime. Fortunately as I said, the safes weren't touched nor the books and warehouse." He motioned to leather easy chairs. "Make yourself comfortable."

On the sideboard were glasses and drinks, whisky, brandy, gin, vintage wine, with champagne already on ice. His Chinese Number One Boy stood waiting to serve them. Their caution increased. "What's your pleasure?"