"Yes, sir. This silk trader--how reliable he is I don't know--but he said there was some kind of power struggle going on against the Tycoon that he always called "Shogun," the Bakufu and some king or daimyo called Toranaga."

Sir William saw the Russian's eyes slit even more in his almost Asian features.

"Yes, my dear Count?"

"Nothing, Sir William. But isn't that the name of the ruler mentioned by Kaempfer?"

"Indeed it is, indeed it is." I wonder why you never mentioned to me before that you also had read those very rare but illuminating journals that were written in German, which you do not know, therefore must have been translated into Russian? "Perhaps "Toranaga" means ruler in their language.

Please continue, Mr. McFay."

"That's all the fellow told my compradore, but I'll make it my business to find out more.

Now," McFay said politely but firmly, "do we settle King Satsuma at Hodogaya tonight or not?"

The smoke stirred the silence.

"Has anyone anything to add--about this revolt?"

Norbert Greyforth, chief of Brock and Sons, Struan's main rival said, "We've heard rumors of this revolt, too. But I thought it was something to do with their chief priest, this "Mikado," who supposedly lives in Kyoto, a city near Osaka. I'll make enquiries as well. In the meantime, about tonight, my vote goes with McFay, the sooner we belt these buggers the sooner we'll have peace." He was taller than McFay and clearly hated him.

When the cheers died down, like a judge delivering a sentence, Sir William said: "This is what will happen. First, there will be no attack tonight and--"

Cries of "Resign, we'll do it ourselves by God, come on, let's go after the bastards..."

"We can't, not without troops..."

"Quiet and listen, by God!" Sir William shouted. "If anyone is stupid enough to go against Hodogaya tonight he'll have to answer to our laws as well as Japanners. IT IS FORBIDDEN! Tomorrow I will formally demand--DEMAND--THAT at once the Bakufu, AND Shogun, tender a formal apology, at once, hand over the two murderers for trial and hanging, and at once pay an indemnity of one hundred thousand pounds or accept the consequences."

A few cheered, most did not and the meeting broke up with a surge to the bar, many of the men already near blows as arguments became more drunken and more heated. McFay and Dmitri shoved their way out into the open air. "My God, that's better."

McFay eased off his hat and mopped his brow.

"A word, Mr. McFay?"

He turned and saw Greyforth. "Of course."

"In private if you please."

McFay frowned, then moved over the semi-deserted promenade along the wharfs and seafront, away from Dmitri who was not in Struan's but traded through Cooper-Tillman, one of the American companies. "Yes?"

Norbert Greyforth dropped his voice.

"What about Hodogaya? You've two ships here, we've three, and between us lots of bully boys, most lads in the merchant fleet'd join us, we've arms enough and we could bring a cannon or two. John Canterbury was a good friend, the Old Man liked him, and I want him revenged. What about it?"

"If Hodogaya was a port I wouldn't hesitate, but we can't raid inland. This isn't China."

"You afraid of that pipsqueak in there?"

"I'm not afraid of anyone," McFay said carefully. "We can't mount a successful raid without regular troops, Norbert, that's not possible. I want revenge more than any."

Greyforth made sure no one was listening.

"Since you brought it up tonight and we don't talk too often, we've heard there's going to be bad trouble here soon."

"The revolt?"

"Yes. Very bad trouble for us. There's been all sorts of signs. Our silk dealers have been acting right smelly the last month or two, upping the price of bulk raw, delaying deliveries, slow on payments and wanting extra credits. I'll bet it's the same with you."

"Yes." It was rare for the two men to talk business.

"Don't know much more than that, except many of the signs are the same as in America that led to civil war. If that happens here it's going to bugger us proper. Without the fleet and troops we're bitched and we can be wiped out."

After a pause, McFay said, "What do you propose?"

"We'll have to wait and see what happens. With Wee Willie's plan I don't hope for much, like you. The Russian was right about what should be done. Meanwhile..." Greyforth nodded out to sea where two of their clippers and merchantmen lay in the roads--clippers still much faster back to England than steamers, paddle-driven or screw-driven ... "we're keeping all our inner ledgers and specie aboard, we've increased our levels of gunpowder, shot, shrapnel and put in an order for two of the brand-new Yankee, 10-barrel Gatling machine guns as soon as they are available."

McFay laughed. "The hell you have--so did we!"

"We heard that too, which is why I made the order, and twice as many of the new rifles than your shipment."

"Who told you, eh? Who's your spy?"

"Old Mother Hubbard," Greyforth said dryly.

"Listen, we all know these inventions, along with metal cartridges, have changed the course of war --that's proved already by the casualties at the battles of Bull Run and Fredericksburg."

"Shocking, yes. Dmitri told me, said the South lost four thousand in one afternoon. Terrible.

So?"

"We could both sell these weapons to the Japanners by the ton, my thought is we agree to not, and together we make bloody sure no other bugger imports them or smuggles them in.

Selling Jappers steamers and the odd cannon's one thing, but not repeaters or machine guns.

Agreed?"

McFay was surprised by the offer. And suspicious. But he kept it off his face, sure that Norbert would never keep the bargain, and shook the offered hand. "Agreed."

"Good. What's the latest on young Struan?"

"When I saw him an hour or so ago he was poorly."

"Is he going to die?"

"No, the doctor assured me of that."

A cold smile. "What the hell do they know?

But if he did that could wreck the Noble House."

"Nothing will ever wreck the Noble House, Dirk Struan saw to that."

"Don't be too sure. Dirk's been dead more than twenty years, his son Culum's not far from his deathbed and if Malcolm dies who's to take over? Not his young brother who's only ten." His eyes glinted strangely.

"Old Man Brock may be seventy-three but he's as tough and clever as he ever was."

"But we're still the Noble House, Culum is still the tai-pan." McFay added, glad for the barb, "Old Man Brock's still not a Steward of the Jockey Club at Happy Valley and never will be."

"That'll come soon enough, Jamie, that and all the rest. Culum Struan won't control the Jockey Club vote much longer, and if his son and heir kicks the bucket too, well then, counting us and our friends we've the necessary votes."

"It won't happen."

Greyforth hardened. "Mayhaps Old Man Brock will honor us with a visit here soon-- along with Sir Morgan."

"Morgan's in Hong Kong?" McFay tried to stop his astonishment from showing. Sir Morgan Brock was Old Man Brock's eldest son who, very successfully, ran their London office. As far as Jamie knew Morgan had never been to Asia before. If Morgan's suddenly in Hong Kong... what new devilment are those two up to now? he asked himself uneasily. Morgan specialized in merchant banking and had skillfully spread the tentacles of Brock's into Europe, Russia, and North America, always harrying the Struan trade routes and customers. Since the American war began last year, McFay, along with other Directors of Struan's, had been getting worrying reports about failures amongst their extensive American interests, both North and South, where Culum Struan had invested heavily. "If Old Man Brock and son grace us with their presence, I've no doubt we would be honored to give them supper."