After the year he had arranged the junior post at Rothwell's. "Do you know Dmitri Syborodin who runs Cooper-Tillman here?"

"No, suh. Only by reputation. My parents knew Judith Tillman, the widow of one of the original partners." Gornt's eyes had narrowed and Norbert noticed the strangeness in them. "She didn't like Dirk Struan either, loathed him in fact, blamed him for the death of her husband. The sins of the father do pass onwards, don't they?"

Norbert laughed. "They do indeed."

"You were saying suh? Dmitri Syborodin?"

"You'll like him, he's Southern too." The landing bell sounded. Norbert's eyes glittered with anticipation, "Let's get ashore, there'll be action soon enough."

"Man wan' see tai-pan, heya?" Ah Tok said.

"Ayeeyah, speak civilized, Mother, and not gibberish," Malcolm told her in Cantonese. He stood at his office window, binoculars in his hand, and had been watching the mail ship unloading passengers. He had seen Norbert Greyforth and now he was feeling very good.

"What man?"

"The foreign devil bonze you sent for, the foul-smelling bonze," she mumbled. "Your Old Mother is working too hard and her Son won't listen! We should be going home."

"Ayeeyah, I've told you not to mention going home," he told her sharply, "do that once more and I'll pack you off on the next dirty little lorcha where you'll puke your heart out if you have one, and at the very least the God of the Sea will swallow you up! Send the foreign devil in."

A smile crossed his face and some of his good feeling returned.

She went off grumbling. For days she had been harping on a return to Hong Kong, as much as he told her not to. So much so, he was sure she had had orders from Gordon Chen to harass him into obeying.

"By God, I won't until I'm ready."

He hobbled back to his desk glad that his score with Norbert would soon be settled and his whole glorious plan put into effect. "Ah, 'morning, Reverend Tweet, kind of you to be prompt. Sherry?"

"Thank you, Mr., er, Tai-pan, bless you."

The sherry went in a nervous gulp though Struan had deliberately chosen a big glass. "Admirable, er, Tai-pan. Ah yes, thanks, I'll have another small one, bless you." The untidy sack of a man settled with an uneasy smile in the tall chair. Tobacco stained his beard. "What can I do for you?"

"It's about myself and Miss Angelique. I want you to marry us. Next week."

"Eh?" The Reverend Michaelmas Tweet almost dropped his glass. "Impossible," he stuttered, his false teeth chattering.

"No it isn't. There's lot of precedent for condensing the bans that have to be read out on three succeeding Sundays in church into one Sunday only."

"But I can't, you're a minor and so is she and worse she's Catholic and there's no possible way.... I can't."

"Oh, but you can." Confidently he parroted what Heatherly Skye, nicknamed "Heavenly," the only lawyer in Yokohama as well as coroner and insurance agent, had told him. "The fact that I'm a minor applies only in the United Kingdom, not in the colonies or abroad, and only when the father is alive. That she's Catholic doesn't matter if it doesn't matter to me. That ends that. Tuesday the 9th is an auspicious day to be married on, we keep everything quiet until then and that's when it will be."

To Malcolm's amusement Michaelmas Tweet's mouth opened and closed like a fish but no sound came out. Shakily, the clergyman groped to his feet, poured another sherry, gulped it, then collapsed into the chair again. "I can't."

"Oh but I've taken legal advice and I'm advised you can. Also I intend to endow you and your church with an extra stipend--five hundred guineas a year." He knew the man was hooked for the offer was three or four times his present salary and twice what the lawyer had advised: Don't spoil the old fart!

"We'll be in church on Sunday to hear the bans read, Tuesday's the great day, the same day you get a hundred guineas advance for your trouble.

Thank you, Reverend." He stood but Tweet did not move and he saw his eyes fill with tears. "What on earth's the matter?"

"I just can't do what you ask," Tweet spluttered, "it's, it's not possible. You see your... even if that advice is correct which I, er, I doubt... your mother wrote to me, she wrote formally, by the last post saying that... that your father had made her your legal guardian and you had been forbidden to marry." The tears were flowing down his cheeks, his rheumy eyes bloodshot, "Dear God in Heaven, that's so much money, more than I ever dreamed, but I can't, I can't go against the law or her, dear God no!"

"A thousand guineas."

"Oh God, don't, don't," the tired old man burst out, "much as I want the money... don't you see, the marriage wouldn't be legal, against church law. God knows I'm as big a sinner as the next but I can't and if she wrote to me surely she wrote to Sir William who must sanction any such marriage. God forgive me, I can't...." He stumbled out of the room.

Malcolm stared after him. Speechless, his mind blank, his office suddenly a tomb. The plan, hatched with Heavenly Skye, had been perfect.

They would marry quietly, just Jamie and perhaps Dmitri, then he would leave at once for Hong Kong after the duel to be there well before Christmas as his mother had asked and before the news could possibly reach her. Angelique would follow on the next boat.

"Those whom God hath joined together, let no man--or woman--cast asunder," Heavenly Skye had intoned when he had consulted him.

"Perfect! That's perfect, Heavenly."

"Thank you, Tai-pan. The fee's fifty guineas. Could I, er, could I have a down payment, cash if you please."

Fifty guineas was outrageous. Even so Malcolm Struan had given him ten sovereigns, with Noble House chits for the balance, and had walked home, feeling lighter than in weeks.

"You're in a happy mood today, Malcolm.

Good news?"' "Yes, my darling Angel, but I'll share it with you tomorrow. Meanwhile when do we see our picture, your dress was really marvelous."

"It takes such a time to develop whatever has to be developed. Perhaps tomorrow. You looked so handsome."

"Wonderful. I think we should have a party ..."

But now, with the party arranged for tonight, it would not be wonderful. He was totally downcast. Perhaps there was a way to force Tweet? Should he have at him tomorrow when the shock had warn off? More money? Sir William? A sudden idea. He rang the bell. "Yes, Tai-pan?"

"Vargas, run over to the Catholic church and find Father Leo. Ask him if he could step by for a moment."

"Certainly, Tai-pan. When should he come?"

"Now, as soon as possible."

"Now, Tai-pan? But it's lunch tim--"

"Now, by God!" Malcolm shouted, so pent up was his frustration that he had to ask others to do the simplest jobs that he could have done himself before the Tokaido--God curse those swine, God curse the Tokaido--it's like B.c. and A.d. for me except the bad is now, not the good. "Now. Hurry up!"

Vargas was white-faced as he rushed off.

While he waited, Malcolm tried to think of ways to strongarm Tweet, letting his mind brood and, as the minutes passed slowly, becoming ever more infuriated and ever more determined.

"Father Leo, Tai-pan." Vargas stepped aside and closed the door after him.

The priest tried to hide his nervousness.

Several times he had begun to walk here to discuss with the Senhor's conversion to Catholicism, but each time he had stopped, promising himself he would go tomorrow but never had, afraid of making a mistake, stumbling over the words. In desperation he had sought out Andr`e Poncin to arrange a rendezvous and had been shocked at the way Poncin, then the French Minister personally--who rarely talked him--had reacted, telling him such a discussion was premature, advising him God's work needed patience and prudence, forbidding the approach for the time being.