"'Morning," Malcolm said weakly.

This was the first time any of the Protestant traders had ever invited him into an office. Throughout the Protestant world, feelings against Catholics and their priests were seriously antagonistic, accusing them of bloody pogroms and religious wars, recent and never to be forgotten, reminding them of the iron control they exercised over their converts and countries they dominated--Protestants, equally loathed by Catholics and according to Catholic beliefs, heretic.

"The Blessings of God upon Thee," Father Leo murmured tentatively. Before leaving his little bungalow adjoining the church he had hastily said a prayer that the summons was about what he had prayed so hard for. "Yes, my son?"

"Please, I want you to marry Miss Angelique and me." Malcolm was astonished that his voice sounded so calm, abruptly appalled that he was not only saying it but had actually sent for the priest, whilst understanding clearly the implications of what he asked--Mother will have a fit, our friends and our whole world will think I've gone raving mad...

"God be thanked," Father Leo had burst out in ecstatic Portuguese, his eyes closed, arms lifted up to Heaven, "how marvelous are the ways of God, I thank Thee, thank Thee for answering my prayers, may I be worthy of Thy favor!"

"What?" Malcolm stared at him.

"Ah, senhor, my son, please forgive me," he said in English again, "I was just thanking God that in His mercy He has shown you the light."

"Oh. Sherry?" was all Malcolm could think of to say.

"Ah, thank, you, my son, but first will you pray with me?" At once the priest came nearer and went on his knees, closed his eyes and puts his hands together in prayer. Embarrassed by the man's sincerity--though disregarding his prayers as meaningless --and unable to kneel anyway, Malcolm stayed seated and closed his eyes and said a small prayer to God, sure that God would understand this momentary lapse, trying to convince himself it was quite all right to have this man to do what was needed.

That the ceremony would probably be invalid in his world, was unimportant. It would be valid for Angelique. She could join his marriage bed with a clear conscience. And once the initial storm in Hong Kong had settled and his mother won over--or even if she wasn't--as soon as he was of age next May a proper ceremony would correct any little wrong.

He half opened his eyes. Father Leo was lost in the jumble of Latin. The prayer dragged on, and the blessing. When it was over Father Leo got to his feet, the little coffee beans of his eyes sparkling in his swarthy jowls. "Please allow me to serve the sherry, to save you pain, senhor, after all now I am your servant too," he said jovially.

"How are your wounds? How are you feeling?"

"Fair. Now..." Malcolm could not bring himself to call him "Father." "Now, about the marriage I th--"

"It will be done, my son, it will be done marvelously, I promise." How wonderful are the works of God, Father Leo thought. I have not broken my promise to the French Minister, God has brought this poor youth to me. "Don't worry, senhor, it is the will of God you have asked me, and it will be done for the Glory of God." Father Leo gave him a full glass, and poured one for himself, spilling a little. "To your future happiness and God's mercy." He drank, then sat in the chair with such friendliness--the chair that such a short time ago had been occupied with such rejection--that Malcolm was further unsettled.

"Now, your wedding, it will be the best, the biggest ever held," the priest said and rushed onwards, his enthusiasm vast, and Malcolm's spirits drooped lower for he wanted this temporary wedding to be kept quiet. "We must have a choir and an organ, and new vestments and silver goblets for Communion but before those details, my son, there are many wonderful plans to discuss. The children for instance, now they will be saved, they will be Catholic and saved from Purgatory and the agonies of eternal Hellfire!"

Malcolm cleared his throat. "Yes. Now, the marriage should be next week, Tuesday's the best day."

Father Leo blinked. "But there's your conversion, my son. That takes time and y--"

"I, well I don't want to convert, not yet, though I agree that, that the children will be Catholic." They'll all be brought up properly, and be intelligent, he reasoned, feeling sicker by the moment. They'll be able to choose for themselves when they're adult... What am I thinking about? Long before that we'll be properly married in a proper church.

"Please, next week, Tuesday, that's the day."

The eyes no longer smiled. "You're not going to embrace to the True Faith? What of your immortal soul?"

"No, no thank you, not at the moment. I, I will, I will certainly consider it. The, the souls of the children... that's important..." Malcolm tried to sound more coherent. "Now, the marriage, I'd like it private, a simple ceremony, Tuesday wo--"

"But your immortal soul, my son. God has shown you the light, your soul is even more important than this marriage."

"Well, I'll certainly consider it, yes I will. Now the marriage. Tuesday would be perfect."

The priest set his glass down, his mind tangled with joys and hopes and questions and fears and danger signals. "But, my son, that will not be possible, no, not for many reasons. The girl is underage, no? Her father's approval must be obtained, documents approved. You, the same, no?"

"A minor?" Malcolm forced a tentative laugh. "It doesn't apply in my case, not when your father is dead. It's, it's English law. I checked it with... with Mr. Skye." He just managed to stop using "Heavenly" but cursed himself anyway for mentioning him at all as he suddenly remembered Angelique telling him how Father Leo hated the man, hated the nickname, believing him, an open agnostic, to be an abomination.

"That person?" Father Leo's voice hardened.

"His opinion will certainly have to be approved by your Sir William, he's certainly not to be trusted and as to the senhorita's father, he can come from Bangkok, no?"

"He's... I believe he's returned to France. He won't be necessary, I'm sure Mr. Seratard can act for her. Tuesday would be perfect."

"But, my son, why the hurry, you're both young, so much life ahead, your soul to consider."

Father Leo tried a smile. "It's God's will you sent for me, in a month or two y--"

"Not, not in a month or two," Malcolm said, ready to explode, his voice strangled. "Wednesday or Tuesday, please."

"Reconsider, my son, your immortal soul should be y--"

"Forget my soul..." Malcolm paused to get a grip on himself. "I thought I would endow the church though it's not, not currently my church, endow it handsomely."

Father Leo heard the "currently" and the way "handsomely" had been said, ever conscious that God's work on earth required practical servants and pragmatic solutions. And funds.

And influence. And those two essentials came only from the highborn and the rich, no need to remind himself that the tai-pan of the Noble House was both, or that already today a giant step forward in the service of God had been made: he had been asked for a favor, and the children would be saved even if this poor sinner burned in the Molten Torment.

A shiver went through him, appalled for this youth and all those who would needlessly suffer such horror for all eternity when salvation was so easy to obtain.

He pushed that problem aside. The will of God is the will of God. "The marriage will take place, my son, never fear, I promise... but not next week or the week after, there are too many barriers."

Malcolm felt his heart about to burst. "God Almighty, if it can't be next week or the latest the week after, then it's no good, it has to be then--or nothing."

"But why? And why private, my son?"