"It has to be then, or nothing," Malcolm repeated, his face twisted. "You, you will find me a good friend... I need your help... For God's sake it's a simple thing to marry us!"

"Yes, yes it is, for God, but not for us, my son." The priest sighed and got up. "I will ask God's guidance. I doubt if... but perhaps. Perhaps. I would have to be very sure."

The words hung in the air.

"I hate to pour feces on your bouquet of roses, Tai-pan," Heavenly Skye said, steepling his fingers. He was slumped behind his desk in his drab little office. "But since you ask my professional advice I'd say your Father Leo's not to be trusted, not a jot or tittle, unless you convert. There's no way that can be done in time and I wouldn't advise that, oh dear no.

He'll puppet you like a will-o'-the- wisp and your vital dates will pass and you'll be truly buggered."

"Then for Christ's sake, Heavenly, what do I do?"

Skye hesitated, blew his bulbous nose and cleaned his pince-nez, small spectacles, a favorite ploy to allow time to compose himself, or to cover a lapse, or, in this case, to prevent an all-pervading beam.

This was the first time anyone important had consulted him since he had hung up his own shingle, H. Skye, Esq., late of Moodle, Putfield and Leech, Solicitors and Barristers, Inns of Court, London, initially in Calcutta ten years ago, then Hong Kong, and recently here. At long last he had, potentially, a perfect client: rich, beset with anxiety, with a simple problem that could become ever more complicated, with long-term possibilities from the cradle to the grave. And grand fees, for a solution, of which there were many, some good, some violent.

"Can't think of a worse pickle to be in," he said, solemnly, playing his part, liking and admiring the youth, not merely as a client, then offered a key, "The Gordian knot, eh?"

Malcolm was miserable. Obviously Heavenly was right, Father Leo can't be trusted. Even if I converted... I can't, that would be too much...

He looked up abruptly. "Knot?

Gordian knot? That was solved! Ulysses hacked it in two. No, it was Hercules!"

"Sorry, Alexander the Great in 333 B.c."

"Whoever did it, doesn't matter, my problem is... Heavenly, help me cut through my knot and you've my undying gratitude and five hundred guineas..."

The Harbor Master's signal gun echoed over the Settlement. They looked out of the mildewed window--Skye's office was in Lunkchurch's building and godown, stacked with books, fronting the sea. To their joy the fleet was rounding the headland in line ahead, flagship to the fore, with flags overall. Pride filled them, and relief. Cannonade salutes thundered from shore and ships, H.m.s. Pearl the most exuberant, with replying salvos from the fleet.

Both men whooped, and Skye said, "Now we can deal with the Jappos and sleep snug in our beds." Obliquely, he returned to the matter in hand, envying him Angelique and determined to help. "Not difficult to solve Jappos, Willie needs to be simple and decisive, the old iron fist in the iron glove, or velvet, applies in most, if not all cases. As with you."

Malcolm Struan looked at him. "How?

How? If you solve my problem you can... you can name your own price." Tiredly he reached for his canes. "Within reason."

"A moment, Tai-pan," Skye said, exuberantly polishing his glasses. My price won't only be money, not from the Noble House, your influence can help me become a Hong Kong judge, ah, what joy that will be! My only dilemma is should I reveal the solution now, or wait and risk losing the initiative. Not on your Nelly! A bird in the bed is worth two in the Yoshiwara.

No longer solemn, he set his pince-nez back on the tip of his nose, now like twin doors dominating his pink, babyish face, which seemed to overflow them. "I had a sudden thought, Tai-pan. It could solve your problem, in the time you need. Why don't you do what your mother did?"

Malcolm was thrown for a moment, then the meaning became clear. "Oh, oh you mean elope?

I've thought of that for God's sake," he said irritably, "but elope where and who's going to perform the ceremony, we're a million miles from Macao."

"What has Macao to do with it?" Skye asked.

"Everyone knows mother and father eloped and were married in the English Church in Macao, the ceremony performed quietly and quickly because of grandfather's influence."

Skye smiled and shook his head. "That's the published the story but it's not true. Your Captain Orlov married them aboard your clipper China Cloud en route from Macao to Hong Kong--your grandfather had made your father Master for that short voyage, and as you know the tai-pan's law is that at sea the Master was the law of the ship."

Struan was gaping at him. "I don't believe it."

"The first attribute of a good lawyer, and I am a good lawyer, Mr. Struan, is to be a good listener, the second to have a nose for facts and secrets, the third to be discreet.

It's very important to know as much as you can about your most important, potential clients--all the better to help them in adversity." He took a pinch of snuff, sneezed. "The Noble House is the first in Asia, the stuff of legends, so when I came to Hong Kong I wanted to sift fact from legend about the Struans, Brocks, the Americans Cooper and his partner Wilf Tillman, even the Russian Zergeyev. I thin--" He stopped. The young man's eyes were glazed, staring into the distance, not listening, his mind surely on the solution as it surfaced and filled his firmament. "Mr. Struan!"

"Oh, sorry, you were saying?"

"I'm delighted to present you with your solution, there are difficulties of course, but you have ships, they have captains, and captains of a British ship, in certain situations can perform a marriage. You are tai-pan so you-can-order-it!

Quod erat demonstrandum." "Heavenly you're fantastic," Malcolm burst out, "fantastic! You're sure, sure about my mother and father?"

"Yes. One of my informants was Morley Skinner, owner of the Oriental Times, a contemporary of Dirk Struan, an old man who loved to gossip about the old times, another was Mrs. Fortheringill before she died, and--have you noticed how few people are interested in listening to old people who actually witnessed all kinds of events.

Skinner died about eight years ago, did you know him?"

"No." Some of Malcolm's hope evaporated. "If that story's true, everyone in Hong Kong would know it."

"Dirk Struan decided to hush it, decided a "quiet church wedding" was better face.

He was powerful enough to do that, and even got the Brocks to agree. It's true."

"But if he..." Malcolm stopped--his face a delight to see. "But true or false that doesn't matter, does it?"

"Yes, it does. The truth is vastly important because it gives you a complete defense against your mother. After all, you're only doing what she did, you're following her example."

"My God, Heavenly, you're right again." Then even more excitedly. "Do you have proof?"

Of course, silly boy, Skye thought, but you don't get everything at once. "Yes, in Hong Kong. I'll need expenses to go there at once --against my retainer. Shall we say five thousand, which includes proof... and always providing my solution cuts your Gordian knot. By the time you get there, after the wedding, I'll have all the proof you'll need."

"God in Heaven, and I thought I was lost!"

Malcolm sat back in the chair. Now there was nothing to stop him. And this fact cleared his mind of many devils, devils of the night and of the day and of the future. "What other "facts" do you know about me and the past?"

"Lots, Mr. Struan," Skye said with a smile. "But they're not for now, however precious."

Malcolm Struan was heading homewards, happier than he could remember, his sticks or the pain not bothering him as much as usual.