"Not exactly." Malcolm told him his plan about Prancing Cloud and saw Jamie's euphoria evaporate. "Don't worry, I'm a much better shot than Norbert, and providing he agrees to shoot from twenty paces without the walk he's as dead as the dodo--if I decide to kill him. Forget Norbert.

Angelique: if we can't smuggle her aboard, I say "we" because you always were part of the plan, you bring her by the next ship, so one way or another you'll be in HK before Christmas."

Jamie hesitated. "Mrs. Struan will still be very irritated to find Angelique with us."

"Let me worry about that."

"I do. Which brings me to the nut: when I leave Struan's I was thinking of trying to start my own firm, that's really what I wanted to chat about.

If you'd have any objections."

"On the contrary, I'd go out of my way, Struan's would, to help in every way. But that won't be for years yet."

"I think she's decided I am to go."

"I'll object like hell," Malcolm said, startled. "You're due for promotion, a raise and the company wouldn't want to lose you, she would know that. That's a shocking idea."

"Yes. But if it becomes necessary ... bear with me, Tai-pan, if it's necessary would you object?"

"To you going off on your own? No. But I hate the idea and Struan's would be the loser, I swear to God. It won't happen, and if, if you asked to leave I'd find a way to make you stay --to persuade you to stay. I would."

"Thanks, thanks very much." Jamie took a large swallow and felt a little better. Not from the warmth of the brandy but from the way Malcolm had spoken. The last few weeks had been bad.

Yesterday, because of Mrs. Struan's letter to him, he had been confronted with an immortal truth: however loyal you are to a company, however much service you give "the company," the company can and will spit you out at its whim, without conscience. And what is "the company"? Just a group of men and women. P. Mrs. Struan for instance.

People are "the company" and those in charge can and always will hide behind that facade, that "the company must survive," or "for the good of the company," and so on, wrecking or promoting for personal reasons, enmities, or hatreds.

And don't forget most companies these days are family companies. In the end it's "family" that wins. Blood is thicker than competence. They may fight amongst themselves but in the end they usually unite in the face of the enemy who is anyone not family, so it's Alfred MacStruan who has been positioned to take over Japan. Nothing I can do, will do about that. Maybe family businesses are more humane, can be better than impersonal bureaucratic, anonymous institutions but even there, perhaps more so, you're subject to the "Old Boy" network. You lose either way...

Last night, untypically, he had got very drunk in his little house in the Yoshiwara, finding no solace in Nemi. Every time he thought about the truth of "the company"--adding it to the hanging crime he had almost committed, and Tess Struan's unfairness, Malcolm's stubbornness, and his own stupidity, knowing that if Malcolm had not stopped him he would have ripped the string off and torn the letters up and thrown them overboard--his head would spin and only another tumbler of rum would stop the motion until it created spinning of its own. Nemi couldn't help: "Jami, wot you matter? Jami, Jami!"

"It's Machiavelli who said it best," he had said, his words slurred and incoherent, "put not your trust in bloody princes, they can plead expedience. Bloody princes, tai-pans, mothers of bloody tai-pans, sons of Dirk Struan and their sons..." and then he had wept.

Ay, he thought queasily, that's the first time in years, last time was when I'd just arrived in Hong Kong, twenty years ago and heard Ma had died while I was on the high seas. She must have known she was dying when I left. "Off you go, my bonny laddie, earn our fortune, and write every week..." If it wasn't for her we would have all died--only her strength kept us alive until the Struan arrived and our joss changed.

Cried my heart out. Like last night, though the tears were different. I was crying for my lost innocence. Can't believe how naive I was to believe in "the company." Would Dirk have let me down? Never. The tai-pan wouldn't have, couldn't have, but he's just a legend. I've got to find the courage to strike out on my own--I'm thirty-nine, old in Asia, though I don't feel old, only a ship without a rudder. And so is Malcolm... Is he?

He looked at him, still noticing the change.

Malcolm's different, more like his old self, he thought. More adult, is that possible? Don't know, but either way his joss is fixed, like mine. "I'm glad we didn't tamper... I can't say how sorry I am she's blocked you."

"Me too." Malcolm had told Jamie what Sir William had said about expecting the letter, and about opium and their Bengal fields, the news of which this morning had erupted the Settlement into a frenzy. The noon meeting at the Club had been more violent than usual with the added motion, carried unanimously, that Sir William should be strung up or at the least impeached if he tried to enforce Parliament's stupidity. He saw how deeply unhappy Jamie was and once again was tempted to pour out the marvelous development called Gornt. But he remembered his oath.

"I'm very confident now, Jamie. Don't worry. You're off to the Yoshiwara?"

"Not immediately though I've got to see Nemi."

Jamie smiled ruefully. "I hung one on last night, going to take her a present. It's not necessary but she's a good sort, and lots of laughs. First I'm seeing Nakama, Phillip asked me to see him for half an hour.

Seems he asked Phillip about business and banking, capital, things like that--Phillip asked me to explain the rudiments."

"That's curious."

"Yes. The bugger's got an enquiring mind all right. Pity he's not so forthcoming with us."

"Barter your knowledge for something we want to know. Tomorrow I think I'll have a chat with Phillip. Ask him to see me, will you?" Malcolm's voice hardened. "We were to share all information, wasn't that our agreement?"

"Yes, yes it was." Jamie finished the brandy. "Thanks. And thanks for the chat." He stood up and said sincerely, "I hope with all my heart it works out for you, Malcolm."

"Yes, I know, Jamie. It will work for you, too. 'night."

In the quiet of his room, Malcolm contentedly stretched out his legs towards the fire, anxious for the morrow and more from Gornt. What could be the price? he mused, watching the coals. He could hear voices inside the building and outside on the praia. Occasional laughter and a few drunken songs. John Marlowe had come by this afternoon bringing a message from the Admiral, could he drop by the flagship tomorrow, or if not convenient, Sir William's.

"I could meet at Sir William's.

What time?"' "Noon?"' "Good. What's it about?"' "Don't know," Marlowe said. "I'll bet it's not to pass the time of day." Ever since Admiral Ketterer had returned from the engagement at Mirs Bay and Hong Kong he had been seething about adverse and critical reports in the papers, and was still furious that British-made cannon had fired on his ships.

"I don't think he took kindly to some of the more rude remarks at the meeting today."

"Tough," Malcolm had said and laughed, still intoxicated with Gornt's information.

Marlowe had laughed too. "For God's sake don't say that on his quarterdeck, the whole ship would blow up! By the way, my trials are approved, Monday or Tuesday, weather permitting. Which would be best for you both?"' "How long would we be out?"' "Leave at dawn, or thereabouts, back latest by sunset."

"Tuesday."

A coal fell out of the fire onto the hearth but safely. He nudged it under the basket with the poker and stirred the embers. The blue-greened orange flames rose a little and died down again, making picture for him. Positive pictures.