Exasperated Malcolm said nothing, considering he had answered at length and was not prepared for another lecture.

Pointedly Ketterer said, "Confidentially, between you and me, I don't normally acknowledge such letters from civilians, normally. It goes without saying: Royal Naval rules and regulations belong to the Royal Navy." A sip of port and a subdued liverish belch. "Young Marlowe has invited you and... and your fiancee aboard Pearl during his trials. Tuesday. For the day." The eyes bored deeper. "Has he not?"

"Yessir," Struan muttered, his mind in spasm as his ears seemed to have betrayed him.

"Of course my permission is needed." The Admiral let this float in the air, then said, "By the way, Mr. Struan, this intended duel is ill-advised, yes indeed." Malcolm blinked at the non sequitur, and tried to concentrate as the Admiral continued, "As much as that, that Greyforth fellow deserves to pass on as soon as possible, duelling is against the law and ill-advised, and mistakes can happen, bad ones. Clear?"

"Yessir thank you for the advice but you were say--"

"Thank you, Mr. Struan," the Admiral said smoothly, getting up. "Thank you for coming to see me. Good day."

In turmoil Malcolm groped to his feet, not sure if he understood correctly. "Do I understand you to mean that I ca--"

"I mean nothing more than what I have said, sir." The voice was withering, clear and from the quarter-deck. "Just as you have told me, in confidence, you will take what I have said under advisement, in return, I tell you, in confidence, that I will take what you say, and do under advisement--before Monday, midnight. Good day."

Outside on the promenade the air smelt good and clean and uncomplicated, and Malcolm took deep breaths until its strength began to take the pounding out of his head and chest. Exhausted and elated, he slumped on to the first bench and stared at the fleet without seeing it.

Have I understood Ketterer correctly, Malcolm asked himself, over and over, once again blinded with hope, that Ketterer might, just might be prepared to forget Mother's letter and give Marlowe permission to have us aboard and not forbid Marlowe to marry us?

""In confidence," Ketterer had harped on that," he muttered, "and "between ourselves" and "in return."" Does that mean he'll keep quiet if I do my part? What in God's name could I do and say before Monday night to persuade the bugger because that's what he is, a blackmailing sod with no morals!

Nonsense! It's a deal--he's offered a deal, a quid pro quo--a marvelous deal for me, and not bad for him. I'd have to be careful, the other traders won't take kindly to any voluntary embargo. I'll have to be aboveboard because that bugger's smart and won't be satisfied just with promises.

Who can I trust with this new twist in the tangle of my life? Heavenly? Jamie?

Marlowe? Of course not him. Angel? No. Not her. If Uncle Chen was here he'd be the one but as he's not, who? No one. You'd better tell no one!

You have to carry this alone--isn't that what Mother said Dirk always told Father about being tai-pan.

"It's the being alone and carrying responsibility alone, that's the joy and the hurt of it." What can I do about cannon and gu-- "Afternoon, Mr. Struan."

"Oh! Oh hello, Mr. Gornt."

"You looked so sad I just had to interrupt you."

"No, not sad," Malcolm said tiredly, "just thinking."

"Ah, sorry, in that case I'll leave you, suh."

"No, please sit down. You said, for a price?"

Edward Gornt nodded. "I apologize for not seeing you before, suh, but Mr. Greyforth wouldn't see the... the light. Now he agrees to pistols, double-barrelled duelling pistols, and one shot or two as you choose from twenty paces."

"Good. And?"

"And I tried to talk him out of the duel but he said, "Not unless Malcolm Struan publicly apologizes," words to that effect."

"Good. But the other matter, we've no walls or doors here." Malcolm motioned along the almost deserted promenade. "The price?"

"I thought this a perfect place but we can't spend too much time and have to be careful, Mr.Greyforth could have binoculars on us."

"Is he watching?"

"I don't know for sure, suh, but I'd bet on it."

"Then somewhere else? Later?"

"No, here's fine, but he's very wily and I don't want him to get suspicious. The price: If my information assists you to block Morgan's plan to sink you and bankrupts Brocks."

"You know the details?"

Gornt laughed softly, "Oh yes and much more, not that Morgan or Old Man Brock know I know, or Mr. Greyforth." He dropped his voice even more, his lips hardly moving. "This all has to be kept secret between us but the price is you break Morgan Brock, pursue him into bankruptcy, or prison if you can--if it's necessary to break Tyler it's all the same to me, but out of the wreckage you guarantee that I get their fifty percent interest in Rothwell's free and clear; that you assist me with the Victoria Bank to raise what's necessary to buy out Jeff Cooper's half; that for ten years you don't come after me other than a normal competitor, giving me favored nation status on any business dealings--all in a letter contract, written and signed by you. After ten years the gloves are off."

"Agreed," Malcolm said at once, expecting harsher conditions. "But the Victoria bastards aren't our friends, Brock started that bank and have excluded us always, so we won't be much help there."

"They soon will be, suh. Soon the whole Board will fart if you say fart. This all must be kept very secret, of course. What do you plan after the duel?"

Malcolm did not hesitate, finding it so strange that he could trust this man so immediately, telling him about going aboard Prancing Cloud.

"This presumes I'm the winner and not hurt badly. Once I'm in Hong Kong I can simmer things down," he said confidentially.

"What about your shooting? I mean having to use sticks?"

"One is fine to balance with, for that amount of time." Malcolm smiled thinly. "I've been practicing."

"Now, I propose a deception to avoid legal repercussions that worked well in Virginia and should do the same here, in case either of you is killed: you both write the other a letter, dated and delivered the night before the duel, saying that you have mutually agreed to call the duel off "at the No-Man's-Land rendezvous tomorrow, and you will both accept, as gentlemen, a mutual, simultaneous apology from the other."" Gornt smiled. "We, the seconds will testify that tragically, while you were showing each other your pistols, one went off."

"A fine idea. Has Norbert agreed?"

"Yes. I'll deliver his letter to you, Tuesday, send him his by Mr. McFay, but best keep it secret, that it's a device."

"Tuesday" kept echoing in Malcolm's head but he forced it aside. Gornt was saying, matter-of-fact, "After the duel--it would be best if you kill him, not wound him--I'll come out to the clipper with you. In exchange for the written contract, I'll lay out the details how you can utterly wreck Brock's financial safety net, with a package of authenticated copies of letters and documents, enough for any court of law, and others that hand you a cudgel to use with the Victoria."

Malcolm felt the glow deep within him. "Why not now, why wait till Wednesday?"

"Mr. Greyforth might kill you," Gornt said calmly, "then the knowledge would be wasted and I would have put myself at risk for no reason."

After a pause Malcolm said, "Say he does, or wounds me badly, how do you get the revenge you seek?"

"I'll approach Mrs. Struan, suh, at once. I'm gambling that won't be necessary. I gamble on you, not her."

"I heard you did not gamble, Mr. Gornt."

"At cards for money, no suh, never--I saw the futility of that with my stepfather. With life?

To the limit." Gornt felt eyes on him and said softly, "Someone's watching," and he glanced around. It was Angelique, coming out of the Struan's, across the street. She waved.