"Just more of the same," McFay said, avoiding the real reason. "His editorial claims the fleet's almost up to snuff, Army's sharpening their bayonets, and ten thousand sepoys are on the way from India to help us."

"Eff'ing balls, all of it!"

"Yes. Added to that the bloody Governor doing his usual, sodding up Hong Kong's economy.

Nettlesmith's reprinted an editorial from the Times praising the plan to torch our Bengal opium fields, replanting with tea, a little item that'll cause heart attacks all over Asia--as if taste buds anywhere will be satisfied with Darjeeling muck! Stupid bastards will ruin us and the British economy at the same time. Got to run, see you at the meeting later."

"Eff'ing meetings! Waste of eff'ing time,"

Lunkchurch said. "Eff'ing government! We should go to the eff'ing barricades like the eff'ing Frogs.

And we should be shelling Yedo right now! Wee Willie hasn't the balls, and as for eff'ing Ketterer..." He continued swearing long after Jamie had left. Others on the promenade nearby frowned, then quickened their pace heading for the newspaper office.

Malcolm Struan looked up as Jamie knocked. He saw the paper at once. "Good.

I was going to ask if it was here yet."

"I fetched a copy. A dickybird whispered I should."

"Ah." Malcolm grinned. "My letter's in?

It's there?"

"You might have told me so I could think of a way to lessen the impact."

"Calm down, for God's sake," Malcolm said, good-naturedly, taking the paper and turning to the section where letters were printed. "No harm in taking a moral position. Opium's immoral, and so is gunrunning, and I didn't tell you because I wanted you to be surprised too."

"You've certainly done that! This will incense every trader here and throughout Asia and it'll backfire, we need friends just as much as they need us."

"I agree. But why should my letter backfire?

Ah!" His letter was in the lead position and headlined: NOBLE HOUSE TO TAKE NOBLE STAND!

"Good caption, I like that."

"Sorry but I don't. It's bound to backfire because everyone knows we have to use those trade goods or we're stuffed. You're tai-pan but you can't..." Jamie paused. Malcolm was smiling at him unperturbed. "What about the Choshu rifles for goodness' sake? We've accepted their money though you agreed to pass them over to the other man, Watanabe, for Lord Someone or other--the order you increased to five thousand?"

"All in due time." Malcolm remained calm though reminded that his mother had cancelled the order that he had, promptly, reinstated by the fastest mail possible. Silly of her, she understands nothing about Japan. Never mind, only a few more days and she'll be curbed. "Meanwhile, Jamie, there's no harm in taking a public, moral position," he said airily. "We must bend with the times, don't you think?"

McFay blinked. "You mean it's a ploy?

To confuse the opposition?"

"Bend with the times," Malcolm repeated happily. His letter advocated, at length, the phasing out of opium and guns, just as the Admiral wanted, and put him squarely behind the Admiral's vehement position and the Government's proposed new plan for Asia: Ways must be found at once to put our trading approach on the most perfect footing, for the greater glory of H.m. the Queen, God Bless Her, and our British Empire. The Noble House is proud to lead the way... he had written among other flowery effusions, signing it, The tai-pan, Struan's, as his father and grandfather had done with letters to the press. "I thought it was all put rather well. Don't you?"

"Yes it is," McFay said. "You certainly convinced me. But if it's just a..." He was going to say "sop" but sop to who and why? "But if it's just a ploy, why do it? Couldn't be a worse time. You're bound to be challenged at the meeting."

"Let them."

"They'll think you've gone mad."

"Let them. In a few weeks they'll have forgotten it, and anyway we'll be in Hong Kong." Malcolm beamed, filled with good humor. "Don't worry, I know exactly what I'm doing. Do me a favor, leave a message for the Admiral, I'd like to drop by and see him before dinner, and Marlowe when he comes ashore. They're both dining with us at eight, yes?"

"Yes, both accepted." McFay sighed.

"So you're going to keep me in suspense over the why?"

"Don't worry, everything's perfect. Now, much more importantly, today we must settle on next season's order for silks. Make sure Vargas has the books up-to-date. I want to talk to the shroff about specie and funds as soon as possible--don't forget, tomorrow, Angel and I will be gone all day with Marlowe aboard Pearl."

He would have danced a jig if he could have, but his legs and stomach were aching more than usual. Never mind, he thought, tomorrow's the great day, I'm almost home, then the hell with everyone.

Jamie was finding him strange, not understanding him at all. Every ship from Hong Kong brought both of them another, ever more vituperative letter from Tess Struan and yet, for the last week-odd, Malcolm was completely at ease and as he had been pre-Tokaido, good-humored, clever, attentive and dedicated to business affairs though still in deep discomfort and walking badly as ever. And then there was the overriding hazard of the duel set for Wednesday, the day after tomorrow.

Three times McFay had approached Norbert Greyforth to make an accommodation, even enlisting Gornt's help, but nothing would dissuade the man: "Jamie, you tell the young bugger it's up to him, by God," Norbert had said. "He started this shit. If he apologizes I'll accept it--if it's public, and mighty public at that!"

McFay bit his lip. His last resort was to whisper the time and the place to Sir William but he hated the idea of breaking his solemn oath.

"I'm to meet with that bugger Gornt at six o'clock, to fix the final details."

"Good. Sorry you don't like him, he's a good fellow, Jamie. Really. I invited him tonight.

"Dinna fash yoursel"." Malcolm aped a heavy Scottish accent as a pleasantry.

McFay smiled, soothed by the friendliness. "Do y--" A knock interrupted him.

"Come in."

Dmitri strode in like a bad squall and left the door open behind him. "You gone crazy, Malc? How can Struan's back these assholes about opium and guns?"

"No harm in taking a moral position, Dmitri."

"There is by God if it's crazy. If Struan's take that position, the rest of us are fighting uphill for crissake, goddam Wee Willie will use that to--" He stopped as Norbert Greyforth stalked in without knocking.

"Have you gone bloody mad?" Norbert snarled, leaning over the desk and waving the paper in Malcolm's face. "What about our bloody agreement to act together, eh?"

Malcolm stared up at him, hating him, instantly colorless. "If you want an appointment, make it," he said icily, but controlled. "I'm busy. Get out. Please!"

Norbert flushed, also on notice by Sir William to behave or else. His face twisted with anger. "Wednesday, early, by God! Just bloody be there!" He spun on his feet and stalked away. The door slammed behind him.

"Rude bastard," Malcolm said mildly.

Normally Dmitri would have laughed but he was too concerned. "While we're on that subject, I might as well tell you I'm not taking part in Wednesday's "meeting."

"That's no problem, Dmitri," Malcolm said. Color was coming back into his face. "I still have your word, gentleman's honor, that nothing leaks."

"Sure." Then Dmitri burst out, "Don't do it, you could get seriously hurt."

"I'm seriously hurt now, old chap.

Please don't worry. If Norbert keeps our date he's..." Malcolm was going to say, he's a dead man, and tempted to disclose Gornt's scheme to Dmitri--he had already explained it to McFay who had, reluctantly, approved it as workable--but decided not to.