The shoya nodded and bowed. "Until then, Otami-sama."

Once more outside and hidden by the night, Hiraga allowed his triumph to soar with his soul.

One whole koku and credits and now how to exchange the three koku that the Mukfey gai-jin had not asked for, nor needed, into real rice, or real money, that he also could send to his father?

So much for so little, he thought, elated, and, at the same time feeling soiled, in need of a bath.

"Ah, Admiral," Malcolm Struan said, "a private word?"

"Certainly, sir." Admiral Ketterer clambered to his feet, one of the twenty guests still at the table in the Struan great room, grouped around their port that Angelique had left them to. Ketterer was in evening uniform, breeches, white silk stockings and silver-buckled shoes, more florid than usual having enjoyed a mulligatawny soup, barbecued fish, a double helping of the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with potatoes roasted in the dripping and vegetables imported from California, chicken and pheasant pie, a few fried pork sausages, followed by Californian dried apple pie with a lavish portion of the now famous Noble House cream, and to top everything off, a Welsh rarebit savory.

Champagne, sherry, claret--a Ch`ateau Lafite 1837, the year Queen Victoria came to the Throne--port and Madeira. "I could use a breath of air," Ketterer said.

Malcolm led the way to the side French doors, the good food and wine dulling the pain.

Outside it was brisk, but after the stuffy inside refreshing. "Cigar?"

"Thank you."

Number One Boy Chen was hovering in the background with the box. After the cigars were lit he vanished in the smoke.

"You saw my letter in today's Guardian, sir?"

"Yes, yes I did, much of it well put,"

Ketterer said.

Malcolm smiled. "If the hornet's nest of protests it stirred at the meeting this afternoon is any indication it put your point over rather well."

"My point? Damme, I do hope it's yours as well."

"Yes of course, of course. Tomorrow--"

Ketterer interrupted sharply, "I was rather hoping, since you share a perfectly correct and moral position, a man of your undoubted power and influence would, at the very least, have formally led the way and outlawed all contraband, on all Struan ships, and have done with it."

"All contraband is already proscribed, Admiral," Malcolm said. ""Slowly slowly catchee monkey," is the way to go. In a month or two we'll be in the majority."

The Admiral just raised his thick eyebrows and puffed his cigar and turned his attention to the sea.

The fleet looked grand under riding lights.

"Looks as though there could be a storm tonight, or tomorrow. Not the sort of weather for a joy ride, for a lady, I would think."

Anxiously Malcolm looked up the sky and sniffed the wind. No danger signs. As tomorrow's weather was a major concern he had gone to great lengths to check it. To his joy, as for the last few days the forecast had been for smooth seas and fair wind. Marlowe had confirmed it before dinner, and although he did not yet have final sailing approval--or was party to the real reason for Malcolm's need to be aboard with Angelique--as far as he was concerned their trip was on.

"Is that your forecast, Admiral?" Malcolm asked.

"My weather expert, Mr. Struan. He advised cancelling any trials tomorrow. Better to spend the time preparing to stand off Yedo. Eh?"

Ketterer added with thin joviality.

"I'm against flattening Yedo," Malcolm said absently, his mind on this new and unexpected problem--the Admiral's snide refusal to accept his letter that he had been confident would be more than sufficient.

Everything's perfect except for this bugger, he thought, curbing his anger, trying to think of a way out of the dilemma. Prancing Cloud had arrived on schedule and was in the roads off-loading cargo, Captain Strongbow already apprised of the new secret orders for Wednesday's new departure time, and Edward Gornt equally primed to pass over the Brock information as soon as the duel was over.

"I'm also opposed," the Admiral was saying.

"We've no formal orders for war. I'm curious what your reasons are."

"Using a hammer to kill a hornet is not only foolish but can give you piles."

Ketterer laughed. "Damme, that's a good one, Struan. Piles, eh? More of your China-man philosophy, eh?"

"No, sir. Dickens." He eased his back and leaned again on his sticks. "It would please me, sir, and Angelique, to be aboard Pearl, with Captain Marlowe, and out of sight of land tomorrow, for a short time." Heavenly had advised that as the precedent he was using, the marriage of Malcolm's parents, took place between Macao and Hong Kong out of sight of land, for safety he should do the same. "With your blessing of course."

"It would please me to see the Noble House take the lead in the Japans. Clearly you don't have enough time. I suggest ten days would be enough for practical steps. I believe Pearl and Marlowe are needed for fleet matters tomorrow."

Ketterer turned to go.

"Wait," Malcolm said, panic rising, "say I make an announcement right now, to everyone here, that we're, that we're stopping all arms shipments into Japan from now on. Would that satisfy you?"

"The point is would it satisfy you?" the Admiral said, enjoying seeing the man who represented everything he despised wriggling on the barb. "Would it?"

"What... what is it, sir, that I can do, or say?"

"It's not up to me to run your "business."

The way Ketterer used the word, laced with scorn, made it a dirty word. "It would seem to me what's good for the Japans is good for China. If you outlaw guns here, why not do the same in China for all your ships--the same with opium?"

"I can't do that," Malcolm said. "It would put us out of business, opium's not against the law and both are legal--"

"Interesting." Again the word was heavy with sarcasm.

"I really must thank you for a fine dinner, as usual, Mr. Struan. If you'll excuse me, I have lots to do tomorrow."

"Wait!" Malcolm said shakily.

"Please, please help me, tomorrow's terribly important to me, I swear I'll support you in everything, I'll lead the way but please help me about tomorrow. Please."

Admiral Ketterer pursed his lips, ready to terminate this pointless conversation. That's what it is, though there's no doubt I could use support amongst these rotten bastards, if even a tenth of the slanders rumored at their bloody meeting are true. I suppose this one isn't so bad, if he could be trusted--compared to the others, compared to that monster Greyforth. "When's your duel?"

Malcolm was going to answer truthfully but stopped himself. "I'll answer that if you like, sir, and I remember what you said about duelling, but in matters of honor my family have been very serious for at least two generations and I don't want to be lacking. It's a tradition, like the Navy I suppose. Much of the magic of the Royal Navy has to do with that, tradition and honor, doesn't it?"

"Without it the Royal Navy would not be the Royal Navy." Ketterer took another deep puff of the cigar. At least the young bugger understands, by God, though that doesn't tip the scales. The truth is the poor fool's mother is quite right to disapprove the marriage--the girl's pretty enough but hardly the right choice, bad blood line, typically French. I'm doing him a favor.

Are you?

Remember Consuela di Mardos Perez of Cadiz?

He had first met her when he was a midshipman in Royal Sovereign during courtesy calls at the port. Ultimately the Admiralty had refused him permission to marry, his father had been equally opposed and when, at length, he had won both their consents and rushed back to claim her, she was already betrothed. She was Catholic too, he thought sadly, still loving her after all this time.