"Me, sorr? No sorr."

Jamie nodded tautly and went below again. The others said nothing, watching the coastline and Kanagawa, dead ahead.

In the wheelhouse, the Bosun picked up the metal voice tube, beside the helm, unhooked it and bellowed to his stoker down in the engine room.

"Get the lead out, Percy!"

The warehouse shed was where Hoag had said, within easy distance of the jetty. The coffin was on a wooden bench. Skye, Hoag, the Bosun and stoker each took a corner and lifted it easily. After they left, Jamie closed the door, following them. He had thought it best for Angelique to stay in the cabin. A few fisher folk and villagers passed by, bowed and hurried away, not wanting to be anywhere near gai-jin.

To maneuver the coffin aboard was more difficult.

The rise and fall of the deck, slippery with salt water, was hazardous. "Wait a sec," the stoker gasped, "lemme get aboard."

He was a short man wearing a tattered woolen skullcap, with heavy shoulders and immense forearms. Once on the deck he spread his feet wide and grasped the coffin mid-center and heaved it aboard and part way into the cabin, almost by himself. The vein-stretching effort made him fart involuntarily and loudly. "Pardon all," he said gruffly, then hauled the box further to safety. One end was in the cabin the other projecting aft onto the poop.

"We'll lash it there," Jamie said.

"Aye aye sorr."

"Afternoon, Doctor Hoag." The voice was dour.

Startled they all looked around. Sergeant Towery and another soldier were watching them balefully.

"Oh! oh good aft--hello Sergeant,"

Hoag said, his voice strangled. With the others he stood stock still. Towery came closer and looked at the coffin. "Well now, what have we 'ere.

Taking the bugger, begging your pardon, Ma'am, taking the coffin to Yokohama, eh?"

"We, we, he asked to be buried at sea, Sergeant," Hoag said. "He, Mr. McFay kindly loaned his cutter so here we are."

"At sea, eh?" Sergeant Towery looked at them, one at a time, as though wanting to etch their faces on his memory. "Very commendable, I'll be bound." Another wait while they died a little more.

Then he said, "At sea, eh? Best not waste time or you'll be feeding fishes too. Ma'am."

Politely he saluted her and marched off, the soldier falling into step.

They did not move for a moment. "Christ,"

Hoag muttered.

"What do you make of that?" Jamie asked.

"Trouble, sorr." Shakily, the Bosun took a swig of rum from his hip flask, passed it to Jamie who took a swig, Hoag shook his head, so did Angelique. The stoker was last.

To Tinker's disgust, he swallowed most of it, belched. "Pardon."

Jamie's stomach was churning. "Bugger appeared from nowhere, as though he was waiting for us.

Did you see him walking up?" They all shook their heads. "We'd best be going."

While they secured the coffin, the Bosun conned the cutter out to sea. She rode the waves well with only spray coming aboard, just enough to be irritating to those on deck. Below, the cabin was noisy but snug, the air clean and well ventilated, keeping out the smell of smoke from the coal-fired engine. Ahead, eastwards, where the deep was, the sky appeared meaner--and nothing beyond between here and America.

"Best be fast, sorr," Tinker said quietly to Jamie in the wheelhouse. "We've no more than an hour or two of light."

"You sense something, Bosun?"

"Best be fast, sorr."

Jamie looked eastwards again. The sky seemed darker. "I agree. Hold your course." He turned to go.

"Sorr, that Sergeant, he's bound to snitch, right?"

"Yes."

"We've to make a funeral, right?"

"Yes."

"What's so important about this 'ere?" Tinker jerked his callused thumb at the coffin, "to risk all that there?" He pointed at the weather.

"We're burying the tai-pan, Malcolm Struan."

The old man laughed. "His coffin's aboard Prancing Cloud, sorr, we both knows that."

"Yes, we both know that. This is, well a symbolic, a token, a make-believe burial to conform with his wishes--and his widow's wishes--to be buried at sea. She doesn't think that will happen in Hong Kong." Jamie knew the risk he was taking but there was no other way. So far he had been able to tell the truth.

"Make-believe, sorr?"

"Yes. That's all. There's nothing to hide and nothing to be afraid of."

Tinker nodded, unconvinced, and thought, There's a body inside, must be with all that weight. But, 'nuff said, don't go asking nobs questions you might not like answered, less you know the better, and let's hope to Christ the weather stays friendly and not shitty as she smells. "Thank you, sorr."

Jamie looked back at the bay that now was far behind. "Just go out of sight of land, Bosun." A last look at all compass points, then he went back to the cabin. "Not long now."

Angelique leaned closer. "What will that soldier do?"

"Report us, bound to. It doesn't matter."

"They can't do anything to us, can they, Mr.Skye?"

"I really can't forecast what, what Sir William might or might not do," Skye said, his stomach sickly conscious of the rise and fall of the deck.

Jamie reached into one of the lockers and brought out the large British flag he had put there, and the Lion and Dragon. Helped by Hoag, he secured them both around the coffin. The cutter was rising and dipping more severely than before and they had to hold on to steady themselves. Angelique sat near the open door. The sea air was wet and cold. She felt the tears beginning so she let the dark veil fall and pretended to look back at the land. "Not long now," Jamie said.

By the time land was just a thread on the horizon, the light was still fair, the sea heavier, waves white-flecked, wind stronger, but everything within limits. No rain. Jamie called out, "Bosun, slow ahead, just enough to give us way."

"Idle it is, sorr!"

Cutting the high-powered thrust of the engines created a sudden pool of near silence, pleasant to their spirits, a welcome relief to the grinding noise and apprehension at being so far out--both Hoag and Skye increasingly queasy. Only the whine of the wind now, and lapping sea, the comforting ticking over of the engine, felt through the decks more than heard, just enough to keep her bow into wind. The wind was firm, easterly, from the ocean, stronger than before. Jamie took a deep breath.

"We'd best begin."

"Yes. What shall we do?" Angelique asked.

"Come on deck, here on the poop, but hold on. Bosun, lay aft, stoker too."

"Best I stay here on the conn, with yor permission, sorr." He bellowed down the voice pipe, "Percy, lay aft."

It was colder now. They grouped themselves as best they could, holding on to steady themselves. Jamie positioned himself near the stern, the others facing him.

"Hats off," he ordered, removing his own.

Skye, Hoag, the stoker and Bosun Tinker obeyed. He opened Naval Regs at the marked appendix.

Reading, and improvising he said, "We are gathered here in the sight of God to cast the remains of our friend Malcolm Struan, husband of Angelique Struan, tai-pan of the Noble House, into the deep, granting him the sea burial he wished and she wished, acting as friends should act...."

At the mention of the name the stoker's eyes had widened and he glanced back at the Bosun who shook his head, cautioning him to keep quiet.

Muttering to himself, hating funerals, he pulled his jacket closer against the chill of the wind, wanting to be below in his warm engine room. The wind picked up a knot. They all felt the change.

Jamie hesitated, then continued, "Now we say the Lord's Prayer. Our Father..."

Each in his own way prayed and said the words, the increased surge of the deck dominating most of their minds. When the prayer was finished Jamie squinted down at the book for a moment, not that he needed to for he had read the service in the wheelhouse coming here, needing time to slow his heart and gather his own thoughts away from the sea. While the others had had their eyes closed, he had not. With the Bosun he had seen the approaching squall line behind them, the waves beneath churning and ugly.