I sign."

Meekly she brought out the scroll from her sleeve and offered it.

"Wait," Hiraga ordered. "Give it to me!"

She obeyed instantly and put her head down again. He scanned the short document, grunted.

"This as agree, Taira-sama, you sign 'rater," he said in English again. "This person ..." he pointed angrily at Raiko, "says make mistake, says Fujiko begs honor to see you now, so sorry for the mistake. Her mistake. Baka!" he snapped at her, adding in Japanese, "Treat this lord properly or I'll destroy this Teahouse! Make sure Fujiko is ready, very ready. Now."

"Hai, Hiraga-sama!" Mumbling profuse apologies she fled.

Once safely away, she chortled, delighted with her performance, with Hiraga's ploy, and that the deal was done.

Tyrer, elated, thanked Hiraga too happy to worry about how his obvious friend had changed her so quickly. We'll never understand some things about these people. "I'll sign the contract and bring it back tomorrow."

"Take time, keep woman dog waiting."

Hiraga smiled and gave him the scroll. "Now I take you Fujiko.

Ikimasho."

"Domo arigato gozaimashita."

Tyrer bowed as a Japanese would bow to someone owed a considerable favor.

"Friend he'rp friend," Hiraga said simply.

Later that evening Tyrer awoke, completely satisfied. His timepiece read 9:20.

Perfect, he thought. He lay beside Fujiko who was fast asleep, the futons and feather coverlets as clean and sweet-smelling as she was, warm and comfortable--so much better than his bed, rough straw mattress and heavy woolen blankets with their dank smell. The sheen of her skin was golden in the candlelight, the tiny room golden and snug, with the wind worrying the roof and shoji walls and flames.

Another short nap, he thought, and then I'll leave.

Don't be silly. There's no need to go back tonight. All papers for tomorrow's Yoshi meeting are ready, a copy of the Treaty in Japanese and English in Wee Willie's briefcase and double-checked this afternoon. The agreed battle plan against Sanjiro of Satsuma is ready in the safe for his and Ketterer's signature. I'll be up with the dawn, bright as a mint-new golden guinea--after the Hiraga shock-u and Raiko's bigger shock-u I deserve a treat. He smiled, shock-u, sounding so Japanese. A contented sigh, good old Nakama, I mean Hiraga. He yawned and closed his eyes. And nestled closer. Fujiko did not awaken but opened herself to him.

In another part of the gardens Hinodeh waited impatiently for Andr`e, due any moment now, Raiko had warned, almost ill with anticipation.

Raiko was slouched in her own quarters, drinking sak`e. Soon she would turn to brandy and to oblivion, the drink swilling away all bad thoughts: her fear and loathing for Hiraga and her hopes for him, her terror over Meikin and esteem for her revenge intermingled with each emptied cup.

Across the garden, hidden in his safe house Hiraga sat in the classic Lotus position meditating to clear the foul headache that the Katsumata news and Tyrer had caused.

Soon Akimoto would return. Then he would decide about Takeda.

Over the next fence in a garden house of the Teahouse of Cherries, Akimoto was sak`e drunk. Lolling across from him, Takeda belched and quaffed his beer. Another sak`e flask was emptied blearily until it slid from Akimoto's fingers. His head drifted to his arms. He began to snore. Takeda smiled, not nearly as drunk as he had pretended.

When he was sure Akimoto was asleep, he slid the shoji open and closed it after him. The night was cold, the wind strong from the south. It whipped around him, ruffling his thatch of uncomfortable, stubbled hair. He scratched vigorously checking the part of the gardens he could see. A maid with a tray hurried from a bungalow to the main building. In the distance he heard men singing drunkenly and a samisen. Somewhere a dog barked. When the maid had vanished, he put on his dark padded jacket, stuck his swords in his belt, stepped into his straw sandals and darted down the path, turned onto another, then another until he was near the fence.

His cache was under a bush. Five bombs that he and Hiraga had made, with fuses of various lengths.

The bombs were constructed from two sections of giant bamboo tied together, a third of a yard long, half that wide, the hollows of one packed tightly with Katsumata's extra gunpowder, the other with oil, and plugged. Quickly he fused three bombs using the longest fuses he had, about a candle of time each--nearly two hours. The fuses were made of cotton rope, impregnated with a gunpowder solution and allowed to dry. He armed the remaining two with fuses for half that time.

A last look at the sky. Clouds raced with the wind. Good. He picked up two long-fused bombs and was gone, melding nicely with the night, through the secret fence door into the garden of the Three Carp that was south of the Cherries and headed for the southernmost garden house, like all of them, raised half a yard on low pilings. It was occupied and illuminated. Warily he crawled under it. He lit the fuse with a flint, the noise deadened by the wind. The fuse caught. A woman's footstep sounded above and he froze. Sound of the shoji being opened. After a moment it closed again.

Errant leaves heaped over the spluttering fuse concealed it almost completely and once more he was away, a shadow amongst shadows--to duck into the shrubbery seeing a gai-jin coming down the path. The man passed without noticing him, then again he was in motion, running for the main Teahouse building.

Another fire bomb was settled there neatly.

Now back through the fence, avoiding a servant, waiting for a portly old maid to trundle by, reaching the cache, there to collect the last of the long-fuse bombs and hastening away again. This he lit and placed under his own house, Akimoto's snores rumbling above. Takeda's lips drew back with his smile. A last time he darted back to the cache, sweating and euphoric. So far, all according to Ori's plan. Hiraga was gai-jin infected. So was Akimoto. He was not. He would do it alone.

With the remaining bombs he went across the garden and over the fence to the next and to the next and there was the secret well head. Quickly he went down into it, replacing the cover, no need to fear that Hiraga was below.

In the tunnel and safe he began to breathe again and lit the oil lamp. Scattered around were Hiraga's bed and few possessions.

Katsumata's knapsack with the metal-cased bombs was under a blanket. He added his own two, shouldered the bag and hurried down the tunnel. Soon the water barrier was ahead.

Quickly he was out of his clothes, tying them into a bundle.

The freezing water made him struggle for breath. When he reached the narrowest part where the roof sank toward the water, his head was just below it and the water not quite to his chin. With difficulty he managed to hold the lamp and knapsack above the surface. On the other side he dressed hurriedly, shivering and cursing, still so much to do.

Never mind, he had begun. Soon he would be finished and then would live forever. His fervor warmed him and drove the cold away.

At the far end where iron bars led upwards and the well vanished below, he stopped to collect his breath. Now upwards. Once he slipped, almost fell but regained his hold and held on until his heart stopped racing. Up again. With great care he moved the broken cover aside and peered out. No Man's Land was empty. Drunk Town was busy with slavering and shouts and drunken singing, a few men reeling along alleys not far away, dogs barking at them.

Drunk Town was south of the village and the Settlement that hugged the coast on a south-north line, as the Yoshiwara was generally southwards of Drunk Town. Ori first, then Katsumata and Hiraga had planned where to plant the fire initiators so that a wind from the south would drive the flames before it to consume all in its path.