Warning cries behind him. He thought he had been spotted but it was only about the building as one wall caved in with a roar, showering more sparks and fire on scattering people and on neighboring property. Now the abundance of flames allowed him to see better. Elated, he began to run.

Ahead was the village and safety.

"Hey you!"

He did not understand the words but the shout jerked him to a stop. In front was another group of British soldiers with an officer who had come running from the village area to probe the danger and had stopped, startled. They blocked his escape.

"Must be a looter! Or arsonist! Hey you!"

"My God, watch out, sir, it's a samurai an' he's armed!"

"Cover me, Sergeant! You! You there, samurai, what're you doing? What's that you're carrying?"

In panic Takeda saw the officer unbuttoning his holster, start towards him, soldiers unslinging their rifles and all the time the sound of the holocaust, flames chasing weird shadows. He whirled and ran. At once they gave chase.

On the other side of No Man's Land the godown blaze was totally out of control, soldiers impotently striving to organize a fire-fighting party to protect abutting dwellings and streets.

The fire gave enough light to help Takeda dart through the dump, avoiding most obstacles, the knapsack banging against his back. His breath was coming in gulps. With a sudden gush of hope he saw safety in the empty alley beside the burning building ahead. He raced for it, easily outstripping the soldiers behind him.

"Stop or I shoot!" The words were meaningless to him but not the hostility. Onwards in his headlong dash, no need for evading action now, any moment safe. He had forgotten the light that helped him aided them, etching him clearly against the flames.

"Stop him, Sergeant! Wound him, don't kill him!"

"Right, sir... Wait, God Almighty, it's, isn't he the bugger Sir William's after, Nakama, that bloody assassin!"

"Damn my eyes you're right, that's him. Quick, Sergeant, cut him down, wound him!"

The Sergeant aimed. His target was escaping down the alley. He squeezed the trigger.

"Got him," he shouted gleefully and charged.

"Come on, lads!"

The bullet sent Takeda sprawling. It had smashed through the knapsack into his upper back, piercing a lung, to come out from his chest cleanly, not a fatal wound if a man was lucky. But Takeda knew none of that, only that he felt destroyed and he lay in the dirt howling with shock but without pain, one arm useless and dangling, the roar of the nearby fire drowning his cries. Terror dragged him to his knees, the heat from approaching fire ghastly, safety only a few paces ahead down the alley. He crawled forward. Then through his tears he heard the shouts of soldiers close behind him. No escape!

His reflexes took command. Using his good hand as a prop, he was driven to his feet andwitha mighty shriek, he hurled himself into the flames. The leading young soldier skidded to a stop, scrambled back to safety, hands held up against the inferno, the structure due to fall any moment.

"Sod it!" the soldier said, and glared at the flames that sizzled, consuming his prey, the stench of burning flesh making him gag. "Another second an' I'da had the bugger, sir, it were him all right, the bugger wot Sir William..."

That was the last thing the youth ever said.

Katsumata's bombs in the knapsack detonated violently, a piece of metal tore out the soldier's throat, strewing the officer and other men like ninepins, breaking a few limbs.

As if in echo, an oil drum exploded as violently, then another and another with cataclysmic effect. Plumes of flames and embers shot into the air to be seized and used ruthlessly by the gathering force of the wind, now self-generating in ferocity because of its heat.

The first of the village houses began to burn.

The shoya, his family and all villagers, already masked against smoke and prepared within moments of the first alarm, continued to work with well-rehearsed but stoic speed to pack away valuables into the small, fireproofed brick shelters that were in every garden.

Roofs all along the main street began to burn.

Less than an hour since the first bomb exploded, the Three Carp was no more, and most of the Yoshiwara burnt out. Only brick chimney stacks, stone house-supports, and brick, stone and earth fireproof shelters stood in heaps of ash and glowing embers. The odd cup or sak`e flask, most refired now, the glaze spoiled.

Metal kitchen utensils. Gardens ruined, shrubs scorched, groups of dazed inhabitants huddled around. Miraculously the fires had missed two or three Inns but around them was stark emptiness, ash and embers, up to the charred encircling fence and the moat beyond.

On the other side of the moat was the village.

It was blazing. Beyond the village, in the Settlement proper the roofs of three houses near Drunk Town were already alight. One of these was the Guardian where Jamie McFay had his new office.

Nettlesmith and their clerks were hauling buckets for Jamie atop the ladder who used them to douse the roof flames, the next house well afire. Other men, Chinese servants, and Maureen, bravely darted in and out of the front door carrying armfuls of papers, printing dies, and whatever was most important. Burning wooden roof tiles cascaded around them. Billowing smoke from Drunk Town, causing them to cough and heave, hampered them. Above, Jamie was losing the battle. A gust shoved flames at him. He almost fell off the ladder, then shinnied down, defeated. "It's hopeless," he panted, his face black-smudged, hair singed.

"Jamie, help me with the press, for God's sake!" Nettlesmith called out and ran back inside. Maureen began to follow but Jamie stopped her. "No, stay here! Watch your dress," he shouted above the noise, a shower of embers from the roof surrounding her, then he dashed inside.

Wisely she backed off to the sea side of the street, helping others stack what had been salvaged more safely. The whole roof was ablaze now and more embers showered Jamie and Nettlesmith as they stumbled out with the small, portable press.

Then, seeing the roof was beyond saving and the building doomed, Jamie hurried back to help him rescue type, dyes, ink and some paper. Quickly the wooden building became too dangerous to enter.

The two men stood outside and cursed, then stepped further to safety as some rafters collapsed.

"Bloody sodding fire," Jamie said, angrily kicking a box of typeface, then turned, feeling Maureen take his hand.

"I'm so sorry, love," she said, awash with tears.

His arms went around her and he said fervently, meaning it, "Never mind, you're safe, that's all that counts."

"Jamie, dinna' worry, wait till morning, then we can think better and properly.

Perhaps it's no' so bad."

At that moment samurai fire fighters trotted past. With signs Jamie asked one of them where he could get a fire mask. The man grunted, pulled a handful from his sleeve and rushed off again. Jamie doused them in a bucket of water. "Here, Maureen," he said giving her the first one, another to Nettlesmith who sat on a keg, on the sea side of the promenade, cursing mutely. The roof collapsed, turning the building into a blazing mess.

"Terrible," Jamie said to Nettlesmith.

"Yes. But not yet a disaster." The lean, older man motioned along the promenade. The north end of the Settlement was still clean of fire, Struan's, Brock's and the Legations untouched.

"With any luck it won't burn that far."

"This wind is killing us."

"Yes. We're safe enough on the shore side ..."

More fire fighters with axes hurried up, Dmitri amongst them. He saw their wreckage.

"Jesus, sorry about that," he said on the run, "we're going to try to cut a fire break."

Maureen said, "Jamie, go and help. I'm safe here."