A knock. Bertram said, "The shoya's here, Sir William."

"Perfect timing, show him in. Phillip, before you go you can translate for me. Come in come in, Mr. Shoya."

The shoya bowed deferentially, on guard.

"My Master greet you, Shoya," Tyrer translated, still dazed, his mind elsewhere, desperate to lie down and think this all through, "please to say how many lose in fire?"

"Please thank him for his kindness in asking but please do not be concerned about our problems." The shoya found the question astonishing for it was no business of the gai-jin. What trap are they setting for me? he wondered.

"My Master says want know how many lost?"

"Oh so sorry, I am not sure of a final count, but five fishermen and two families have gone onwards," the shoya said politely, making up a figure as the gai-jin leader had asked pointedly, "how many lost," thus expecting figures. Actually they had lost none of their people or children or boats, having had plenty of warning.

"My Master say, so sorry. Can he help village?"

"Ah! Ah yes, yes please thank the Great Lord, the families could use some bags of rice and a little money, any help with food or..." The shoya left it hanging to allow them to make up their own minds. Is this another trap?

"My Master says that he send foods for village. Please say how fire start."

The shoya was thinking how totally mad of them to expect an answer to that. Dangerous to be involved in politics, even worse between shishi and Bakufu. While he greatly regretted the loss of all the profit when the gai-jin left their shores tomorrow or the next day, all was not lost because all his books and receipts and bullion were safe, and because of his agreement with the Jami gai-jin, which had become even more important now.

I'm sure my stoku kompanii won't suffer.

At the same time he was pleased with shishi daring to drive them out, blaming the vile Bakufu.

Sonno-joi. We're better off without gai-jin here. Better they are locked up in Nagasaki's little Deshima as in the past. I will open a branch in Nagasaki and be ready for their return. If ever.

"So sorry, but probably oil in a kitchen," he said with a humble bow. "Only the Yoshiwara cooks at night, we do not, please excuse me, that is all I know."

"My Master say, this man Nakama, or Hiraga, the shishi Lord Yoshi want, he seen by soldiers who try catch him. He run away and dead in fire. You know him?"

The shoya's foreboding tripled, though the death, to his delight, had also been reported.

"Please excuse me," he croaked, "I only know him as client, never shishi. Dead?

How wonderful the assassin's dead.

Wonderful!"

Sir William sighed, tired of the questions and answers. "Thank him and dismiss him, Phillip."

Thankfully the old man left. Sir William said, "Off you go, be ready to leave at noon."

"Sir?"

"For Kanagawa, the Yoshi meeting. You didn't forget?"

Tyrer was flabbergasted. "Surely he won't be expecting us now," he said weakly, the idea of a lengthy meeting translating the Treaty's nuances filling him with nausea. "Surely not!"

"That's why we're going." Sir William beamed. "Keep him off balance, eh? We're British, not a bunch of lily-white twits.

We've just had a minor contretemps, a slight hitch." He put on his coat. "See you at noon, in best bib and tucker."

"But he won't turn up, not after this."

"Yes. If he doesn't then he loses face, we don't."

"I can't, Sir William, not as interpreter. I'm... I'm just exhausted and just can't, not today, sorry."

"'fraid you'll have to. Stiff upper lip and all that."

Tyrer saw the thin smile, the coldness returning. And inflexibility. "Sorry, I can't, Sir. I've had it. Please let Andr`e do it, he's better than I am."

"You have to do it," Sir William said, no humor in him now, "Andr`e Poncin's dead."

Tyrer almost fell. "He can't be... how?"

"In the Yoshiwara. I heard just before you came in, that's why I was so relieved to see you safe." Saying that suddenly reminded Sir William of the sealed envelope Andr`e had left with him in the Legation safe, to be opened in event of his death. "Henri identified him, as much as one could identify such a corpse. His signet ring was still on... Well," he said, sickened at the thought, "poor fellow was burnt to a cinder in his garconiere. I understand it's only a few yards from yours in the same Teahouse.

I'd say you were extremely lucky, Phillip. Be ready at noon."

He walked out and down the street, heading for the Club. Men were streaming from all directions.

Passing Struan's he glanced at the building, thankful it was safe, with Brock's--a good omen, he thought, one of them's certainly the Noble House and Brock's is a bloody sight better with Gornt than with Norbert. He noticed Angelique at her window and waved. She waved back. Poor Angelique, wonder if Henri's told her about Andr`e. Then, hearing the tumult from inside the Club even this far away, the usual shouting, cursing and clinking glasses, he sighed and put his mind to the business of the Settlement.

Silence fell as he entered. The Club was crammed, an overflow on the steps outside. A narrow path opened up for him through the packed, sweating ranks and he walked to his usual place near the bar to greet the other Ministers, Seratard, Erlicher and Zergeyev who had part of his face bandaged from burns and his arm in a sling.

Anyone of importance was present, and many who were not, many bandaged, some with broken bones but all faces flushed. Already a few drunks were laid out.

"'morning. I'm happy to report we've been tremendously lucky--"

Catcalls interrupted him, shouts of "Balls, I'm ruined... Wot're you talking about for God's sake... Let him talk...

He's full of wind, hasn't he seen...

Oh for God's sake shut up...!"

He waited and then continued tougher in tone: "We really have been lucky, only Andr`e Poncin's been confirmed dead..." an audible murmur of grief for his music was greatly appreciated--"no one else of the community.

Mr. Seratard identified the body and the funeral will be tomorrow. Unfortunately we lost two soldiers, their funeral's tomorrow also. In Drunk Town a few are still unaccounted for but no one we know by name. Our Army's intact, all firearms, shells, munitions intact, Navy's intact-- we are very lucky indeed and I propose we should give thanks to God." In the dead silence he added, "I'm asking the padre to hold a special evensong at dusk, all are invited.

Any questions so far?"

"What about our firms?" Lunkchurch said.

"I'm burnt out."

"That's what we all have fire insurance for, Mr. Lunkchurch." A bellow of laughter stopped him. "What?"

Heavenly Skye, Yokohama's forwarding insurance agent to Hong Kong where all policies were accepted, said, "Sorry to say, Sir William, Barnaby's policy lapsed last week and, to save money, he refused to renew until the first of the month." The rest of what he said was again drowned in laughter and jeers.

"I'm sorry to hear that. In any event, by tonight's packet, to the Governor of Hong Kong, I'm formally declaring the Settlement a disaster area for all..." Roars of agreement and "Good Old Willie" greeted that for such a pronouncement made sure all claims would be dealt with expeditiously. "... a disaster area for all legitimate claims, all of which must be substantiated, requiring my signature to be valid and..."

Another roar, this time of fury, for he was known to be punctilious unlike certain officials in the Hong Kong Government, and the fire had automatically been considered by many to be a heaven-sent opportunity to inflate inventories.

When there was sufficient quiet, he added sweetly, "No exceptions will be considered and the sooner claims are on my desk the sooner they'll be approved, signed and dispatched..."