"He is not clever, I recognized him, I was close to him once in Kyoto," Hiraga said, secretly not trusting either of the Mori samurai. "Whatever his reason, he could risk the Legation once without guards, not twice.

Surely that is why the area is awash with Bakufu samurai. But tomorrow he will be outside the castle again. It is an opportunity we cannot miss. Could we mount an ambush somewhere?

Anyone?"

"Depends on the number of samurai with the cortege," a Mori samurai said. "If a meeting is held as the gai-jin want."

"If? Would Lord Yoshi try a stratagem?"

"I would, if I were him. They call him the Fox."

"What would you do?"

The man scratched his chin. "I'd delay, somehow."

Hiraga frowned. "But if he goes to the Legation as yesterday where would he be the most vulnerable?"

Ori said, "Getting out of his palanquin. The gai-jin forecourt."

"We can't get there, even with a suicide rush."

The silence gathered. Then Ori said quietly, "The nearer to the castle gates the safer his captains would feel, therefore the fewer their immediate guards and the less their vigilance, coming out ... or going back in."

Hiraga nodded, satisfied, and smiled at him and motioned to one of his compatriots. "When the house wakes, tell the mama-san to fetch Ori a doctor, secretly and quickly."

Ori said at once, "We agreed it is not safe."

"An asset must be protected. Your idea is perfect."

Ori bowed his thanks. "Better I go to the doctor, neh?"

In first light Phillip Tyrer half ran half walked towards the wharf with two Highlanders, a sergeant and a private in tow. "Good God, Phillip, two guards are more than enough,"

Sir William had said a moment ago. "If the Jappers intend mischief our entire garrison won't be sufficient to protect you.

The message has to be delivered to Ketterer and you're it. 'Bye!"

Like Sir William he had had to pass through the hundreds of silent samurai who had returned just before dawn. No one molested him or even seemed to acknowledge his presence other than a quick flick of their eyes. Ahead now was the sea. His pace quickened.

"Halt, who goes there, or I'll blow yor bloody head off," a voice said from the shadows and he skidded to a stop.

"For Christ's sake," Tyrer said, palpitating with fright. "Who the hell d'you think it is, it's me with an urgent message for the Admiral and General."

"Sorry, sir."

Quickly Tyrer was in a cutter being rowed briskly towards the flagship. He was so glad to be out of the Legation trap he could almost weep and urged the oarsmen on faster, then went up the gangway two rungs at a time.

"Hello, Phillip!" Marlowe was officer of the watch on the main deck. "What the devil's up?"

"Hello, John, where's the Admiral?

I've an urgent dispatch for him from Sir William. The Legation's surrounded by thousands of the bastards."

"Christ!" Anxiously Marlowe led the way down a gangway then aft. "How the hell did you get out?"

"Just walked. They let me through their ranks, didn't say a bloody word, not one of them, just let me through. I don't mind telling you I was scared fartless--they're everywhere, except inside our walls and down by our wharf."

The Marine sentry outside the cabin door saluted smartly. "Morning, sir."

"Urgent dispatch for the Admiral."

At once the voice slashed through the door: "Then for God's sake, Marlowe bring it in!

Dispatch from whom?"

Marlowe sighed, opened the door. "Sir William, sir."

"What the hell's that idiot done n--"

Admiral Ketterer stopped, seeing Tyrer.

"Oh, you're his aide, aren't you?"

"Apprentice interpreter, sir, Phillip Tyrer." He handed him the letter, "Er, Sir William's compliments, sir."

The Admiral tore the letter open. He was wearing a long flannel nightgown and tasselled sleeping hat and thin-rimmed reading glasses and he pursed his lips as he read: I consider it best to cancel your appearance at the meeting today, as well as the General and the other Ministers. We are totally surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of heavily armed samurai. Thus far they have done nothing hostile, or prevented anyone from leaving, yet. Certainly they have the right to put their own troops where they wish --perhaps it's just a bluff to unhinge us. For safety, however, I will handle the Bakufu alone, if they appear as demanded. (if this occurs I will run up a blue pennant and will endeavour to keep you advised of developments.) If the Bakufu do not appear I will wait another day or two, then may have to order an ignominious withdrawal. In the meantime, if you see the flag hauled down it will mean they have overrun us. You may then take whatever action you see fit. I am, Sir, your obedient servant....

Carefully the Admiral reread the letter, then said decisively, "Mr. Marlowe, ask the Captain and General to join me here at once.

Send the following message to all ships: "You will instantly go to action stations. All Captains to report aboard the flagship at noon." Next, send a signal to the Ministers asking them to be kind enough to join me here as soon as possible. Mr. Tyrer, get yourself some breakfast and be ready to carry back a reply within a few minutes."

"But, sir, don't you think--"

The Admiral was already bellowing at the closed door. "Johnson!"

Instantly his orderly opened the door.

"Barber's on his way, sir, your uniform's freshly ironed, breakfast's ready the moment you're at table, the porridge's hot!"

Ketterer's look fell on Marlowe and Tyrer. "What the devil are you waiting for?"

At Yokohama the Struan cutter--the only steam engine, propeller-driven, small boat in the Japans--swung against their wharf, wind brisk with a slight swell to the grey sea under the overcast. Jamie McFay climbed nimbly up the steps, then hurried along its length heading for their two-story building dominating the High Street. It was barely eight o'clock but he had already been out to meet the bimonthly mail ship that had arrived with the dawn, to collect mail, dispatches and the latest newspapers that his Chinese assistant began to load into a cart. Clutched in his hand were two envelopes, one opened the other sealed.

"'Morning, Jamie." Gabriel Nettlesmith intercepted him, stepping out from a small group of sleepy traders waiting for their boats. He was a short, roly-poly, untidy, smelly man, reeking of ink and unwashed clothes and the cigars that he smoked perpetually, editor and publisher of the Yokohama Guardian, the Settlement's newspaper, one of the many in Asia that Struan's owned, openly or secretly. "What's amiss?"

"Lots--be kind enough to join me for tiffin.

Sorry, can't stop."

Even without the fleet at anchor the harbor was already busy with cutters plying to and from the half a hundred merchantmen, others clustering the mail ship, still others heading for her or coming back.

Jamie was the first ashore, a matter of principle with him and a business expedient where prices of essential items, always in short supply, could fluctuate wildly depending on the mails. Hong Kong to Yokohama direct by mail steamer took about nine days, via Shanghai, about eleven, weather permitting. Mail from home, England, took eight to twelve weeks, weather and piracy permitting, and mail day always an anxious time, joyous, awful or in between but ever welcome, waited for and prayed for nonetheless.

Norbert Greyforth of Brock and Sons, Struan's main rival, was still a hundred yards offshore, sitting comfortably amidships, his oarsmen pulling hard, watching him through his telescope. McFay knew he was being observed but it did not bother him today. The bugger will know soon enough if he doesn't know already, he thought, feeling uncommonly frightened. Frightened for Malcolm Struan, the Company, himself, for the future and for his ai-jin--love person--who waited equally patiently in their tiny Yoshiwara house across the canal, outside the fence.