'No.'

'She did the simplest thing, Mr Reid. She tied up her hair like a man and applied to join under the name of Jean Bart. And what is more, she was accepted – by none other than the great Bougainville himself! And it was none too hard, Mr Reid – this I would have you know: it was no more than a matter of wearing a tight band over her chest and lengthening her stride when she walked. Thus she set sail, wearing trowsers, just like you, and not one of the sailors or scientists guessed her secret. Can you but imagine, Mr Reid, all those savants, so knowledgeable about the anatomy of animals and plants? – not one of them knew that there was a fillie among them, so completely was she male? It was only after two years that she was undone, and do you know how, Mr Reid?'

'Wouldn't like to guess, Miss,' said Zachary.

'In Tahiti, when the expeditionnaires went ashore, the people took but one look and they knew! The secret that no Frenchman had guessed through two years of living on the same ship, day in, day out, the Tahitians knew tootsweet. But now it did not matter, for of course, Monsieur de Bougainville could not abandonne her so he agreed to let her come along. They say it was she who, out of gratitude, named the flower that is called after the admiral: bougainvillea. This was how it happened that Jeanne Baret, my grand-aunt, became the first woman to sail around the earth. And this too was how she found her husband, my grand-uncle, Philippe Commerson, who was among the expeditionnaires and a great savant himself.'

Pleased to have trumped Zachary, Paulette treated him to a beaming smile. 'So you see, Mr Reid, sometimes it happens after all that a woman does indeed join a crew.'

Zachary took a long sip from his wineglass, but the claret was not of much help in digesting Paulette's tale: he tried to think of a woman attempting a similar impersonation on the Ibis and was certain that she would be detected within days if not hours. He remembered the hammocks, hung so close that one man's tossing would set the whole fo'c'sle astir and a-shake; he thought of the boredom of the small hours, and those contests where the men of the watch would open their trowsers to leeward to see how much of the sea's phosphorescence they could light up; he thought of the ritual of the weekly bath, on deck, by the lee scuppers, with every tar's body bared to the waist and many having to strip naked to wash their one pair of under-clothes. How could a woman join in any of this? Perhaps on a shipful of frog-eating crappos – who knew what devilment they got up to? – but a Baltimore clipper was a man's world and no true salt would want it otherwise, no matter how great his love of women.

Noting his silence, Paulette asked: 'Do you not believe me, Mr Reid?'

'Well, Miss Lambert, I'll believe it could happen on a French ship,' he said grudgingly. He couldn't resist adding: 'Tisn't the easiest thing anyway to tell a Mamzelle from a Monsoo.'

'Mr Reid…!'

'No offence meant…'

As Zachary was making his apologies, a tiny pellet of bread came flying over the table and struck Paulette on the chin. She glanced across to find Mrs Doughty smiling and rolling her eyes as if to indicate that some matter of great significance had just transpired. Paulette looked around, nonplussed, and could see nothing of note, except Mrs Doughty herself: the pilot's wife was extremely stout, with a round face that hung, like a setting moon, under a great cloud of henna-red hair; now, with her gestures and grimaces, she appeared to be undergoing some kind of planetary convulsion. Paulette looked quickly away, for she harboured a great dread of attracting the attention of Mrs Doughty, who tended to speak, at length and with exceptional rapidity, about matters she could not quite comprehend.

Fortunately, Mr Doughty saved her the trouble of having to respond to his wife. 'Shahbash dear!' he exclaimed. 'Perfect shot!' Then, turning to Paulette, he said: 'Tell me, Miss Lambert, have I ever told you how Mrs Doughty once pelleted me with an ortolan?'

'Why no, sir,' said Paulette.

'Happened at Government House,' the pilot continued. 'Right under the Lat-Sahib's eye. Bird caught me smack on my nose. Must have been a good twenty paces. Knew right then she was the woman for me – eyes like a shoe-goose.' Here, having speared the last ortolan with his fork, he waved it in the direction of his wife.

Paulette seized the opportunity to turn her attention back to Zachary: 'But tell me, Mr Reid, how is it that you communicate with your lascars? Do they speak English?'

'They know the commands,' said Zachary. 'And sometimes, when it's needed, Serang Ali translates.'

'And how do you hold converse with Serang Ali?' Paulette asked.

'He speaks a little English,' said Zachary. 'We manage to make ourselves understood. Odd thing is, he can't even say my name.'

'What does he call you then?'

'Malum Zikri.'

'Zikri?' she cried. 'What a beautiful name! Do you know what it means?'

'I didn't even know it meant anything,' he said in surprise.

'It does,' she said. 'It means the "one who remembers". How nice that is. Would you mind if I called you by this name?'

Now, seeing a flush rise to his face, she quickly regretted her forwardness: it seemed a godsend when the khidmutgars distracted everyone by bringing in an enormous jelly-tree – a three-layered stand with many branching arms, each of these loaded with miniature custards, jellies, puddings, trifles, fools, blancmanges, syllabubs and sugared fruits.

Paulette was about to recommend a mango fool to Zachary when Mr Doughty reclaimed her attention with a melancholy story about how a goose hurled at a Government House dinner had led to a duel and brought official disapproval upon the custom of pelleting. Before he had quite finished, Mrs Burnham caught Paulette's eye in the special way that indicated that it was time for the ladies to withdraw to the gol-cumra. The khidmutgars came forward to pull back their chairs, and the women stepped away to follow their hostess out of the dining room.

Mrs Burnham led the way out at a serenely regal pace, but the moment they were out of the dining room, she abandoned Paulette with Mrs Doughty. 'I'm off to the dubber,' she whispered slyly in Paulette's ear. 'Good luck with old fustilugs.'

In the dining room, where the men had gathered around the host's end of the table, Mr Burnham's offer of a cigar was politely declined by Captain Chillingworth. 'Thank you, Mr Burnham,' said the Captain, reaching for a candlestick, 'but I prefer my buncuses, if it's all the same to you.'

'As you please,' said Mr Burnham, pouring a glass of port. 'But come now, Captain: give us the news from Canton. Does it appear that the celestials will see reason before it is too late?'

The Captain sighed: 'Our friends in the English and American factories do not think so. Almost to a man they believe that a war with China is inevitable. Frankly, most of them welcome the prospect.'

'So the Chuntocks are still set, are they,' said Mr Burnham, 'on putting a stop to the trade in opium?'

'I am afraid so,' said the Captain. 'The mandarins do indeed seem quite set in their course. The other day, they beheaded some half-dozen opium-sellers, right at the gates of Macao. Strung up the bodies in full public view, for everyone to see, Europeans included. It's had an effect, no doubt about it. In February the price of the best Patna opium had sunk to four hundred and fifty dollars a chest.'

'Good God!' said Mr Doughty. 'Was it not twice that last year?'

'So it was.' Mr Burnham nodded. 'You see, it's clear now – the Long-tails will stop at nothing to drive us out of business. And they'll succeed too, no doubt about it, unless we can prevail upon London to fight back.'