"I'm amazed that Akkarat still has any influence."

Carlyle shakes his head. "Akkarat couldn't do this."

The buildings turn to slums as they near the seawall. The rickshaw swerves around pieces of concrete that have fallen from the heights of an old Expansion hotel. Anderson supposes that it must have been lovely in the past. The terraced levels rise above them, silhouetted in moonlight. But now slum shacks lap all around it, and the last bits of its plate glass windows glimmer like teeth. The rickshaw slows to a halt at the foot of the seawall's embankment. Paired guardian naga flank the stairs to the top of the seawall. They watch as Carlyle pays the rickshaw man.

"Come on." Carlyle leads Anderson up the steps, his hand trailing along the scales of the naga. From the top of the levee, they have a clear view of the city. The Grand Palace shines in the distance. High walls obscure the inner courts that house the Child Queen and her entourage, but its gold-spiked chedi rise above, gleaming softly in the moonlight. Carlyle tugs Anderson's sleeve. "Don't dawdle."

Anderson hesitates, searching the darkness of the shoreline below. "Where are the white shirts? They should be all over this place."

"Don't worry. They don't have authority here." He laughs at some secret joke and ducks under the saisin that strings along the levee's top. "Come on." He scrambles down the rubbled embankment, picking his way toward the lap of the waves. Anderson hesitates, still scanning the open area, then follows.

As they reach the shoreline, a kink-spring skiff materializes out of the darkness, hurtling toward them. Anderson almost bolts, thinking it's a white shirt patrol, but Carlyle whispers, "It's ours." They wade out into the shallows and clamber aboard. The boat pivots sharply and they cut away from shore. Moonlight glints on the waves, a blanket of silver. The only sounds in the boat come from the slap of waves on the hull and the tick of kink-springs unwinding. Ahead of them, a barge looms, dark except for a few LED running lights.

Their skiff bumps up against the side. A moment later, a rope ladder lofts over the side, and they clamber up into the darkness. Crewmen wai respectfully as they come aboard. Carlyle makes a motion for Anderson to keep quiet as they are led below decks. At the end of corridor, guards flank a door. They call through, announcing the arriving farang, and the door opens, revealing a group of men at a large dining table, all laughing and drinking.

One of the men is Akkarat. Another Anderson recognizes as an admiral who harries the calorie ships going to Koh Angrit. Another he thinks is perhaps a southern general. In one corner, a sleek man wearing a black military uniform stands watching, eyes attentive. Another…

Anderson sucks in his breath.

Carlyle whispers, "Get down and show some respect." He's already falling to his knees and making a khrab. Anderson drops as quickly as he can.

The Somdet Chaopraya watches expressionless as they pay obeisance.

Akkarat laughs at their bowing and scraping. He comes around the table and brings them to their feet. "No need for so much formality here," he says, smiling. "Come. Join us. We're all friends here."

"Indeed." The Somdet Chaopraya smiles and raises a glass. "Come and drink."

Anderson wais again, as deeply as he is able. Hock Seng claims that the Somdet Chaopraya has killed more people than the Environment Ministry has slaughtered chickens. Before he was appointed protector of the Child Queen, he was a general, and his campaigns in the east are the brutal stuff of legend. If it weren't for the accident of his common birth line, it is speculated that he might even think to supplant royalty. Instead, he looms behind the throne, and all khrab before him.

Anderson's heart is pounding. With the Somdet Chaopraya backing a change of government, anything is possible. After years of searching and the failure in Finland, a seedbank is close. And with it, the answer to nightshades and ngaw and a thousand other genetic puzzles. This hard-eyed man who toasts him with a smile that could be friendly or feral holds the keys to everything.

A servant offers wine to Anderson and Carlyle. They join the assembled men at the table. "We were just talking about the coal war," Akkarat supplies. "The Vietnamese have given up on Phnom Penh for the moment."

"Good news, then."

The conversation continues, but Anderson only half listens. Instead, he furtively observes the Somdet Chaopraya. The last time he saw the man was outside the Environment Ministry's temple to Phra Seub, as they both gawked at the Japanese delegation's windup girl. In person, the man appears much older than in the pictures that adorn the city and depict him as a loyal defender of the Child Queen. His face is mottled with drink, and his eyes are sunken with the debauch he is rumored to like so well. Hock Seng claims that his brutal reputation on the battlefield is matched in his private life, and though the Thais may khrab before his image, he is not loved as the Child Queen is. And now, as the Somdet Chaopraya looks up and catches Anderson's gaze, Anderson thinks he sees why.

He's met calorie executives like this. Men intoxicated on their power and influence, their ability to bring nations to heel with the threat of a SoyPRO embargo. A hard, brutal man. Anderson wonders if the Child Queen will actually reach the fullness of her power with this man standing so close. It seems unlikely.

Conversation around the table continues to carefully avoid the reason for their midnight rendezvous. They speak of harvests in the north, and discuss the problem of the Mekong now that the Chinese have placed more dams at its source. They talk about new clipper ship designs that Mishimoto is preparing for production.

"Forty knots with favorable winds!" Carlyle pounds the table gleefully. "A hydrofoil package and fifteen hundred tons of cargo. I'm going to buy a fleet of them!"

Akkarat laughs. "I thought air freight was the future. Heavy-lift dirigibles."

"With those clippers? I'm willing to hedge my bets. During the old Expansion there was a mix of transit options. Air and sea. I don't see why it won't be the same this time."

"The new Expansion is on everyone's minds these days." Akkarat's smile fades. He glances at the Somdet Chaopraya, who gives a barely discernable nod. The Trade Minister goes on, speaking directly to Anderson. "Some elements in the Kingdom oppose this progress. Benighted elements, to be sure, but inconveniently tenacious as well."

"If you're asking for assistance," Anderson says, "we remain happy to provide it."

Another pause. Akkarat's eyes stray again to the Somdet Chaopraya. He clears his throat. "There are concerns, still, about the nature of your assistance. The history of your sort doesn't invite confidence."

"A bit like climbing into bed with a nest of scorpions," the Somdet Chaopraya supplies.

Anderson smiles slightly. "It seems you are already surrounded by a number of nests. With your permission, some of them could be removed. To mutual benefit."

"The price you're asking is too high," Akkarat says.

Anderson keeps his voice neutral. "We are asking for nothing other than access."

"And this man, this Gibbons."

"You know of him, then?" Anderson leans forward. "You know where he is?"

The table falls silent. Akkarat glances again at the Somdet Chaopraya. The man shrugs, but it's enough of an answer for Anderson. Gibbons is here. Somewhere in the country. Probably in the city. No doubt designing a follow-up triumph to the ngaw.

"We're not asking for the country," Anderson says. "The Thai Kingdom is nothing like Burma or India. It has its own history, one of independence. We respect that absolutely."

The assembled men's faces turn stony.