‘Mr de Zoet.’ Interpreter Sagara is helped out by his servant and a guard. ‘We have letter from English Captain to Magistrate. I take now, so no delay. Magistrate summon you later, I think, and he want speak to Mr Fischer also.’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ declares Fischer. ‘Tell Shiroyama I shall be available after luncheon.’

Sagara bows vaguely to Fischer, firmly to de Zoet, and turns away.

‘Interpreter,’ calls Fischer after him. ‘Interpreter Sagara!’

Sagara turns around at the Sea-Gate, a mild Yes? on his face.

‘Remember who is the highest-ranking officer on Dejima.’

Sagara’s humble bow is not quite sincere. He goes.

‘I don’t trust that one,’ says Fischer. ‘He lacks manners.’

‘We hope the English treated yourself and the Chief well,’ says Jacob.

‘ “Well”? Better than well, Head Clerk. I have extraordinary news.’

‘I am touched by your concern,’ Fischer tells the company assembled in the State Room, ‘and you will be eager to learn about my sojourn aboard the Phoebus. However, protocol must be respected. Therefore: Grote, Gerritszoon, Baert and Oost – and you too, Twomey – you are excused, and may return to work for this morning. I have matters of state to discuss with Dr Marinus, Mr Ouwehand and Mr de Zoet, and decisions to make with careful thought and clear heads. When these matters are settled, you shall be informed.’

‘Yer wrong,’ states Gerritszoon. ‘We’re stayin’, see.’

The grandfather clock calibrates time. Piet Baert scratches his crotch.

‘So while the cat’s away,’ Fischer pretends to be charmed, ‘the mice will set up a National Convention of the People. Very well, then, I shall keep things as easy to understand as possible. Mr van Cleef and I spent the night aboard the HMS Phoebus as guests of the English Captain. His name is John Penhaligon. He is here on the orders of the British Governor-General at Fort William in Bengal. Fort William is the principal base of the English East India Company, which-’

‘We all know what Fort William is,’ interjects Marinus.

Fischer smiles for a long second. ‘Captain Penhaligon’s orders are to negotiate a trade treaty with the Japanese.’

‘Jan Compagnie trades in Japan,’ says Ouwehand. ‘Not John Company.’

Fischer picks his teeth. ‘Ah, yes, some more news. Jan Compagnie is dead as a doornail. Yes. At midnight on the last day of the eighteenth century, whilst some of you -’ he happens to glance at Gerritszoon and Baert ‘- were singing rude songs about your Germanic ancestors on Long Street, the Ancient Honourable Company ceased to exist. Our employer and paymaster is bankrupt.’

The men are dumbstruck. ‘Similar rumours,’ says Jacob, ‘have-’

‘I read it in the Amsterdamsche Courant in Captain Penhaligon’s cabin. There: in black and white and plain Dutch. Since January the first we’ve been working for a phantom.’

‘Our back-wages?’ Baert, horrified, bites his hand. ‘My seven years’ wages?’

‘It was clever of you,’ nods Fischer, ‘to piss, whore and gamble most of it away, with hindsight. At least you enjoyed it.’

‘But our pay’s our pay,’ insists Oost. ‘Our pay’s safe, isn’t it, Mr de Zoet?’

‘Legally, yes. But “legally” implies courts, compensation, lawyers and time. Mr Fischer-’

‘I believe the Chief Resident’s books record my promotion to “Deputy”?’

‘Deputy Fischer, did the Courant article mention compensation and debt?’

‘For the dear Dutch Motherland’s shareholders, yes, but about the pawns out in the Asian factories, there was not one peep. On the subject of the dear Dutch Motherland, I have more news. A Corsican general, Bonaparte, has made himself First Consul of the French Republic. This Bonaparte doen’t lack ambition! He conquered Italy, mastered Austria, looted Venice, subdued Egypt, and intends to turn the Low Countries into a département of France. I am sorry to report, gentlemen, that your Motherland is to be married off and shall lose her name.’

‘The English are lying!’ exclaims Ouwehand. ‘That’s impossible!’

‘Yes, the Poles said much the same words before their country vanished.’

Jacob imagines a garrison of French troops in Domburg.

‘My brother Joris,’ says Baert, ‘served under that Frenchman, that Bonaparte. They said he’d done a deal with the Devil at the Bridge of Arcole, an’ that’s how he crushes whole armies. The deal din’t cover Boney’s men, mind. Joris was last seen on a spike at the Battle o’ the Pirrymids, minus his body.’

‘My sincere condolences, Baert,’ says Peter Fischer, ‘but Bonaparte is now your Head of State and cares not a tinker’s fart about your back-wages. So. We have two surprises so far. No more Company and no more independent Netherlands. Here is a third surprise, especially interesting for Head Clerk de Zoet, I think. The pilot and adviser who guided the Phoebus to Nagasaki Bay is Daniel Snitker.’

‘But he’s in Java,’ Ouwehand finds his tongue first, ‘on trial.’

‘Such twists,’ Fischer inspects a thumbnail, ‘make life much richer.’

Aghast, Jacob clears his throat. ‘You spoke with Snitker? Face to face?’ He glances at Ivo Oost, who looks pale and perplexed.

‘I ate supper with the man. The Shenandoah never reached Java, you see. Vorstenbosch – that famous surgeon of the cancer of corruption – and trusty Captain Lacy sold the Company’s copper – that same copper you, Mr de Zoet, won with such dedication! – to the English East India Company in Bengal for their own personal profit. The irony. The irony!’

This can’t be true, thinks Jacob. Jacob thinks, But, yes, it can.

‘Wait wait wait’ – Arie Grote is turning pink – ‘waity waity waity. What about our private cargoes? What about my lacquerware? What about the Arita figurines?’

‘Daniel Snitker does not know their next destination: he escaped at Macao…’

‘If those swine,’ Arie Grote is turning purple, ‘those thieving mongrels-’

‘… and didn’t ask, but your goods would fetch a handsome price in Carolina.’

‘Never mind the damn cargoes,’ protests Twomey. ‘How are we to get home?’

Even Arie Grote falls silent as the truth sinks in.

‘Mr Fischer,’ notes Marinus, ‘looks immune to the general dismay.’

‘What ain’t y’ tellin’ us,’ Gerritszoon looks dangerous, ‘Mister Fischer?’

‘I can speak only as fast as your noble democracy allows! The Doctor is right: all is not lost. Captain Penhaligon is authorised to propose an Anglo-Dutch Entente in these waters. He promises to pay every last penning the Company owes us, and give us passage, gratis, in a comfy side-berth, to Penang, Bengal, Ceylon or the Cape.’

‘All this,’ asks Con Twomey, ‘from the sweetness of an Englishman’s heart?’

‘In return, we work here for two more trading seasons. For wages.’

‘Meaning,’ Jacob intuits, ‘the English want Dejima and its profits.’

‘What use is Dejima to you, Mr de Zoet? Where are your ships, your capital?’

‘But…’ Ivo Oost frowns ‘… if the English want to trade out of Dejima…’

‘The interpreters,’ Arie Grote is nodding, ‘only speak Dutch.’

Fischer claps his hands. ‘Captain Penhaligon needs you. You need him. A blissful marriage.’

‘So it’d be the same work,’ Baert asks, ‘only with a new employer?’

‘One who won’t vanish to Carolina with your private cargoes, yes.’

‘The day I catch up with Vorstenbosch,’ vows Gerritszoon, ‘is the day his brains’ll get yanked out of his aristocratic arse.’

‘Whose flag would fly over Dejima?’ asks Jacob. ‘Dutch or English?’

‘Who cares,’ demands Fischer, ‘so long as our wages are paid?’

‘What does Chief van Cleef,’ Marinus asks, ‘make of the Captain’s offer?’

‘He is negotiating the finer details as we speak.’

‘And he didn’t think,’ asks Jacob, ‘to send any written orders to us?’

‘I am his written orders, Head Clerk! But, look, don’t accept my word. Captain Penhaligon has invited you – and the doctor, and Mr Ouwehand – to the Phoebus for supper this evening. His lieutenants are a splendid circle. One, named Hovell, speaks fluent Dutch. The leader of his marines, Major Cutlip, has travelled far and wide, and has even lived in New South Wales.’