"The mahout will have to be paid off again. Bribed to come back to work," Hock Seng observes.

"Yes."

"And we will have to hire monks to chant for the factory. To make the workers happy again. Phii must be placated." Hock Seng pauses. "It will be expensive. People will say that your factory has bad spirits in it. That it is sited wrong, or that the spirit house is not large enough. Or that you cut down a phii's tree when it was built. We will have to bring a fortune teller, perhaps a feng shui master to get them to believe the place is good. And then the mahout will demand hazard pay-"

Mr. Lake interrupts. "I want to replace the mahout," he says. "All of them."

Hock Seng sucks air through his teeth. "It is impossible. The Megodont Union controls all of the city's power contracts. It is a government mandate. The white shirts award the power monopoly. There is nothing we can do about the unions."

"They're incompetent. I don't want them here. Not anymore."

Hock Seng tries to tell if the farang is joking. He smiles hesitantly. "It is Royal Mandate. One might as well wish to replace the Environment Ministry."

"There's a thought." Mr. Lake laughs. "I could team up with Carlyle & Sons and start complaining every day about taxes and carbon credit laws. Get Trade Minister Akkarat to take up our cause." His gaze rests on Hock Seng. "But that's not the way you like to operate, is it?" His eyes become abruptly cold. "You like the shadows and the bargaining. The quiet deal."

Hock Seng swallows. The foreign devil's pale skin and blue eyes are truly horrific. As alien as a devil cat, and just as comfortable in a hostile land. "It would be unwise to enrage the white shirts." Hock Seng murmurs. "The nail that stands up will be pounded down."

"That's yellow card talk."

"As you say. But I am alive when others are dead, and the Environment Ministry is very powerful. General Pracha and his white shirts have survived every challenge. Even the December 12 attempt. If you wish to poke at a cobra, be ready for its bite."

Mr. Lake looks as if he will argue, but instead shrugs. "I'm sure you know best."

"It is why you pay me."

The yang guizi stares at the dead megodont. "That animal shouldn't have been able to break out of its harness." He takes another drink from his bottle. "The safety chains were rusted; I checked. We aren't going to pay a cent of reparations. That's final. That's my bottom line. If they had secured their animal, I wouldn't have had to kill it."

Hock Seng inclines his head in tacit agreement, though he will not speak it out loud. "Khun, there is no other option."

Mr. Lake smiles coldly. "Yes, of course. They're a monopoly." He makes a face. "Yates was a fool to locate here."

Hock Seng experiences a chill of anxiety. The yang guizi suddenly looks like a petulant child. Children are rash. Children do things to anger the white shirts or the unions. And sometimes they pick up their toys and run away home. A disturbing thought indeed. Anderson Lake and his investors must not run away. Not yet.

"What are our losses, to date?" Mr. Lake asks.

Hock Seng hesitates, then steels himself to deliver bad news. "With the loss of the megodont, and now the cost of placating the unions? Ninety million baht, perhaps?"

A shout comes from Mai, waving Hock Seng over. He doesn't have to look to know it is bad news. He says, "There will be damage below as well, I think. Expensive to repair." He pauses, touches the delicate subject. "Your investors, the Misters Gregg and Yee, will have to be notified. It is likely that we do not have the cash to do repairs and also to install and calibrate the new algae baths when they arrive." He pauses. "We will require new funds."

He waits anxiously, wondering what the yang guizi's reaction will be. Money flows through the company so quickly sometimes Hock Seng thinks of it as water, and yet he knows this will not be pleasant news. The investors sometimes become balky at expenses. With Mr. Yates, the fights over money were common. With Mr. Lake, less so. The investors do not complain so much now that Mr. Lake has arrived, yet it is still a fantastic amount of money to spend on a dream. If Hock Seng ran the company, he would have shut it down more than a year ago.

But Mr. Lake doesn't blink at the news. All he says is, "More money." He turns to Hock Seng. "And when will the algae tanks and nutrient cultures clear Customs?" he asks. "When, really?"

Hock Seng blanches. "It is difficult. Parting the bamboo curtain is not something done in a day. The Environment Ministry likes to interfere."

"You said you paid to keep the white shirts off our backs."

"Yes." Hock Seng inclines his head. "All the appropriate gifts have been given."

"So why was Banyat complaining about contaminated baths? If we've got live organisms breeding-"

Hock Seng hurries to interrupt. "Everything is at the anchor pads. Delivered by Carlyle & Sons last week…" He makes a decision. The yang guizi needs to hear good news. "Tomorrow the shipment will clear Customs. The bamboo curtain will part, and your shipment will arrive on the backs of megodonts." He makes himself smile. "Unless you wish to fire the Union right now?"

The devil shakes his head, even smiles a little at the joke, and Hock Seng feels a flush of relief.

"Tomorrow then. For certain?" Mr. Lake asks.

Hock Seng steels himself and inclines his head in agreement, willing it to be the truth. Still the foreigner holds him with his blue eyes. "We spend a lot of money here. But the one thing the investors can't tolerate is incompetence. I won't tolerate it, either."

"I understand."

Mr. Lake nods, satisfied. "Good then. We'll wait to talk with the home office. After we've got the new line equipment out of Customs, we'll call. Give them some good news with the bad. I don't want to ask for money with nothing to show at all." He looks at Hock Seng again. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

Hock Seng makes himself nod. "As you say."

Mr. Lake takes another drink from his bottle. "Good. Find out how bad the damage is. I'll want a report in the morning."

With this dismissal, Hock Seng heads across the factory floor to the waiting spindle crew. He hopes that he is right about the shipment. That it will be truly released. That he will be proven right by events. It is a gamble, but not a bad one. And the devil would not have wanted to hear too much bad news at once, in any case.

When Hock Seng arrives at the winding spindle, Mai is dusting herself off from another foray into the hole. "How does it look?" Hock Seng asks. The winding spindle is fully disengaged from the line. Now drawn forth, it lies on the ground, a massive spike of teak. The cracks are large and obvious. He calls down the hole. "A lot of damage?"

A minute later, Pom crawls out covered in grease. "Those tunnels are tight." he gasps. "I can't fit down some of them." He wipes the sweat and grime with an arm. "It's the sub-train for certain, and we won't know about the rest until we send children down along the links. If the main chain is damaged, we'll have to pull up the floor."

Hock Seng peers into the revealed spindle hole with a grimace, flashing back to tunnels and rats and cowering survival in the jungles of the south. "We'll have Mai find some of her friends."

He surveys the damage again. He owned buildings like this, once. Whole warehouses filled with goods. And now look what he is, a factotum for yang guizi. An old man with a body that's falling apart and a clan that has been filed down to his single head. He sighs and forces down frustration. "I want to know everything about how bad the damage is, before I talk to the farang again. No surprises."

Pom wais. "Yes, Khun."