Heart pounding, she watched as he approached his pursuers with amazing calm, his hands raised in the air to show that he had no weapons. The first man to arrive struck him in the face, and Troth almost vaulted over the ridgepole. Before she could do so, a Manchu army officer in a spiked helmet slapped the assailant away from Kyle, barking that the Fan-qui spy must be taken to the prefect's palace for questioning. In the face of his commanding presence, the drunks fell back, leaving the Fan-qui to the soldiers.

Dizzy with relief, Troth watched as Kyle straightened to his full height, towering over the Chinese around him. Impassively he allowed them to tie his wrists behind his back. Gods be thanked, he'd survived the capture without serious injury. Though being caught so far inland would cause a diplomatic incident, it would be minor compared to some of the other conflicts between the Celestial Kingdom and the Fan-qui.

As Kyle was led away, a gruff military voice said, "The man who was with him must be around here somewhere. Tall fellow."

"Another Fan-qui?" someone asked.

"I think so. Looked too tall for one of us."

"Must have turned off at one of the other alleys or gone over the roofs, but we'll find him," the military voice said. "You two, climb up and look around."

Hastily Troth slid down her side of the roof and swung lightly to the ground, then darted into the maze of alleys. Since the searchers were looking for another European, she was safe. She'd make a quick stop at the inn and collect their more useful supplies, including a change of clothing. The rest must be abandoned-the manhunt would soon trace Kyle's movements. Sheng would also have to be left to the innkeeper, since she couldn't go into hiding with a donkey.

She'd stay the next day or so in Feng-tang until she learned the prefect's plan for Kyle. Probably in the morning it would be announced that an evil Fan-qui spy had invaded the city, but the imperial servants had bravely protected the honorable citizens. There was a good chance that Wu Chong would send his prisoner to the viceroy in Canton. If so, Kyle should be fine. He might reach the city before she did, and in more comfort.

But as Troth lost herself in the alleys and excited crowds, she couldn't suppress her gut-wrenching fear.

Kyle was taken directly to the prefect's yamen. The palace entrance was garishly lit by festival torches. Yanked so hard that he frequently stumbled since his arms weren't free for balance, he was marched through a series of marble-floored halls.

Outside the audience chamber, he was searched with rough efficiency, losing his pistol, knife, and the small pouch of high-denomination coins he carried. He guessed that the well-made European handgun would be presented to the prefect, but had cynical doubts about the money going any farther than the Manchu officer.

Inside the chamber, Wu Chong waited in a carved throne, his dark eyes glittering in the lamplight. A wiry man with gray-streaked mustaches, he waited in icy silence as one of the guards shoved Kyle so hard that he fell to his knees.

"Kowtow!" the guard ordered.

It was one of the few Chinese words Kyle recognized. Diplomatic relations between Chinese emperors and Western diplomats had foundered over the fact that Europeans found it humiliating to bow down and knock their heads on the floor before a Chinese official. However, Troth had explained that kowtowing was merely a mark of respect, no different from bowing before the king of England, so Kyle pragmatically bent forward and touched his forehead to the cool marble three times.

Having satisfied protocol, he was yanked upright by two guards, their grips wrenching his arm sockets. Stoically he stood before the prefect as an aide yammered at him in incomprehensible Chinese. He might as well be deaf and dumb for all he understood. Thank God Troth had escaped. She could have translated, but he suspected that as a Chinese she would be treated far worse than he would be.

Then his gaze met Wu Chong's, and his blood chilled at the raw hatred he saw there. Many Chinese loathed foreigners even if they'd never met one, but the prefect's rage went far beyond that. Wu Chong must view the appearance of a Fan-qui at the festival honoring a long-awaited son as a bad omen, and he craved vengeance for that.

A plump merchant was hustled into the chamber between two soldiers, his round face perspiring and his eyes alarmed. Wu Chong rattled out several sentences. The merchant blanched, and a three-cornered conversation between Wu, the merchant, and an official who appeared to be the prefect's chief aide ensued. Kyle had the impression that the latter two disagreed with Wu, but didn't dare contradict him directly.

Bracing himself for what was to come, he was ready when the merchant turned to him, sweating profusely. The man started to bow, then stopped himself. "I am Wang. You Fan-qui spy."

"I'm not a spy," Kyle said mildly. "I only wished to see some of the glories of the Celestial Kingdom."

"Spy," the merchant repeated unhappily. "Prefect punish you." He stopped, his throat working.

Feeling sorry for the poor beggar, Kyle said, "What kind of punishment?"

Wang cast his eyes downward. "Death."

The single harsh word almost sent Kyle reeling. Good God, he'd truly not expected such a severe sentence. China was a nation of law, but he'd had no trial. Grimly he recognized that as a foreigner he existed outside Chinese law, with no more rights than a cockroach. If the prefect wanted him to die, he was a dead man.

Clamping down on his emotions, he asked coolly, "How?"

"As mark of respect for foreign devil ways, no chop head. Use Fan-qui gun death."

Jesus. A firing squad. Well, he couldn't say he hadn't been warned of the dangers of defying imperial law and traveling inland. Dry lipped, he asked, "When?"

"Dawn, day after tomorrow. Prefect give time to make peace with your gods."

"I… see." He inclined his head. "Thank you, Honorable Wang, for your explanation."

As the merchant withdrew, Kyle's mind raced. Only a day and a half left. Troth couldn't possibly reach Canton in time to summon help. Even a rider on a fast horse wouldn't be able to save him. Thank God she'd escaped, or she'd be standing beside him at the execution.

He suppressed his instinctive shudder at the thought, keeping his expression blank. With nothing left but death, how he died suddenly seemed very important. He'd not go cringing and crying. His resolve was strengthened by the triumph on Wu Chong's face as the soldiers removed him from the audience chamber.

He was taken from the yamen and marched to another building in the governmental compound. Squat and ugly, it stank with ancient filth and fear. It was an extensive prison for such a small city. How many prisoners had these aching walls held? How many men had died here?

In the guardroom, the ropes securing Kyle's wrists were cut away and replaced with heavy wrist shackles and leg irons. Then he was taken down steep stone steps to the dungeons that he guessed were reserved for the most serious crimes.

He and his escorts passed through dank corridors lined with doors. In several of the tiny windows he saw pale, despairing faces watching the new prisoner. Most were so hopeless that they didn't even show surprise at the sight of a Fan-qui.

The sergeant unlocked the last, massive door and swung it open to reveal a cramped cell. Water gleamed on the rough stone walls, with a pile of damp straw the only furnishing.