Monsieur, would the French flagship care to join us?"

Seratard said, "Of course. I will accompany you, of course, but suggest the French Legation as Headquarters, and full dress uniform."

"No to the uniforms, this is a punitive mission, not to present credentials--that comes later. And no to the meeting place. It was our national who was murdered and, how shall I put it?

Our fleet is the deciding factor."

Von Heimrich chuckled. "It certainly is decisive in these waters, at the present time."

He glanced at Seratard. "A pity I don't have a dozen regiments of Prussian cavalry, then we could partition the Japans without a hiccup and have done with all their devious stupidity and time-wasting bad manners."

"Only a dozen?" Seratard asked witheringly.

"That would be sufficient, Herr Seratard, for all Japan--our troops are the best in the world --of course after Her Britannic Majesty's," he added smoothly.

"Fortunately Prussia could spare twenty, even thirty regiments for just this small sector and still have more than enough to deal with any problem we might encounter anywhere, particularly in Europe."

"Yes, well..." Sir William broke in as Seratard reddened. He finished his drink.

"I'm off to Kanagawa to make some arrangements. Admiral, General, perhaps a short conference when I return--I'll come aboard the flagship. Oh, Monsieur Seratard, what about Mademoiselle Angelique? Would you like me to escort her back?"

She came out of her room in the late afternoon sunlight and walked along the corridor and down the main staircase towards the entrance hallway.

Now she wore the long bustled dress of yesterday, elegant again, more ethereal than ever-- hair groomed and swept up, eyes enhanced.

Perfume and the swish of petticoats.

Sentries at the main door saluted her and mumbled an embarrassed greeting, awed by her beauty. She acknowledged them with a distant smile and went towards the surgery. A Chinese houseboy gaped at her and scuttled past.

Just before she reached the door, it opened.

Babcott came out and stopped. "Oh hello, Miss Angelique, my word but you look beautiful," he said, almost stuttering.

"Thank you, Doctor." Her smile was kind, voice gentle. "I wanted to ask... can we talk a moment?"

"Of course, come in. Make yourself at home." Babcott shut the surgery door, settled her in the best chair and sat behind his desk, swept up by her radiance and the way her coiffure showed off her long neck to perfection.

His eyes were red-rimmed and he was very tired. But then that's a way of life, he thought, glorying in the sight of her.

"That drink you gave me, last night, it was a drug of some kind?"

"Yes, yes it was. I made it fairly strong as you were, you were rather upset."

"It's all so vague and mixed up, the Tokaido, then coming here and, and seeing Malcolm. The sleeping drink was very strong?"

"Yes but not dangerous, anything like that.

Sleep's the best cure, it would have been the best kind, deep sleep, and by Jove, you slept well, it's almost four. How do you feel?"

"Still a little tired, thank you." Again the shadowed smile and it tore at him. "How is Monsieur Struan?"

"No change. I was just going to see him again, you can come along, if you like. He's doing well, considering. Oh, by the way, they caught that fellow."

"Fellow?"

"The one we told you about last night, the intruder."

"I don't remember anything about the night."

He told her what had happened at her door and in the garden, how one robber was shot and the other spotted this morning but had escaped and it took all of her will to keep her face clear and to stop screaming aloud what she was thinking: you son of Satan with your sleeping drafts and incompetence.

Two robbers? The other one must have been in my room when you were there then and you failed to find him and save me, you and that other fool, Marlowe, equally guilty.

Blessed Mother, give me strength, help me to be revenged on both of them. And him, whoever he is! Mother of God let me be revenged. But why steal my cross and leave the other jewelry and why the characters and what do they mean? And why in blood, his blood?

She saw him staring at her. "Oui?"

"I said, Would you like to see Mr. Struan now?"

"Oh! Yes, yes please." She got up too, once more in control. "Oh, I'm afraid I spilt the jug of water on the sheets--would you ask the maid to deal with them, please?"

He laughed. "We don't have maids here.

Against Japper regulations. We've Chinese houseboys. Don't worry, the moment you left the room they'll be tidying..." He stopped, seeing her go pale. "What's the matter?"

For an instant her restraint had left her and she was back in her room again, scrubbing and cleaning and petrified the marks would not come out. But they had and she remembered she had checked and rechecked so the secret was safe--nothing was left to show, neither moisture nor blood, her secret safe forever so long as she was strong and kept to the plan--must-- and must be clever, must.

Babcott was shocked by the sudden pallor, her fingers twisting the material of her skirt.

Instantly he was beside her and held her shoulders gently. "Not to worry, you're quite safe, you really are."

"Yes, sorry," she said frightened, her head against his chest, finding the tears were flowing. "It was just, I, I was, I was remembering poor Canterbury."

She watched herself, out of herself, allow him to comfort her, utterly sure that her plan was the only one, the wise one: nothing happened. Nothing nothing nothing.

You will believe it until your next period.

And then, if it arrives, you will believe forever.

And if it does not arrive?

I don't know I don't know I don't know.

Monday, 15th September: "Gai-jin are vermin without manners," Nori Anjo said shaking with rage. He was chief of the roju, the Council of Five Elders, a squat, round-faced man, richly dressed.

"They've spurned our polite apology which should have ended the Tokaido matter, and now, impertinently, formally request an audience with the Shogun--the writing is foul, words inept, here read it for yourself, it has just arrived."

With barely concealed impatience he handed the scroll to his much younger adversary, Toranaga Yoshi, who sat opposite him. They were alone in one of the audience rooms high up in the central keep of Yedo Castle, all their guards ordered out. A low, scarlet lacquered table separated the two men, a black tea tray on it, delicate cups and teapot eggshell porcelain.

"Whatever gai-jin say doesn't matter."

Uneasily Yoshi took the scroll but did not read it. Unlike Anjo his clothes were simple and his swords working not ceremonial swords.

"Somehow we must twist them to do what we want."

He was daimyo of Hisamatsu, a small though important fief nearby and a direct descendant of the first Toranaga Shogun. At the Emperor's recent "suggestion," and over Anjo's flaring opposition he had just been appointed Guardian of the Heir, the boy Shogun, and to fill the vacancy in the Council of Elders. Tall, patrician and twenty-six, with fine hands and long fingers.

"Whatever happens, they must not see the Shogun," he said, "that would confirm the legality of the Treaties which are not yet properly ratified. We will refuse their insolent request."

"I agree it's insolent but we still have to deal with it, and decide about that Satsuma dog, Sanjiro." Both were weary of the gai-jin problem that had disturbed their wa, their harmony for two days now, both anxious to end this meeting--Yoshi wanting to return to his quarters below where Koiko waited for him, Anjo to a secret meeting with a doctor.

Outside it was sunny and kind, with the smell of sea and rich soil on the slight breeze that came through the opened shutters. No threat of winter yet.